Her Mistletoe Husband by Renee Roszel Page B

kitchen’s entrance.
    Helen walked up to him, placing the plate of sandwiches in his hands. “Look who’s here, Elissa.” She turned, wagging her brows. “Why, it’s Alex D’Amour—of all people.”
    Elissa decided that if her eyes were ever going to communicate anything, it had to be now. She telegraphed a message to Helen that screamed, Keep your mouth shut! Though the communication was just short of lethal, Helen laughed merrily, taking Alex’s arm and steering him toward the parlor. “Now what were we talking about?”
    â€œSome man?” he offered.
    â€œOh?” As they left, Helen tilted her head at him, her expression believably quizzical. “My mind’s a blank.”
    Once they’d gone, Elissa sank into a chair, relieved that Helen had obeyed her wordless order. Where had her sister gotten such a ridiculous idea?
    She fiddled absently with the mustard bottle, her mind running back over what Helen had said about the myth. Though she loved her baby sister with all her heart, that didn’t change the fact that she was an idealistic dreamer. The myth was nothing more than pretty words. The fact that both her younger sisters had met their husbands the way the myth suggested they would was mere coincidence. Bizarre, maybe, but a coincidence, nevertheless.
    Gritting her teeth, she renewed her vow that she would never let anyone find out that she’d actually slept in the mansion on her birthday—and that the intolerable Alex D‘Amour had been the first man she’d seen that morning. Her sisters were bad enough with their conniving glances and innuendoes, now. If they found out the truth, she would be put in an unbearable position. Her nerves were tattered enough having Alex D’Amour underfoot—a constant reminder that he intended to take away her livelihood.
    She heard a pop and discovered she’d cracked the glass jar with her tight grip. Placing trembling fingers to her lips, she winced at the bitter taste of mustard and blood.
    Â 
    The day after Christmas, Damien and Helen took the girls out to the side yard to hang strings of suet, for the birds, in a cedar tree. Lucy wasn’t feeling well, so she and Jack were upstairs in their room. Early that morning, Alex had trekked off in the snow toward his mansion. The inn’s guests had scattered for the day.
    After finishing with the morning’s business, Elissa came upstairs and heard the familiar grumble of the mail truck’s engine. She was pleased to note that it was arriving earlier, since the pre-Christmas madness was over. She tromped through the fluffy three-inch snowfall to retrieve that day’s delivery.
    Though the thought flitted through her mind that another sinister letter might be among late Christmas cards, bills and junk mail, she forced the idea from her mind. With a friendly greeting to the postman, she accepted the stack of envelopes.
    He pulled away, his ‘happy new year’ half buried beneath the clanking protest of his truck’s acceleration.
    She turned toward the inn, thumbing through the mail. Even before she recognized the messy scrawl, the short hairs on her nape stood up. Though she went weak all over, she managed not to drop everything in the snow.
    A shrill laugh invaded her fear-cloaked mind, and she realized the girls were running around on the front lawn. Knowing Damien and Helen would be following, she panicked that her expression would give away trouble. Swerving, she headed around the opposite side of the house, intent on entering by the back door.
    Once she reached the steps that led to the kitchen, she couldn’t stand it any longer. Laying the other mail aside, she tore open the letter. Dread thundered through her as she read, and she dropped to the bottom step. This one was worse than the others.

    Missy, don’t plan on having no hapy new year. You ain’t gonna have one.

    Terror made her shiver. Something in