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As if it couldn’t get any worse, the look on Della’s face made Florie’s heart stop.
Chapter Four
Cord rushed out of the jailhouse door as soon as footsteps sounded on the boardwalk. “How’s—” He paused, not sure how to question Anna and Elsie about Florie’s condition.
“Mama says to tell you Miss Florie’s doing just fine, Marshal,” Elsie said, handing him a basket.
“Yep, just fine,” Anna repeated, handing her basket through the open doorway to Spencer Monroe. “She’s eating breakfast and getting ready to have a bath.”
“Thanks, girls,” Spencer said, taking the basket from Cord’s hand. Cord watched Della’s daughters skip off the stoop, wondering if what they said was true. Florie had been too pale for a quick recovery. Maybe he should send the doc over just to make sure.
“Florie?” Spencer questioned, staring at him.
Not ready to discuss Florie with anyone, Cord pushed his way into the office. The prisoners were awake, arguing amongst themselves. He hadn’t spoken to them yet, wanted to wait until the girls had dropped off breakfast in case things became heated.
“Quit your bickerin’ or you won’t get any breakfast. None of you,” Monroe shouted at the cell as he set both baskets on the desk. He turned to Cord. “I still can’t believe those are the same boys that robbed all those trains and banks. They don’t have but one brain betwixt the four of them.”
“The robbing happened while their oldest brother was alive. Orson was the mastermind. The rest of them counted on him to tell them what to do,” Cord explained, glaring at the cell.
“I’d say,” Monroe agreed, lifting away the cloths covering the baskets.
“Orson died in a raid down in Missouri two years ago.” Cord tapped a fat envelope on the desk corner. “Says in there another brother was wounded then, too. I’m guessing he died, too, considering we have four in jail and the one hasn’t shown up anywhere.” He spoke toward the cell, catching the prisoners’ attention.
They watched him cross the room. “You boys did most of your robbing in Missouri. What made you cross the state line?”
Billy, the youngest, opened his mouth, but the one named James elbowed him.
They were rough, dirty men, and the thought of any of them touching Florie had Cord’s insides brewing. “You boys know a family named Rockford?”
Another one, skinny with watery eyes, guffawed.
“Shut up, Ned,” James said, without breaking the steady gaze he had on Cord.
Fury ate at Cord. It was apparent the gang had been at Florie’s place. “If I find out you harmed that girl or her mother,” Cord said, glaring directly into James’s beady eyes, “you’ll pay for more than robbing the MKT.”
The hairs on his neck snapped to attention. Cord turned toward the youngest brother. “What did you say, Billy?”
“Shut up, Billy. Save it for the judge,” James insisted.
“What did you say, Billy?” Cord asked again. He could have sworn he’d heard Florie’s name muttered.
Billy stared at his feet as he shuffled them back and forth.
“He didn’t say nothin’, Marshal, and he ain’t gonna,” James spat.
Cord’s jaw was set so hard, his back teeth ached. He glared into the cell, watched as all four brothers backed away from the flat iron bars. The air in the room was charged, crackling like a green-wood fire. He didn’t need to say anything. They knew they’d met their match, and he was proud of it.
Justice had always brought Cord satisfaction. Knowing a man, no matter how downtrodden, received a fair trial was something he fought for, but right now, believing one of these four had touched his Florie made his hands curl into fists.
“The wire came in this morning,” Monroe said, next to his shoulder. “The escorts from Missouri will be here this evening.”
Cord had half a mind to tell Spencer Monroe everything. He’d understand. Not only was he his deputy, but he was also his best friend, the one other man who’d sworn off marriage. Cord frowned, and then spun around. “Give them their breakfast. They’ll need it for the trip ahead of them.”
Monroe’s thoughtful gaze went from Cord and back to the cell a couple of times before he walked back to his desk to dish up the plates he’d set out.
Cord walked to the potbellied stove in the corner. He plucked a cup from the shelf overhead and filled it with steaming coffee. Where was Florie’s husband? Why hadn’t he protected her from the brothers? Or from him for that matter. Faintly he seemed to recall something about gold mines in Colorado.
