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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.
