Elizabeth Lane - The Widowed Bride

She was damaged goods—damaged to the roots of her soul.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you something to drink.” She glanced toward the front door. Ethan realized it was his cue to leave. But he wasn’t ready to walk out on what might be his best chance to learn more about her.

“You say you just bought this property?” He righted the chair, inviting her to sit.

“Yes. I signed the papers two days ago.” She sat on the edge of the seat, clasping her fingers in her lap. “I’ll be open for boarders as soon as I get the place cleaned up—if the spiders will let me.” Her edgy little laugh deepened the dimples in her cheeks. Ethan swore silently. Why did she have to be so damn appealing?

“Don’t you have anyone to help you?” he asked.

“Nobody that I can afford to pay. My brother offered to come, but I didn’t want to impose on him.” She glanced down at her hands, then met his eyes again. Her long lashes were the color of molasses taffy. “How was it you were able to hear me and rush right in, Mr. Beaudry? You must have been close by.”

“Please call me Ethan. And yes, I was out for some morning air, just passing this place when I heard you. It was pure luck.”

Lie number one. Ethan had been keeping an eye on the vacant boarding house since his arrival a week ago. The recent passage of the Eighteenth Amendment, outlawing the manufacture, transportation and selling of alcohol for consumption, had spawned an epidemic of illegal whiskey stills and a network of criminal activity. The U.S. Marshals Service had been assigned the job of law enforcement in this matter.

The back cellar of the hitherto-empty boardinghouse was a suspected drop-off spot for illegal moonshine whiskey, to be loaded onto trucks and hauled away for clandestine sale in places like Denver, Omaha and Kansas City. Ethan had seen tire tracks and boot prints leading around the building though he had yet to catch anyone in the act. But identifying the deliverymen wasn’t why he’d come to Dutchman’s Creek. He was after the boss who was running the operation, not his errand boys.

Which led to the question of the scrumptious widow Rumford. If she’d been placed here to provide a safe link between buyers and sellers, then she was as dangerous as a spitting cobra. But if she’d bought the old boardinghouse in complete innocence, heaven help her, she could be in more peril than she knew.

“So, what is it you do?” she asked.

Ethan’s cover story, devised by some pencil pusher in the head office, was well rehearsed. “I’m a history professor, taking a year’s leave to write a book about Colorado. This town struck me as a peaceful place to settle down for a few months and concentrate on my work.”

Lie number two. Blatant, but necessary.

She studied him, one delicate eyebrow arching upward. “So you’re new in town? I must say, you don’t look like a professor.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Ethan leaned against a dusty sideboard, his mind working. Having stumbled into this situation, he’d be a fool not to put it to use.

“I have a business proposition for you,” he said. “Right now I’m staying at the hotel. But it’s expensive and noisier than I’d like. I know you need help and that you can’t afford to pay for it. Would you be open to my moving in here and lending you a hand—say, in exchange for my first week’s room and board?”

Emotions played across her face as she weighed his offer. Ethan could pretty well guess what was going on in that lovely head. He was a stranger, and they’d be spending time alone together. Would she be safe with him? Would her reputation suffer from his presence?

Then again, he could be wrong. Ruby Rumford could have dark motives of her own. If she suspected he was lying and wanted to trap him, he might already be in trouble. But that was a chance he’d have to take.

“I’d be happy to work for the pleasure of helping a lady,” he added. “But something tells me, if you wouldn’t accept free help from your brother you wouldn’t accept it from me. This arrangement would be fair, and it could work well for both of us. So, do we have a deal?”

Hesitation flickered in her eyes. Her amply curved bosom strained the fabric of her blouse as she took a deep breath. “You could have your choice of the rooms. But your meals would be a problem at first. I won’t be able to cook until the kitchen’s set up.”

“I can make do until then. The food at the hotel is all right, but I’ll confess I’ve been hankering for some good old-fashioned home cooking.”

“Then I suppose we have a deal, as you say.” Her smile wavered as she stood. “Come on, I’ll show you the rooms.”

She led the way up the wooden stairs, giving him the pleasure of following behind. With each step, the fabric of her narrow khaki skirt molded to her buttocks, setting his fantasies ablaze. He imagined his hands cupping those rounded moons as he thrust deep between her legs into her tight, wet warmth, pushing toward that instant of blessed release.

Would she be willing to play by his rules—no messy emotions, no promises, no tears when he walked away for good? A man could never be sure of such things. But a woman like Ruby, delectable, mature and unattached, would certainly know the game. At the very least, he could have a hell of a good time teaching her.

Damn!

Ethan brought himself up with a mental slap. He was here to break up a bootlegging ring, not seduce his luscious landlady. If Ruby proved to be involved with the smugglers, he could end up hauling her pretty ass to jail. He’d be smart to remember that when his mind strayed below his belt.

But meanwhile, there was nothing wrong with enjoying the view.

The four upstairs rooms were of equal size, with a common bathroom off the central hallway. The plumbing had been added after the house was built and was crude at best. But at least the place had a flush toilet and a tub with running water for the tenants. Downstairs, there was only a toilet and basin for Ruby and the girls. They would have to make do with a washtub or wait their turn to bathe on the second floor.

It was a far cry from the grand mansion she’d shared with Hollis in Missouri. But at least their lives here would be safe and peaceful. Ruby could only hope her daughters would adjust to their reduced circumstances.

Ethan Beaudry was prowling from room to room, pausing to check the view from each of the windows. He moved like a panther, lithe, alert and powerful, his presence filling every space he entered.

Watching from the hallway, Ruby tried to imagine him lecturing to a gallery of students. The picture refused to come together. But then, what did she know? She’d married at nineteen and never attended college. Her only idea of a professor was the aging, bespectacled stereotype she’d read about in books. There was no reason a professor couldn’t be tall and darkly handsome, was there?

A flash of memory brought back that brief instant in Ethan’s arms. Her senses reveled in the clean, leathery smell of him and the manly contours of his body. Her legs heated and softened beneath her skirt. Oh, this wasn’t good. Not good at all.

With a deep breath, she willed the memory away. She was a businesswoman and the man was her tenant, nothing more. She would remember that even if she had to remind herself every ten minutes.

Ethan seemed more interested in the back rooms than the two in front. Again, he checked the windows, pressing close enough to see the muddy backyard below. Not that there was anything down there to see—just rutted tracks where people had left their cars and wagons when they came into town; maybe teenagers as well, who might have used the secluded spot as a late-night lovers’ lane.

According to the real estate agent, the place had been vacant for nearly a year. The bank had taken it over when its previous owner, an elderly woman, had passed away, leaving an unpaid mortgage. Ruby was just beginning to discover the old boardinghouse’s secrets. But then, she had secrets of her own. Maybe in time she’d begin to feel a sort of kinship with the old place. Maybe in time it would even become home.