Читать книгу Disobeying the Marshal - Lauri Robinson - Страница 7

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.