The Widowed Bride. Elizabeth Lane
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attraction was there for both of them. Given what he knew about her past, he shouldn’t have been surprised when she’d backed away. But her retreat had left him with a powerful itch. He wanted her, pure and simple.
He had a job to do, Ethan reminded himself. But getting the beautiful widow in bed could be the most pleasant way to discover what she was up to. Call it workman’s compensation.
The mayor’s voice boomed into his thoughts. “No excuses, my dear. You’ll be needing a good meal, and the Dutchman’s Creek Hotel has the best food in the county. We won’t take no for an answer, will we, Harper?”
The mayor’s son muttered something Ethan couldn’t make out. Again, a beat of silence passed before Ruby answered. “You’re right, of course. And I do need to start meeting people. Very well, it would be a pleasure to accept your invitation. What time shall I meet you there?”
The reply was muffled. Evidently the mayor had risen and moved to a less audible part of the room. But Ethan had heard enough to conclude that further eavesdropping would be a waste of time. Whatever the mayor wanted, he would most likely save it for that evening.
With a vaguely muttered curse, Ethan turned back to the task at hand. The rolled carpet was thick and heavy, its woolen nap permeated with dust. He was dragging it out of the way when he happened to glance at the wall behind it. Where the furniture had blocked his view, a length of corrugated tin roofing stood against the rear wall. Behind it, a section of the wall was open.
Pulse galloping, Ethan held his breath to listen. From the direction of the parlor came the creak of a floorboard and the muted sound of voices. A quick look—that was all he dared risk. But it would likely be enough.
Lifting aside the tin, he peered into the opening. Musty odors of dampness and decay rushed into his nostrils. The place had likely been a root cellar for storing apples and winter vegetables. Maybe that was all it had ever been. But Ethan had his doubts. When he shifted to one side, allowing more light to shine in, he could see that the earth had been dug out farther under the house to make a chamber nearly a third the size of the original cellar. In its dark recesses, the dim light glinted on a motley assortment of glass jugs—scores of them, crowding the floor and stacked high on crude wooden shelves.
He knew at once what he’d found. Bootleg whiskey, brewed in an uncounted number of secret backwoods stills, had been brought here to be picked up and paid for by big-city crime syndicates. Ethan estimated the worth of the stash in the thousands of dollars.
Moving with quiet haste, he replaced the tin, the carpet roll and the other furniture that had concealed the opening. By the time he’d finished, he was sweating, more from nerves than from effort.
He’d found the evidence he was looking for. But pinning the crime on the responsible parties would take time and luck. Thaddeus Wilton’s interest in the house made him a likely suspect. But even if the mayor was guilty, he probably wasn’t acting alone. His son could have a hand in the dirty business, as well. So could any number of people in this close-knit little town.
And what about Ruby?
Had she known about the stash? Had she been prepared to take action if he found it? Ethan remembered how she’d sat with her hands folded, watching him like a cat as he lifted the furniture away from the wall. Only the arrival of visitors upstairs had kept her from being here when he found the whiskey.
Was she involved, or had she simply stumbled into a bad situation? Ethan had no proof either way. He was certain of only one thing.
He’d be a fool to let the woman out of his sight.
Chapter Three
Closing the door behind her guests, Ruby sank onto a chair with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that the mayor and his son had behaved improperly. In fact, they’d been perfect gentlemen. But she wasn’t used to dealing with unexpected company. Back in Springfield, the family butler would have answered the door, taken the visitor’s card and checked to make sure Mrs. Rumford was receiving callers that day. If she wasn’t up to socializing—more often than not because she was nursing bruises—she would have the luxury of being “indisposed,” and no one would think the worse of her for it.
Those days were gone forever, Ruby reminded herself. Dutchman’s Creek was a small town, and she was no longer the socially prominent Mrs. Hollis Rumford. She was a struggling widow, newly arrived and in need of friends. The sooner she got used to that reality the better.
And the sooner she got this wreck of a house in shape, the sooner she could start renting out rooms and bringing in some income.
Rising, she seized a broom and began sweeping up the glass from her earlier mishap. First she would get the parlor looking presentable. Then she’d take the time to scrub down her own room, put clean linens on the bed, unpack her clothes and set out her personal toiletries. That would allow her to change and freshen up before having dinner at the hotel, and to fall exhausted into bed when she returned.
Would Ethan be spending the night here? The thought of him lying upstairs, alone in the darkness, sent a freshet of heat through her body. She remembered the velvety roughness of his voice, the sensual parting of his lips as he’d leaned toward her. She could almost imagine…
But she was fantasizing like a schoolgirl. Ethan was a stranger and she was a lady, whatever that was supposed to mean. Nothing would happen between them, not even if she wanted it to. Ruby knew herself all too well. Let a man get too close and she would turn to ice in his arms. It had happened last year with a charming Dutch businessman she’d met in Europe. He’d soon lost patience with her and gone his way. Professor Ethan Beaudry would be no different.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Ethan strode in through the kitchen, carrying a battered table with one crooked leg. His face, arms and clothes were smudged with dust. Ruby willed herself to ignore the quickening of her pulse. “Is that the best table you could find?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’ll do if I brace the leg. Did you see anything else you wanted from down there?”
Ruby realized she’d paid scant attention to the furniture in the cellar. “Nothing that can’t wait. No use bringing anything else upstairs until the rooms are clean.”
He glanced around the parlor. “Your visitors didn’t stay long,” he commented. “Did you drive them off with that broom?”
A twitch of his eyebrow confirmed that he was teasing her. Ruby couldn’t be sure whether she liked it or not. “It wasn’t supposed to be a long visit,” she said curtly. “The mayor and his son just stopped by to welcome me to town and invite me to dinner this evening.”
“Oh? Do they do that for every newcomer, or just for the pretty ones? No one here has invited me to dinner.”
“Maybe they would have if you’d come upstairs and introduced yourself instead of hiding in the cellar like a grumpy old troll!”
His rough laugh startled her. “Ruby, I’m your tenant,” he said. “That doesn’t give me the right to come barging in when you have company. I’ll introduce myself to the mayor another time, on my own terms.”
“You strike me as a man who does most things on his own terms.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” He had lowered the table and appeared to be studying her, taking her measure with those fathomless gold-flecked eyes. What was he seeing? Pride? Vulnerability? Shame and fear? All those things were there, locked deep inside her. The past eleven years had taught Ruby to keep her emotions hidden. But no part of her seemed safe from his penetrating, curiously gentle gaze.
She felt as if he was probing into her soul—and the only response she knew was to fling up barriers.
“You can take it any way you like.” She turned away from him and resumed sweeping the floor, plying the broom like a weapon.
“Careful,” he teased. “The way you’re handling that poor old broom, you could break it.”
She