Disobeying the Marshal (6 page)

Cord stuck his head through the doorway. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Trying to sound cordial in front of the child, Florie said, “All right.” Had the brothers escaped? Another fear entered. Rosalie would blame Florie for their capture, and compared to their mother, the boys were kittens.

“I expect you to be here,” Cord said, eyeing her seriously. “Our conversation is not over.”

He stared at her, long and hard, making her insides flip.

“’Bye, Marshal,” Elise said, breaking the thick silence.

After he nodded at the child, he turned. The front door thudded loudly as it closed.

Florie mustered up a smile for Elsie, and grabbed an apple, biting deeply into the shinny red skin. A chunk lodged in her throat. She coughed and swallowed, trying to dislodge it.

“You all right, Miss Florie?” Elsie asked, worry crossing her face.

Try as she might, she couldn’t cough up the apple. Patting her breastbone, Florie stumbled to the sink.

The air had grown hard in her chest and stars swam before her eyes when someone hit her square between the shoulder blades. “Cough it up, Florence! Cough it up!”

Another hard slap on her back sent the chunk of apple flying into the sink, followed by a gush of air.

Holding herself up with both hands braced on the sink, Florie turned, still gasping for air. “Hello, Marie,” she choked to her mother.

Cord’s fists were balled so tight, his knuckles throbbed. He flexed one, then the other hand, never once taking his eyes off the old woman sitting on the chair in the back room of his office.

“That’s the deal, Marshal. You either let my boys out, or I’ll tell the whole town how you got Florie in the family way and then left her out there on the plains.”

“Do you really think anyone is going to care what you say?”

“You do. So does Florie.”

His temper flared, and his jaw tightened as he fought to control it. Rosalie Rockford—or Winter as he now knew—was a shrew. His heart bled for the life Florie must have had with the woman, and he had to thank the heavenly stars Otis had caught Rosalie trying to sneak back into his barn again this afternoon.

“She’ll never be able to hold her head up in this town. Not with everyone knowing she bedded down with you without any nuptials being read.” Rosalie cast her beady eyes around the room, like a weasel sneaking into a henhouse. “Even her own mother will disown her.”

“Her mother?” Cord could have bit his tongue off. The woman already had one up on him. He didn’t need to give her any more satisfaction, but his thoughts were rolling like marbles in a box.

“Hmm, yes. Marie Hooper, down at Sister Marie’s, that’s Florie’s real momma.”

Cord, as composed as possible, leaned against the wall, needing the support. “I know,” he lied.

“No, you don’t. Or didn’t,” Rosalie corrected. “I can tell by how you’re twitchin’.” She played with the bow of her tattered bonnet, pretending to tighten it. “It don’t have to look like you just let them walk out. We can set up an escape of sorts. Even tell that paper man it was the boys’ ma that broke them out.”

“Paper man?”

“Yeah. Down there on the edge of Main Street. I talked to him earlier today.” She grinned, showing her remaining front teeth. “Of course, I didn’t tell him I was their momma.”

“Of course,” Cord said, disgusted. His temples throbbed and his insides churned. It all made sense, everything Rosalie had told him. Right down to the fact the Winter clan, other than Orson—while he was alive—lived in Kansas, which explained why the Missouri law couldn’t catch them.

A train whistle sounded, so common in El Dorado Cord barely heard them anymore, but this time he did. The long blast announcing the four-sixteen filtered into the room, and with it came something else. Being a lawman and the son of a railroad baron had perks. Cord, disguising the array of promising possibilities circling his head, walked across the room. “A jailbreak, huh?” he said carefully.

Rosalie’s grin increased as she nodded.

Florie waited until Elsie had entered Della’s back porch before she turned and closed the back door of Cord’s house.

“Come sit down, girl, I won’t bite,” Marie said from the chair she’d taken at the table while Florie rinsed out the sink and washed her face.

Florie sat, wringing her hands, straightening her skirt and wringing her hands again.

Marie was just as she remembered. Tall, slender, dark hair piled high on her head with elegant puffiness. Beautiful. The dress she wore was blue and shiny, like water glistening in the sun. Florie found herself wondering what it would have been like if she’d never run away with Junior.

“So, you’re carrying Cord Donavon’s baby.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and caused Florie’s insides to flip. “How—”

“Rosalie Winter stopped to see me today,” Marie explained.

That didn’t surprise Florie. The entire Winter family must have left the farm shortly after her. On horseback, the brothers would have traveled faster, but Rosalie must have walked, just as she had. Florie lifted her eyes, meeting Marie’s benevolent, but knowing gaze. The lump that formed in her throat was twice as large as the apple chunk had been.

“Your father was a lawman, too.” Marie let out a forlorn sigh. “J. T. Bowman. We were to be married. But he died. A week before our wedding and seven months before you were born.”

Florie’s hands went to her stomach. The mere idea of Cord… She stopped, blocked the thought. She’d cried when Junior had died, had been sincerely sad, but more for Junior than herself. He’d been so unlike the other brothers. The kind one. Joining the family’s shenanigans had bothered him terribly. Yet, Junior’s death could never compare to how she’d feel if Cord…

“Excuse me?” Florie apologized for not hearing what Marie had said.

“When J.T. died. I lost my mind.” Marie leaned back in her chair. “The doctor told my mother, your grandmother, to take me to an asylum up Kansas City way. That’s where you were born. She came and got you, but I stayed. I couldn’t take care of myself, let alone a baby. After about a year, I figured out I hadn’t lost my mind. Just my heart.” Marie sat straighter in her chair and waved a hand. “But that’s all in the past, insignificant really, and not why I came to see you.”

Florie met her mother’s gaze, and a forlorn ache tugged at her heart for what Marie had experienced. She couldn’t imagine being separated from her child any more than—

“I have means, Florence,” Marie said, interrupting Florie’s thoughts. “I’ve made a lot of friends over the years. Important friends.” Marie’s pause was weighted, and her gaze intense. “There are over a dozen trains rolling through El Dorado any day of the week. I can have you on one. No one will know. Nor will anyone know where you go. New York. San Francisco. I hear tell Florida is nice, too. I’ve got friends all over. Friends that will take you in. Take care of you until you get settled in your own place.”

A chill worked its way up Florie’s spine.

Marie shook her head. “I don’t mean a business like mine, Florence. I mean a nice house, with plenty of food, heat in the winter, even a maid to look after you and the baby. I’ll set you up a bank account. You’ll never have to worry about anything.” Marie pulled a kerchief from her dress sleeve and dabbed at the corner of one eye. “I owe you that much. More really. I should have come for you when you were little. I should have taken better care of you when your uncle dropped you off here.”

Florie gnawed on her bottom lip until she felt little bits of skin breaking loose. “I—”

“Rosalie said you saved Cord’s life,” Marie interrupted.

The simple thought of Cord chased away the foreboding filling her system, letting light in where darkness had loomed.

Marie’s expression changed. Grew thoughtful. “Florence,” she said, slowly. “Cord Donavon’s a good man. A real good man.”

In full agreement, Florie nodded.

“And he’ll want that babe growing inside you.”

Florie’s hands were on her stomach, caressing the precious life cradled in her womb, once again imagining how the baby might look like Cord.

“Does he know?”

Florie shook her head, but then, recalling Rosalie and the brothers, she shrugged. “Maybe.”

Marie glanced around the room. “He’ll treat you right, and there’s a big part of me that says he already loves you, or you wouldn’t be in his house.”

Florie pressed a hand to the warmth swelling inside her heart.

“It might be awkward at first, people will talk when the baby arrives, but they respect Cord too much to ever say anything publicly.” Marie let out a little laugh as she whispered, “Actually, second or third babies take nine months, but first ones, they usually arrive within six months of the wedding.” Her features grew serious again as she reached over and rested a hand on top of Florie’s. “Tell me something, honey. When you lay with Cord, do you close your eyes and think of other things? Do you wish he’d just finish and leave you alone, or does your mind leave you and you float to a place where it’s just you and Cord and you wish you could stay right there, with him, forever?”

Her cheeks were on fire, and Florie couldn’t have answered if she wanted to. Marie had defined the exact difference she had experienced. When Junior had bedded her, she’d prayed he’d hurry, counted off all the things she needed to do before he and the brothers left again. But with Cord, well, Marie had described how entirely different it was.

“You don’t have to answer, honey. It’s on your face.” Marie patted Florie’s fingers one last time before drawing her hand away. “As I see it, you have a decision to make. You can stay here, take the chance Cord loves you and accept the ribbing you might get from some, or you can take me up on my offer. It still stands. No one will ever know you’re carrying Cord’s baby. I’ll see to that, and send you anywhere you want to go, provide for you for the rest of your life.”

Cord approached the house cautiously, almost as if it was a hideout and Florie a wanted criminal. He had no way of knowing what her reaction to his deeds would be, and that scared him. A lamp was lit in the front parlor, but no shadows flickered in the glow. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours since he’d found her behind Sister Marie’s—her mother’s place!—yet he felt as if he’d aged ten years. Leastwise he’d learned more than he had in ten years. He now fully understood how deeply a person could love, and was willing to do whatever it took to prove that to Florie.

The door didn’t creak when he pushed it open, but he wished it had, giving a signal of some sort that he was home. He shut the door and moved into the parlor, which proved to be empty. Turning, he walked toward the kitchen. “Florie?”

The wall lamps were lit, burning brightly, and on the table sat one plate, one glass and one fork, all unused. His throat thickened. “Florie,” he said again, though it was more of a croak.

Something, a creak or thump, had him rushing toward the back door. As he pulled it open, someone pushed it from the other side. Relief, thankfulness and excitement all mingled together and had him drawing her into a solid hug. “Where were you?” he whispered.

“Just sitting on the porch. The stars are so beautiful tonight,” Florie answered, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I didn’t know when you’d be back.”

“I’m sorry. Things took longer than I expected.”

“I’ll warm your supper.”

“I’m not really hungry.” He could have added,
for food
, but didn’t. Instead he bowed his head, and took her lips, full and warm, and slightly moist. His mind shattered, forgetting everything of the day, the week, the year, as their lips played with one another. Coming home to her was a reprieve, like leaving the heat of the sun for the coolness of shade, or entering a room filled with the warmth of a fire after spending hours in the freezing wind. Something he never wanted to live without again.

He caught himself moments before his last bit of common sense disappeared—at which point he’d carry her upstairs to once again explore the secrets of her delicious body—and broke the kiss, unraveling his lips from hers like a man dragging his feet on the way to the gallows. He lowered his hands to settle on her hips, and met her gaze, seriously.

“Rosalie Winter was in to see me today.”

He held her upright when she momentarily drooped. As she drew a breath her spine stiffened and she removed her hands from his shoulders, ran them over her stomach. A vision of when they’d lain on the couch and he’d caressed her belly appeared before his eyes. He’d touched his child then, safe and warm, growing inside her.

“What did she want?” Florie asked, looking everywhere but at him.

“Her sons.”

She would have stepped away, had he not tightened his hold on her hips. Cord waited for her to speak, or protest.

“Did you arrest her?”

“No. Should I have?”

“She always said harboring outlaws was as bad as being one. That’s why we couldn’t tell anyone, because we’d go to jail as quick as the boys would.”

“Maybe,” he said.

She looked at him then. He wanted to kiss her again. Kiss away the apprehension glittering in her eyes. The trepidation marring her face. “Maybe?” she repeated.

“If there was cause to believe the ones harboring the outlaws were outlaws, then yes, they might be arrested.”

She shook her head. “I feel like you’re talking in circles.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Why?”

“Why’d you come to see me, Florie? What was so important you walked across two counties?” He knew, but wanted to hear her say it.

Her expression changed a hundred ways in mere seconds, but in the end, she took a deep breath, lifted her head and told him, “I’m in the family way, Cord, and the baby is yours.”

The thrill, the exhilaration those words brought him, had his toes tapping in his boots. Maintaining his composure, which was the hardest thing he’d yet done in twenty-eight years, he gave a brief nod. “I see.”

Her bottom lip was white where her teeth bore into it, but she held his gaze, never looking away while she nodded.