Lauri Robinson – Disobeying the Marshal (страница 2)

The determination he used to uphold the law spiked within him. “It’s all right, Florie,” he vowed. “I promise, everything will be all right.”

Qualms ate at her stomach as Florie watched Cord open the door, and they grew even more when she stepped into the large house. The interior was dim and full of unknown mysterious shapes. Moonlight flowing in the open doorway bounced off the glass chimney of a tall lamp sitting on a nearby table as Cord lifted it and struck a match.

Florie focused on breathing. If possible, Cord was more handsome than she remembered. Being this close and not falling into his arms was pure agony. She pressed a hand to her stomach and begged for the strength to do what she had to do.

His fingers wrapped around hers and once again he led and she followed. She’d follow him to the end of the earth if he wanted. Right now, he led her beyond the foyer and into a front parlor, complete with upholstered furniture, wicker tables and large pots of lush ferns. The room was so big it held a massive player piano in the far corner.

For a moment she found herself captivated. Trapped by the luxury. Oh, to live in such comfort would be a fairy tale. Her mind snapped and a shiver raced up her spine. What was she doing? This wasn’t a fairy tale, and she didn’t belong in El Dorado. Hadn’t seven years ago, and didn’t now. No matter what she dreamed, she was here for one thing.

“Florie?”

Cord’s voice sent her heart to her throat. She plucked at the folds of her skirt. It was filthy, as was her body. During the long walk, none of that had been a concern, but upon entering El Dorado, seeing the women dressed in ruffles and lace, she’d taken stock of her apparel, which had led her to the back door of her mother’s saloon, willing to ask for a bath and clothes. She’d changed over the years, but had no doubt Marie would remember her. Just as she had seven years ago when Uncle Milt had delivered a restless fourteen-year-old to the saloon shortly after Grandma had died. Marie had been willing to provide a roof over her head, but at the time, it wasn’t what Florie had thought she wanted, and after a few months, she’d run away. Then she’d been a strong-willed, fanciful girl. Now, she was a woman who knew dreams didn’t come true—not the good ones anyway.

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.

Chapter Two

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.