Disobeying the Marshal (2 page)

Regret welled inside Florie. The home Marie had provided was far better than the Rockford farm, but that wasn’t the reason she’d, once again, run from the only home she had.

“What’s happened, Florie? Why are you here?” Cord asked.

Florie lowered onto the couch and took a deep breath. It was too late to turn back. She was here. Glancing up was a mistake. The way he cast those caring eyes at her had her heart pounding and her insides growing warmer by the second. The uncanny way he made her feel was scandalous for sure, and she’d thought of little else since he’d left her house three months ago.

Could she tell him everything? Right now, gazing at him, it was hard to think. She begged her senses to remain, and settled her gaze on his shoulder, the exact spot she’d dug out the bullet. “How’s your wound?”

A deep frown formed between his hazel eyes. “Fine. What did you want to tell me?”

Twirling and twisting, her mind sought to pull up something besides the images she treasured. The ones of them alone, together. The ones she dreamed of reliving.

“Florie?” He knelt down in front of her.

He was so handsome—and honorable. The urgency she’d felt back at the farm zipped through her, settling real terror in her chest. “Those men you were chasing that day you were shot. It was the Winter gang, wasn’t it?”

“Were they at your house?” he asked. “Did they do this to you?”

Fear burned her throat as she whispered, “They’re after you, Cord. They’re going to kill you.”

His hand cupped her cheek. “The Winter brothers won’t hurt me.” His gaze never wavered. “Answer me. Did they do this to you?”

“They might already be in town, Cord, you have to leave, or…” She bit her lips. The desire to wrap her arms around him and hold on was so strong she trembled from head to toe. She’d put his life in danger, and now she had to save him. Had to. “I came—”

“How’d you get here?” he interrupted.

There was such care and concern in his eyes it hurt to breathe. She’d never imagined someone would look at her like that. “I walked,” she answered.

“That’s over seventy miles.”

The blisters, throbbing without mercy on the bottoms of her feet, reminded her of every mile. There had been no choice. The brothers had been so angry when they’d got home and Rosalie told them what had happened. To her credit, Rosalie had stopped the brothers from being too harsh, and she’d sent Florie to the barn when the boys had started drinking. Knowing she had to get to Cord before the brothers did, Florie never went to the barn. She hadn’t followed the road, either, and had traveled mostly at night, hiding during the day in whatever brush she could find.

“Where’s your mother, Florie?”

She knew he referred to Rosalie, and she had to tell him the truth before guilt swelled her throat closed. “Rosalie Rockford isn’t my mother.” She should never have let him believe otherwise. It had been wrong. At first it hadn’t mattered and later, when it had, she’d been too overwhelmed, too enthralled and drawn to him to think of anything but being cradled in those thick, brawny arms. He’d taken her away that night. They’d never left the bed, but emotionally, mentally and in a deep, powerful, physical way, she’d journeyed to a place that was as close to paradise as one could find on earth. The cherished memory caused heat to swirl deep inside her center. She closed her eyes at the sensation.

“She’s not?” he asked.

Florie drew in a long breath, sending it to the bottom of her lungs, and opened her eyes to focus on the here and now. Even with the dread of what she had to say, knowing he’d soon despise her, she ached for his touch. “Rosalie Rockford,” she whispered, almost choking, “is my mother-in-law.”

Cord’s hand slipped from her face, leaving a chill to ripple her skin. He sat back on his haunches, stiffening his spine slowly. His ruddy, sun-darkened skin paled and he slightly shook his head while asking, “You’re married?”

Florie bit her bottom lip, begging the sting to override the pain exploding in her chest. She wanted to justify herself, explain everything in a way he’d understand, but, ultimately, there was no excuse for her behavior that night.

Hating herself, she nodded.

Cord fought to contain the disbelief filling his system. She couldn’t be married. Not Florie. Not the woman he loved.

He stood, but the memories continued to flow. His injuries had dulled his mind, and the days alone with Florie, having her doctor his wounds and care for his fever, had allowed them to form a bond that had quickly heightened when he’d regained full consciousness. Even if the blizzard hadn’t hit that night, even if he hadn’t invited her under the covers beside him—an innocent act to share the warmth—it would have happened anyway. They’d become in tune with one another over those days, to the point where the air inside the little cabin had snapped and sizzled.

As vivid as his memories were, there was one he’d never contemplated until this moment. She hadn’t been a virgin. There’d been no timid, awkward moments in their lovemaking, and no maiden barrier slowing their heated joining.

His body reacted to the visions his mind created, growing hard and heated beneath his clothing. He walked across the room, pressed a hand against the wall. Florie’s naked body, hot and supple, had slid on top of him. With one arm bandaged and the opposite leg swollen and bruised, his movements had been somewhat hindered, but that hadn’t stopped the ultimate union that had left them both gasping for air.

Movement shattered the memories. He twisted, grasping Florie’s elbow as she drifted toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“I…uh…I,” she stuttered, “n-need to find a room for the night.”

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying to loosen his tense body, he searched his mind for options. Ultimately, he came up with nil. “There’re plenty of spare rooms right here,” he said.

She wobbled. “I-I can’t stay at your house.”

It was his fault. All of it. He hadn’t laid a hand to her, but the bruise on her cheek was his fault. Who knew the rest of the harm he’d caused her. “You’re so exhausted you can barely stand,” he insisted. She’d be safe here. It was the least he could do.

He led her to the staircase. Spring had arrived, and with it came warmer nights that didn’t require a fire in one of the many fireplaces, but the chill overcoming him was more bitter than the January wind that had filled her cabin that night. Maybe it was just his heart freezing over. Florie was married. Of all the thoughts he’d had—millions of them—in the past months, not one of them had included that scenario.

“This isn’t necessary, Cord, I can find a place to—”

“No,” he insisted, “you won’t.” He bit his tongue. Yes, he was frustrated, but that didn’t give him call to snap at Florie.

“Cord, I—”

“Florie,” he interrupted. In that brief moment of silence, gunshots echoed outside the house. Cord clenched his fists. Not now, he wanted to scream. Fate had a way of winning, always did. Always would. This untimely call of duty proved it. Cursing beneath his breath, Cord moved toward the door, opening it to peer down the street.

“Cord?” Florie’s hand wrapped around his arm.

As if someone knew the war fighting inside him, more shots rang out. Cord could have thrown his badge on the ground right then and there, but his deep-set vow would never allow that to happen. “Stay here,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

She gripped his arm tighter. “No, Cord. It might be the Winter brothers.”

His nerves, grinding against each other, grew raw, as did his throat. “It’s not the Winter brothers.” But it was someone, and it was his duty to see who. As much as he hated to leave, he nodded toward the staircase. “There are several rooms upstairs. Pick one and get some rest, Florie. You look done in.”

Fear seeped from her eyes, and the sight tore chunks from his heart. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. The action meant to soothe her fears was torture to him. He pointed to the spare key on the table beside the lamp. “Lock the door behind me.” Knowing he couldn’t dawdle any longer, Cord spun around and hurried out the door.

Spencer Monroe, the best deputy any lawman could hope for, was already running down the road, toward the rail station. Cord shot a glance over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Florie standing in the doorway. Torn between returning to her and covering Spencer’s back, Cord’s steps faltered. The Winter brothers were in jail, and there wasn’t a safer place for her than in his house. With the battle still waging inside him, he waved a hand, gesturing for her to get inside.

Florie pushed the door shut, not wanting Cord’s mind to be distracted by her. The tenderness of his kiss still flowed through her veins. Blinking through the tears welling in her eyes, she picked the lamp off the side table and made her way into the parlor, where she extinguished the other lamps he’d lit.

“Dear Lord,” she whispered, “protect him. He’s such a good man.” There was little else she could do—her past had taught her that. Men would leave and women would wait. Back in the foyer, she locked the door and then glanced to the curved banister guiding a large set of stairs to the second floor as she walked to the open archway that led to a kitchen.

The room was as large as the other, boasting a table with half a dozen chairs, cupboards, an icebox and a large stove with overhead warming ovens. She found the back door and checked that it was locked. If the brothers weren’t in town yet, they soon would be, and she hoped they wouldn’t discover which house was Cord’s. A bowl of apples in the middle of the table reminded her how long it had been since she’d eaten anything. She plucked one from the bowl, but the thought of eating made her insides churn. Tucking the fruit in her pocket, she left the room.

Cord’s familiar scent hung in the air, and she drew in a deep breath. Her skin tingled, recalling the blissful coupling they’d shared months ago. It had been the most amazing thing. Her stomach fluttered, and she pressed a hand to the babe growing inside her—proof she hadn’t imagined their act.

Being pregnant by a man she wasn’t wed to should be shameful, but the babe filled Florie with such an immense, continuous joy, there was no room left for regret. For as long as she could remember she’d yearned for love, and now she’d have it. She’d love her baby beyond all else. Already did, and would do whatever it took to keep her child safe forevermore.

Carrying the lamp, she climbed the stairs. Doors decorated the long hall, and one particular room beckoned her. Upon entering, an invisible wave of security told her it was Cord’s. Her heart skipped a beat. She raced to the window and lifted the sash. The wind rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and an owl hooted. She listened harder, but wasn’t able to detect the sounds of Sister Marie’s, let alone any gunshots. Cord was smart. Smarter than the brothers. He wouldn’t be lured into a trap by them. Would he?

Another thought blasted her like icy rain. The brothers would make her pay for warning Cord. So would Rosalie.

She shut the window and hurried from the room. In the hall, she leaned against the wall, her throbbing feet screamed for reprieve and her heart hung as heavy as her tired limbs. Knowing she would soon collapse if she didn’t sit down, Florie pushed off the wall.

The room straight across the hall was as large as the other. Besides the colorful quilt covering the mattress, another one was folded up to lie across the foot. Stumbling, she made her way to the bed. She removed her boots and, pulling the extra quilt up to her shoulders, she lay her head on a pillow.

The hardness of the apple in her pocket pressed against her hip. She set the fruit on the table beside the lamp, which she then blew out. The moon, full and bright, shone into the room, making the wood glisten and the tiny flowers on the wallpaper sparkle. A quiver vibrated her entire body.

She had to protect her baby. All the way from the farm, every step, she’d told herself she would tell Cord she was pregnant, and ask for his help. But now, here, in a house more elegant than she’d ever seen, she realized she couldn’t. She’d rest for a short time, and then…

Run away again.

Where to this time? Her mother? Marie hadn’t wanted to be a mother, and most likely didn’t want to be a grandmother, either. Florie didn’t blame her. Grandma had said Marie wasn’t to blame. Truth was, there was no one to blame. It was just life.

The dreams that lived inside her were nothing more than fairy tales. Nothing could change what she’d done. Who she was. Junior had tried. He’d known how badly she hated being married to an outlaw. Just one more ride, he’d always said. Just one more ride and then no matter what the brothers said, the two of them would leave.

She gulped for air, fighting as if she couldn’t take a breath. He’d hated it, too.

The Winter brothers rivaled the Dalton brothers when it came to train robbery, and only the James gang had robbed more banks.

The day Cord had ridden into the farm, bleeding and barely half-alive, something had sparked inside her. It was like he’d brought a piece of the outside world back into her life, and offered her a glimpse of what could be. She’d known he was a lawman, even before she’d taken off his heavy coat and found the badge pinned to his shirt. Rosalie had balked, refused to even help carry him inside. It had been a struggle, dragging him over the snow and across the rickety porch, but Florie had managed by herself.

Rosalie, furious at being disobeyed, had threatened to kill him, and may have if Ray Bolton, the neighbor man, hadn’t rode in just then, yelling that his wife, Charlotte, was in labor and needed help. Rosalie had left the homestead—with instructions that the lawman had best be gone before she returned. Florie had fretted all day, and prayed Cord would heal quickly. That night a storm had hit. The wind and snow made going to the barn treacherous. Thankful Rosalie wouldn’t make it home anytime soon Florie had devoted every moment of the next five days to Cord. In some ways it still seemed like a dream—especially that last night.

The moment Rosalie did return—the day after the freezing temperatures had enticed Florie to share the one bed the cabin held with Cord—the fairy tale shattered. After one look at Florie, Rosalie had chased Cord out of the door, threatening his life if he ever stepped foot upon their doorstep again.