The Widowed Bride. Elizabeth LaneЧитать онлайн книгу.
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