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“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.”
