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Gripping the handle, he raised the cellar door. It came up easily, swinging outward on hinges so silent that they must have been recently oiled. Instincts prickling, Ethan started down the rough-cut plank steps. Ruby followed so close behind him that he could hear her shallow breathing. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. For all he knew, the woman could be scheming to shoot him in the back and leave his carcass down here to rot. Or maybe she had cohorts waiting in the shadows to jump him and drag him away.
He cursed the oversight of leaving his .38 Smith & Wesson revolver locked in his suitcase at the hotel. There was no reason for a man posing as a scholar to carry a gun in a small town, especially on a sunny spring day, or so he’d thought. But that was before he’d encountered a seductively mysterious redhead, who appeared to be in the wrong place for the wrong reasons.
“Watch your head.” He ducked under the bottom edge of the rough concrete foundation and stepped into the low cavern of the cellar. Overhead, cobwebs festooned the timbers that supported the floor of the house. But there’d been no web strands across the entrance, Ethan noted. Someone had been down here, probably within the past couple of weeks.
A jumble of dusty furniture was piled against the far wall, as if it had been pushed there to make room for something else. The rest of the floor, covered in loose clay tiles over bare earth, was empty. If a stash of bootleg whiskey had been stored here, someone must have already hauled it away.
That might explain why Ruby had been so willing to bring him down here.
As he crossed the floor, Ethan suddenly realized she was no longer following him. Glancing back, he saw her hesitating at the foot of the steps.
A vision flashed through Ethan’s mind—Ruby racing up the stairs to slam the cellar door and lock him in. Odds were she hadn’t bought his inane story about being a professor. Hellfire, he probably wouldn’t have bought it himself. He should have insisted on a more convincing cover.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded, turning back to face her.
Her gaze shifted upward to the spiderwebs drooping from the beams. Suspicion crackled along his nerves. Was it an act? He’d be damned if he was going to find out the hard way.
“For Pete’s sake, if we don’t bother the spiders, they won’t bother us! Come on!” He grabbed her wrist and jerked her toward him more roughly than he’d meant to. “No! Don’t—”
Suddenly she was fighting his grip, thrashing like a trapped animal. Ethan struggled to bring her under control. His free hand captured her flailing arm. With an expert twist, he whipped her against him, pinioning her hand against the small of her back. Even then she resisted, straining backward, gasping with effort.
“Listen, damn it,” he began. “There’s no need to—”
He broke off as her eyes met his. In their blue depths, Ethan recognized the look of stark terror.
This woman, he sensed, had been hurt by a man. Not just hurt, brutalized.
He let her go. She staggered backward, lost her balance and fell to the floor. Stunned, she struggled to raise herself onto her elbows. Her eyes smoldered up at him through a tumble of fiery hair.
Ethan stood over her, feeling like a monster. “I’m sorry, Ruby.” He spoke softly, hoping to soothe her. “I’ll confess I got impatient, but I wouldn’t have hurt you. So help me, I’d never hurt any woman.”
She glared at him, her gaze flashing defiance. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she breathed. “After my husband died, I swore I’d never let another man raise a hand to me. That includes you, Professor!”
She flung the title at him like an epithet. Ethan willed himself not to react. With a long exhalation, he forced the tension from his body. “My apologies. Believe me, you’ve nothing to worry about,” he said, extending his open hand toward her. “Now, will you please allow me to help you up?”
She hesitated, then raised her hand. Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, her fingers locked between his. Her grip tightened as he pulled her to her feet. She was quivering, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Ethan resisted the urge to gather her into his arms and comfort her. He was certain she’d prefer him to keep his distance for now. Besides, the fact that she’d been abused didn’t mean the woman was harmless.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I will be.” Her chin took on a determined thrust. She withdrew her hand and turned away from him, her spine as rigid as a poker. “Now, as I remember, we came down here to look at the furniture,” she said.
Ruby’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light. She focused her gaze on the jumble of broken chairs, torn cushions and detached bed parts, doing her best to ignore the powerful man beside her.
Ethan had insisted he hadn’t meant to hurt her. She wanted to believe him. But when he’d seized her wrist and yanked her toward him, all the old instincts had kicked in. She’d fought him—fought him like she’d tried to fight Hollis until the night her husband had fractured her jaw. After that, she’d simply clenched her teeth and taken her punishment…up until the night he’d gone too far.
Those ten years of abuse were branded on her brain and seared along her nerves. The memories came back as violent dreams that jolted her awake in the night, leaving her shaken and drenched with sweat. The physical and emotional reflexes were, if anything, even worse. For a time, Ruby had hoped they would heal. Now she feared they would never go away.
“How did your husband die, Ruby?”
Her throat jerked tight. She willed herself to breathe before she spoke. “Are you in the habit of asking such personal questions?”
“Not usually. But you’re an intriguing woman. I’m curious about you.”
“Well, take your curiosity someplace else,” she said. “I prefer to keep private matters private.”
One dark eyebrow slithered upward. Ruby gave herself a mental kick. She should have lied, told him that Hollis had died of something ordinary, like influenza or heart failure. That would have been the end of it. Now the man would be more curious than ever.
Dutchman’s Creek was a small town. Sooner or later, she knew, word of her scandalous past was bound to spread. But Ruby had resolved to keep the secret for as long as she could. She needed time to establish a good reputation. Her daughters needed time to make friends. She wasn’t about to reveal her story to a man she’d just met.
“Look!” she exclaimed, seizing on a distraction. “Could that be a table behind that old bed frame?”
“Where?” He leaned close to follow the line of her pointing finger. “I don’t—”
“Right over there. I could be wrong. It’s hard to tell from here. If you could move a few things out of the way…”
Striding forward, he lifted a chair off the top of the stack, wiped away the dust and set it upright, next to her. “Have a seat. We might as well spread everything out. Then you can choose whatever strikes your fancy, and I’ll earn my keep by hauling it upstairs.”
“Fine.” Ruby moved back out of the way before settling with her hands in her lap.
“Speak up if you see something you can use.” Ethan set to work, lifting the lighter pieces—stools, kitchen chairs and empty wooden crates—off the stack and setting them on the floor. Many of the items were broken. The best of them needed a good scrubbing and a fresh coat of paint. But never mind that. As the minutes passed, Ruby found herself paying less attention to the furniture and more to the man.
Ethan moved with a healthy animal power. Muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he freed each piece of furniture and moved it effortlessly onto the floor. Even the heavier items—solid armchairs, bulky chests, metal bedsprings—caused him little strain. He had the body of a man who’d led a vigorous life, not a scholar who’d devoted his days to research and teaching.
His face was weathered by sun and wind. His big hands were strong, the skin lightly mottled, as if something had scarred them. Ruby had never claimed to be a keen judge of men, but even she could surmise that he hadn’t told her the truth.
If Ethan Beaudry was a college history professor, she was the queen of Sheba!
So who was he? What was he really doing here? Maybe it was time she found out.
She rose and sauntered toward him, pausing to inspect a rocking chair with a missing arm. “So you’re on leave from your job, Professor. Where did you say you teach?”
“I didn’t say.” He righted a tilting chiffonier and moved it away from the wall. “But since you asked, it’s Oberlin College, in Ohio. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
“Is that where you’re from? Ohio? I must say, you don’t sound like it.”
He shot her a scowl. “For a woman who likes to keep private things private, you ask a lot of questions.”
“You’ll be sleeping under my roof. I have a right to ask questions, and to expect honest answers.”
“Is that so?” He fiddled with a loose drawer pull. “All right, then. I’m from Oklahoma. Elk City, to save you the trouble of asking.”
“Do you have family there?”
His jaw tightened. “Not anymore.”
“Why do you say that? Did they move away? Did something happen to—”
“That’s enough,” he snapped, cutting off her words. “No more questions, Ruby. And no more answers. I’ll pay my rent on time and treat you like the lady you are. But nobody has the right to pry into my past.”
Stung by his vehemence, Ruby checked the impulse to back away. Summoning her courage, she took a step toward him and raised her eyes to meet his stony gaze. Her heart was pounding like a runaway locomotive. Could he hear it, echoing in the dark chamber of the cellar?
“It seems we have that much in common, at least,” she said coldly. “Let’s declare a truce. I’ll respect your privacy if you’ll respect mine. That should be suitable for both of us. Agreed?”
He stood glowering at her, tall and strong and over-poweringly masculine. He could break her bones with his bare hands if he chose to, Ruby thought. But the emotion that poured through her body wasn’t fear. Heaven help her, she wanted to feel his hands on her again. She hungered for a second helping of the sensual pleasure he’d ignited when he caught her in his arms and lowered her to the floor.
Leave before it’s too late! a voice of caution inside her urged. But Ruby’s feet would not obey. She stood rooted to the floor, straining toward him like a grass stem reaching for the sun.
The darkness pressed around them, intimate in its silence. She could hear the low rush of his breathing and smell the clean, musky-sweet aroma of his sweat. A warm, liquid ache rose from the depths of her body.
“Maybe we should just stop talking altogether.” His voice had gone thick and husky. Heat sizzled over her skin as he bent closer. Her lips parted, anticipating his kiss.
What if she couldn’t do this?
What if she froze in panic, as she’d done almost every time Hollis had touched her?
This was a mistake. She wasn’t ready. Maybe she never would be.
A whimper escaped her throat. She stumbled backward, shattering the tension between them. Ethan watched in silence as she battled for composure. His dark eyes held a world of unspoken questions.
Questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
She drew herself up and faced him again. “Perhaps we’d both be better off if you stayed at the hotel,” she said.
His gaze hardened. “Ruby, if you’re afraid that I’d—”
“Of course not!” Her cheeks blazed with heat. “It’s just that—”
From the house above them, a muffled rapping interrupted her words. Someone was knocking on the front door.
Ethan froze, instantly alert. Wheeling away from him, Ruby raced up the cellar steps and into the blinding sunlight.
The kitchen door stood open, as she’d left it. From the front of the house, the rapping came again, more insistently this time. Ruby raced through the kitchen and dining room, into the parlor. Maybe Jace and Clara had brought the girls into town. Or maybe Marshal Sam Farley was coming by to check on her, as he’d promised Jace he would. Whoever it was, they’d be welcome. Being alone with Ethan was wearing down her all-too-fragile defenses.
Ruby wanted to make a good impression on the townsfolk, and that included being a proper hostess. If only she’d had the foresight to buy some cookies or cake from the bakery up the street and brew a pot of tea! It was too late for that now, and of course the house was an impossible mess. Why hadn’t she been better prepared?
Hastily pinning up her hair and tugging her blouse closed, she hurried across the parlor and flung the door open.
Two men, both strangers, stood on the front porch.
The older, shorter of the pair was well into middle age, his heavy features punctuated by a Roman nose. The younger man, who looked to be in his late twenties, had mousy brown hair and a receding chin. Both of them were dressed in mail-order brown suits and matching fedoras. Despite the lack of resemblance, Ruby surmised they were father and son. Only the father was smiling.
“Thaddeus Wilton,” he said, extending his hand. “I just heard today that someone had bought this old house. As mayor of Dutchman’s Creek, it’s my pleasure to welcome you to our town.”
Ruby accepted the proffered handshake. The mayor’s palm was baby smooth, his prolonged clasp uncomfortably warm.
“Ruby Denby Rumford. I’m happy to meet you.” Ruby extricated her fingers and took a step backward. “Won’t you come in? Please excuse the condition of the place. I’ve barely had time to start on the cleaning.”
“Perfectly understandable, my dear.” The mayor stepped across the threshold, removing his hat to reveal a polished mat of ebony hair. “Allow me to present my son, Harper.”
“Ma’am.” Harper Wilton gave her the barest inclination of his head. His neutral expression appeared to have been chiseled on his face. Only his basalt-colored eyes moved, glinting like a reptile’s.
“Mind the broken glass. I had a slight mishap this morning.” Ruby scurried ahead of the pair to place two chairs near the window. “Please forgive me for not having refreshments to offer you. I’ll need to scrub the cupboards before I can unpack my kitchen things.”
The mayor lowered himself onto the nearest chair. A ray of sunlight revealed the edge of his slick black toupee. “Quite all right, my dear,” he said. “In fact, since you’re still getting settled here, we’d be honored if you’d join us for dinner at the hotel this evening. I own the place, so I can guarantee you a good meal.”
The offer caught Ruby off guard. “Oh, really, you needn’t go so far as—”
“Please say yes, my dear,” the mayor interrupted. “Since you’ll be part of our community, we’d like to get to know you better. And we can tell you a great deal about this house. It used to belong to my late wife’s aunt. In fact, Harper was born here, weren’t you, Harper?”
“Can’t say as I remember.” Harper hadn’t taken a seat. He stood just inside the door, leaning against the frame. His gaze flickered as if scanning every detail in the room. His behavior was beginning to make Ruby nervous.
She glanced toward the kitchen. Evidently, Ethan had decided not to show himself—strange behavior for a man who claimed to be writing a book about Colorado. One would think the mayor would be the first person he’d want to meet.
Maybe he was just being mindful of her reputation. But she wouldn’t bet money on it. Ethan Beaudry, she sensed, had his own secret agenda. And her only chance of dealing with him lay in discovering what it was.
Ethan pressed against the wall behind the kitchen door. The narrow space along the frame allowed him a limited view of the parlor. From what he could see, Ruby’s visitors looked harmless enough, but appearances could be deceiving. In any case, the mayor’s reason for stopping by with his hatchet-faced son clearly went beyond sociability. Every time the strutting peacock called Ruby my dear, Ethan felt his teeth clench. Was it a simple case of a man playing up to a beautiful woman? Or did Mayor Thaddeus Wilton have some darker purpose in mind?
He took a moment to weigh the possibilities. If the mayor and his son were involved in the moonshine trade, it made sense that they’d stop by to make contact with the house’s new owner. They’d spoken to Ruby as if meeting her for the first time. But that didn’t mean it was true. She could easily have given them a signal, warning them that someone might be listening.
Weighing the facts, Ethan speculated that all three of them could be up to their necks in illegal activity.
Or it could be that the scene in the parlor was as innocent as a damn Sunday-school picnic!
Easing along the wall toward the open back door, he returned to the yard and went back down the cellar stairs. It wouldn’t do for Ruby and her new friends to catch him eavesdropping. In any case, he should be able to hear what went on from under the floor. He’d spotted a battered study desk beneath a six-foot roll of moth-eaten carpet. Extricating it would give him reason enough to be down here. Meanwhile, he could keep his ears open.
“I insist that you be our guest, my dear!” The mayor’s booming voice filtered through the floorboards overhead. “Some of the town’s most important citizens dine at the hotel. We can introduce you to the right people, get you off to a good start.”
The silence that followed suggested hesitation. Dared he hope Ruby didn’t like the oily pair? But what difference did it make? She was only a woman, after all—prettier than most, but with no less than her share of faults. He could take what she had to offer and walk away tomorrow, Ethan told himself. And maybe he would.
He’d come close to kissing her—close enough to know that the 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.
