The Widowed Bride. Elizabeth Lane

as floppy as a big pancake. He wrestled with the cursed thing, tackling it from the side, from the middle and from the end, without being able to pick it up. From somewhere behind him came a delightful sound. It took him a moment to realize it was Ruby giggling. Her laughter was as sweet as a girl’s.

      He collapsed facedown across the mattress, letting the sound wash over him. Memories stirred inside him, blurred by pain and years—memories of love and happy warmth he had no wish to ever feel again.

      Ethan forced the memories from his mind. They faded slowly, like tears on sun-parched earth.

      How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to laugh? Ruby gazed down at Ethan’s prone body, savoring the giddiness that had swept over her. It was oddly comforting to know that this big, strong man had his limitations.

      “This strikes me as a job for two people,” she said.

      “So what does the lady have in mind?” He had risen onto one elbow. The look in his lazily sardonic eyes suggested he was in no hurry to get up. He was teasing her again, stopping just short of impropriety. Ruby struggled to ignore the thread of heat uncoiling in the depths of her body.

      “If you take one end of the mattress and let me steady the other, we should be able to carry it outside together,” she said. “Shall we try it?”

      A beat of silence passed. “Sounds like a good idea,” he said, rising and shifting to the foot of the bed. “We’ll tip the mattress onto its edge and slide it out the door. I’ll take this end. You take the other. Ready?”

      “Ready.” Ruby clasped the mattress where it lay against the headboard. With no place to grip, holding on was awkward at best.

      “Now.” He seized the foot of the mattress, tilting it until it slid off the spring and onto the floor. Ruby braced to keep her end upright. A rigid mattress would have been easy to support. But this one was as limp as a noodle. Wherever it wasn’t being held, it sagged.

      “Here we go.” Ethan backed out of the room, sliding the mattress along on one side. Ruby followed, swaying with effort. Perspiration drizzled down her throat to pool in the damp hollow between her breasts. The narrow space of the hallway lent some stability. But getting the thing through the parlor and dining room, into the kitchen and out the back door would be exhausting.

      Ethan backed out of the hallway and into the parlor, giving the mattress full play. Holding it was harder than ever now. Ruby’s legs were beginning to quiver. “We could lay it down and drag it across the room,” she suggested.

      “We’d just have to stand it up again to get it through the doors,” Ethan grunted. “We might as well—” His words ended in a curse as something clattered under his boot. Only then did Ruby remember the dustpan she’d left on the floor.

      Swearing out loud, Ethan lost his footing and went down, taking the mattress with him. The momentum yanked Ruby off her feet. She spun, staggered sideways and collapsed facedown with her legs sprawled across his.

      For a moment she lay stunned and gasping. A slow, sensual heat rose from the point of contact. She felt it tingle upward from her legs into her thighs, pool between her hips and flow upward to tighten her nipples into aching nubs.

      “Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do.” Ethan’s voice was a growl next to her ear. Turning her head, Ruby met his smoldering eyes. His face was no more than a handbreadth from her own, his mouth so near that the slightest forward movement would bring her lips into contact with his. Yearning rose inside her like a silent cry. She ached with the need to be kissed, to be cradled in tenderness and love by a man who respected and cared for her.

      Could Ethan Beaudry be that man?

      Did such a man even exist?

      She strained toward him, ever so slightly. Sensing her response, he brushed her mouth with his own, once, then again. His lips were weather chapped and clean to the taste, claiming hers with a sureness that spoke of an experienced lover. As he deepened the kiss, Ruby’s heart broke into a gallop. The heat between her thighs pulsed and liquefied. Bolts of sensation rippled through her body, awakening a hunger for more.

      With a low mutter he caught her waist and rolled her onto her back. Now he lay partly above her, his mouth plundering hers, his knee resting lightly between her legs. She felt the hardening pressure against the side of her hip. Instinctively she pressed against him, heightening the waves of shimmering need flowing between them. He groaned and shifted his weight, moving until his chest and pelvis settled into place, fitting her like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. “Tell me what you want,” he growled, his weight pressing down on her. “Tell me, Ruby.”

      Panic exploded in Ruby’s brain, shooting darts of ice through her body. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She was trapped and at his mercy. Her pulse slammed with irrational fear. She began to struggle.

      “Please…” she gasped. “Let me up. Let me go…”

      He rolled off her at once, his expression as dark as a thundercloud. “Lord, Ruby, what is it? Do you think I’m going to hurt you like your husband did? Don’t you know me better than that?”

      “Actually I don’t know you at all.” She sat up and began rearranging her blouse, fussing needlessly with the collar. “I’m aware that we agreed not to pry into each other’s pasts, but under the circumstances, you can hardly expect me to—”

      “Save your breath, lady. You don’t have to draw me a picture.” Ethan exhaled raggedly as he sat up. “Come on, let’s get this damn mattress out the door. For what it’s worth, I promise not to lay an ungentlemanly hand on you.”

      “Fine. And if I gave you the wrong impression, I’m sorry.” Ruby stood, turning away from him to hide her burning face. Ethan was one of the most compellingly attractive men she’d ever met. His kisses, and the casual contact of their bodies, had filled her with a pleasure so sweet she could have wept with it. But when he’d pressed her for more, she’d been unable to hold back the gut-clenching panic, the fear of being hurt again.

      Hollis was dead. She had fired the three shots that killed him and been acquitted of his murder. But it seemed that the memory of her late husband, who had so relished causing her pain, would never leave her in peace.

      Ethan had heaved the mattress back onto its edge. He and Ruby were scrambling to get it headed in the right direction when the knock came—this time as a discreet tap on the front door.

      “Oh!” Ruby dropped her end of the mattress and flew across the parlor. Letting the mattress sag to the floor, Ethan moved back into the hallway. Maybe the mayor and his son were making a return call. Whoever it was, he’d be smart to stay out of sight until he knew what was going on.

      From where he stood, he could see that Ruby had reached the front door. She hesitated a moment, smoothing her clothes and tucking in strands of hair that had come loose during their tussle on the mattress.

      It had been a delicious tussle, Ethan mused. Or, at least it might have been. Kissing her had been as sweetly intoxicating as sipping hot buttered rum. She’d responded with a hunger that seemed to match his own. Then, suddenly, it was as if he’d become her enemy. What was going on here? Had he done something to spook her or was the woman playing games with him?

      To say the least, Ruby Rumford was a challenge.

      But then, he’d enjoyed challenges before.

      The click of the latch jerked his attention back to the present. Ruby opened the door a few cautious inches, then swung it wide to reveal a rangy, slightly stooped man with a thatch of silver-white hair.

      “Hello, darling girl!” His voice was an old man’s, pleasantly gruff.

      “Sam!” She flung herself into his arms for a welcoming hug. Only as he released her to step away did Ethan see the silver star pinned to his worn tweed vest.

      Ethan’s memory clicked back to the briefing he’d been given for this assignment. The man would be Sam Farley, who’d