Disobeying the Marshal

by Lauri Robinson

  If the brothers hadn’t already told him everything, they soon would. She could at least tell him about Junior.

  The deep breath she inhaled lodged halfway in. “He died two years ago.” The act of saying Junior had died was a bit of a relief. Rosalie refused to allow the words to be spoken, even when it was just the two of them. “He’s buried back at the farm,” Florie continued, since Cord’s silence and expression said he didn’t quite believe her.

  “He’s dead?”

  She stepped out of his hold, needing the space to think. “We met here, in El Dorado,” she said, remembering finding Junior in the barn behind Sister Marie’s, a place she’d sought when the noise below the attic grew too strong to sleep through. “He was on his way to Colorado. Said there was so much gold there a person could just pick it up off the ground.”

  “Colorado?” Cord then asked, “When? How old were you?”

  “Fourteen. He was fifteen.” She walked to the window, pulled aside the curtain. “My grandmother had died, and my…the family I stayed with—” she shrugged, dropping the curtain “—I was a burden to them, so when Junior asked if I wanted to go with him. I did.”

  “Went to Colorado with him?”

  She shook her head. “No, we only made it as far as Dodge when his family found us. They brought us back to Greenfield.” A fog seemed to swirl around her, full of floating memories. “We got married there, and he went to…work.”

  “How did he die?”

  A bout of sadness rose up and welled around her heart. “I don’t really know. They brought him home wrapped in blankets. Rosalie wouldn’t let me look at him.” The mist was still throwing images at her. “He was only nineteen. Much too young.”

  His hand, gentle and tender, rubbed her upper arms. “I’m sorry for your loss, Florie.”

  She nodded. “Me, too.”

  Cord turned her around. Without a word, he folded her against his chest, held her tight. The comfort was so real, so right, she wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her head beneath his chin. The outside world seemed to float away, leaving her nothing to recall, nothing to worry about except how Cord rocked her to and fro, whispering softly.

  His hands rubbed her back, from hip to shoulder and down again, igniting sensations beneath her skin. She dug her fingers into the material of his shirt, recalling how glorious it had felt to stroke his hard yet subtle body.

  She’d relived their night together so many times, she had to know it wasn’t, once again, a dream. Her hands roamed to his sides and up his chest to lightly cup his cheeks, feel the heat of his skin. “Cord?” she whispered, needing to hear his voice.

  His gaze floated over her face. “Aw, Florie. Sweet, sweet, Florie.”

  The way he whispered her name, as if she was special or somehow out-of-the-ordinary, made her wobbly from the inside out. She wanted to close her eyes and cherish the moment, but was afraid he’d disappear if she did.

  She stood there, absorbed by the authenticity of tenderness in his gaze. He was real. Flesh and blood beneath her fingers. The swirling inside her grew balmy and overpowering. “Cord,” she whispered. “Take me away. Take me away like you did that night,” she pleaded, revealing the ultimate reason of her journey to El Dorado.

  “Florie.” He sounded as breathless as she felt. “You don’t—”

  She stretched on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his and quivering at the potent connection. “Please, Cord. It’s the reason I came here. I need you.”

  Her heart caught between beats. Stalling, waiting. Then it jolted, practically burst inside her chest as his lips captured hers. His kiss was fierce and soft, sweet and demanding, all at the same time.

  Cord’s hands tightened and lifted her against him. Enthralled, she looped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes and parted her lips.

  His kiss gave her a newfound life, transported her to a new world. As his tongue entered her mouth, twisted and teased hers, she grew mindless of everything except her and Cord. There simply wasn’t room for anything else in the commanding whirlwind of their touching, kissing. Taken away, she did little except feel. Ultimately. Wholly.

  She had a brief sense of reality while stretching her hands over her head for him to lift away her camisole, and another when he lifted her out of the tangled pile her dress and underclothes formed around her feet. He removed her boots then, after lowering her on the soft velvet cushions of the sofa. It was just like her fairy tale. She was unashamed of her nakedness, and more than eager for him to toss aside the boots and return to caressing her bare skin.

  He started at her toes, rubbing them and kissing them, and even suckling the little one, which tickled enchantingly. Inching upward, he played with and teased her feet, ankles, shins and knees. Each touch of his fingers, each brush of his lips, was heavenly sweet and yet tortuous. A keen need rose to anguishing proportions in her very core. She shifted on the velvet, parting her legs, presenting her eagerness for him to complete their coupling.

  A bout of feeble disappointment happened when he ignored her hint. Her discontent soon disappeared, or maybe, in a peculiar way, it heightened as his hands caressed her thighs, massaged her hipbones, and rubbed gentle circles over her stomach, while his lips kissed her skin in their wake. His continued teasing had her gasping and throbbing painfully. She grew feverish, in a healthy, happy-to-be-alive way.

  Florie grasped Cord’s head, combing her fingers deep into his thick hair, and tugged him upward. Now, she wanted to scream, take me now, but the words never formed. His mouth, hot and moist, had found her breasts. His hands were there as well, cupping the weight of each one as he took turns licking, nibbling and teasing her sensitive nipples. When he parted his lips fully and suckled deeply, she bit her tongue to keep from crying out at the all consuming pleasure.

  There seemed to be no end to Cord’s precious, divine torment, or the world he took her to. His suckling went on and on, until razor-sharp blades of desire infused her body. “Cord,” she whispered, pleadingly.

  His lips were on hers and his tongue teasing the inside of her mouth as deeply as it had her breasts. Her body couldn’t take much more. “Cord,” she repeated, gasping for air when his lips left hers.

  He held her gaze, and if she wasn’t already breathless, the look in his eyes would have made her so. It was a bold and determined gaze, but so tender and affectionate it entered her very soul. He leaned down and kissed her lips reverently.

  Florie was melting and frantic at the same time. Her need of release was stronger than anything she’d ever known, and yet, Cord’s gentle lips, pressed against hers, were positively serene.

  He lifted his face, and looked at her with a hint of mischievousness in his eyes. She gasped then, at the heat exploding between her thighs. His fingers, searching and stroking, found her nub. Her hips bucked, unable to deny she was on the brink.

  “Cord,” she gasped, now shamelessly pleading.

  He kissed her lips briefly. “Not yet, my darling.”

  While she whimpered, he kissed her chin, neck and shoulders. Heaving quick breaths, Florie dug her hands into his hair again as his head inched its way back down her body. When his breath blew over her triangle of curls, she stopped breathing, but when his tongue took over where his finger left off, the air whooshed out of her.

  Never, ever had she imagined there was such a pleasure.

  Cord took his time, as if savoring her.

  Need reached beyond reality. Florie couldn’t stop how she cried out, arriving at a point where she had no control. An inner storm rose and fell, exploding over and over again. Her knees were flung over Cord’s shoulders and he suckled earnestly, holding her bottom and driving the waves of pleasure into a firestorm of intensity.

  The final explosion, shattering and stunning, sent her over the edge. Her past experiences held no comparisons, and she closed her eyes, submerged in indescribable satisfaction.

  Cord was gone then. She opened her eyes, feeling almost frantic for a seco
nd. Handsome, smiling, he stood beside the couch, gazing down at her.

  Content, she closed her eyes again.

  A thump sounded, and she cracked her lids, peering at him through the slits as he shed his clothes. Unimaginably, her juncture, the very spot that had been spent mere moments ago, twitched, grew excited all over again. It was shocking. Wonderfully so.

  Florie lifted her arms, which no longer felt heavy. Cord settled atop her, and she opened for him, wrapping her thighs around his hips and arching to meet his smooth, flawless shaft. A moan escaped her lips at his size…hot, slick and exquisite. Friction, a play of give-and-take, developed between them, and carried her away again.

  Cord’s mouth was on hers, and her nails were buried in the skin and firmness of his shoulders. Unabashed by her greed, Florie rode this second wave of pleasure that may have been even more magnificent than the first, had she been comparing them. She wasn’t, of course. She was too engrossed in reaching the apex of fulfillment, this time with Cord, as one, unified.

  Chapter Six

  Cord had dreamed, imagined and believed coupling with Florie was the epitome of life, but now, buried deep inside her, experiencing surge after surge of ecstasy, he knew he hadn’t come close to how profound it truly was. Heated and excited, his blood pounded through his body like a raging river. With a final, deep and gratifying thrust, he released, joining his very essence with hers.

  She moaned deeply, and he kissed her, thoroughly, again and again until they both were limp and groggy. The thought his heaviness was too much for her had him pushing off the plush sofa. Holding his weight with his hands near her shoulders and his knees still settled between hers, he cast a gaze into her eyes. They were so blue he could almost see himself, and the emotions looking back at him took his breath away.

  Her fingers, warm and soft, trailed down both his cheeks, and then wrapped around the back of his neck. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  He wanted to laugh out loud, shout for joy and hug her tight. He settled for planting a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. Her lids fluttered shut as a docile sigh escaped her lips.

  The couch was soft and comfortable, but not quite wide enough. He wanted to stretch out beside her, hold her close as she drifted off to sleep. As if she read his mind, she twisted. He wedged his frame between her and the back of the sofa as she settled onto her side, making room for him. Folding his arms around her, he stroked her silken skin while her breathing slowed.

  His heart gave a few fast thuds. Slipping a hand to her waist, he palmed her stomach. He’d best contact the preacher today. Repeats of what they’d just done could create a new life. The thought thrilled him, and he buried his nose into the lushness of her hair, content to let weeks of sleepless nights catch up with him.

  When he woke, he was covered with a quilt. His pulse quickened, and he sat up, tossing the covering aside. His clothes were neatly folded and piled on the nearby armchair.

  “Florie?” He stood. “Florie?” Wrenching on his britches, he hopped one-legged until both feet were inside the pants. “Florie!” he shouted, tugging the waistband over his hips.

  “What?” she asked, meeting him in the arched doorway leading to the kitchen.

  Relief washed over him. He framed the delicate curves of her face with both hands. “I missed you,” he said before covering her mouth with his.

  She returned his kiss, but not as enthusiastically as he expected. He leaned back, took in the blush covering her cheeks.

  Their couch activities must have messed her hairstyle. The long, thick tresses now tumbled over her shoulders to hang down her back. He liked that better than the array of curls pinned up, and she still looked as beautiful as a picture in Harper’s.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She pointed toward the kitchen stove. “Della brought over some lunch. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I’m hungry.” He pretended to sniff the air. “What is it?”

  She giggled and stepped aside so he could enter the kitchen. “Chicken and dumplings.”

  “That’s better,” he said, kissing her temple.

  “What’s better?”

  “Your smile.”

  She bit her bottom lip, bowing her head bashfully.

  He lifted her chin with one finger. “I like to see you smile, Florie. I like it a lot.”

  Her blush was endearing. He led her to the table, noticing the kettle bubbling on the stove. “Sit down, I’ll dish us each a plate.” He paused then, wondering how long he’d slept. “Or have you already eaten?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good, it’s my turn to wait on you a bit.”

  The meal proceeded with small talk that Cord enjoyed, but made him question how Florie almost jumped from the chair each time he brought up a new subject.

  “Did you find the things I bought you?”

  She frowned.

  “By the front door. Those boxes and packages.”

  Gathering both of their empty plates, she stood. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because.”

  “You saved my life, Florie.”

  She walked across the room. “I didn’t come here for you to repay me.”

  Their earlier behavior had been spectacular, but it hadn’t answered the dozen questions that once again spun in his head. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a widow?”

  She stiffened.

  “In the beginning I mean. Back at your place, last winter.”

  Florie pumped water into the sink.

  Like clues from an investigation, things began to come together in his mind. “What was your husband’s name, Florie?”

  She held her stomach as if it hurt. “Junior.”

  “His last name.”

  A knock on the back door echoed in the room. Cord, eyes on Florie and feeling frustration in every step, moved to the door and pulled it open.

  Elsie stood on the stoop. “Hi, Marshal Donavon. Deputy Monroe told me to fetch you directly. You’re needed at the Marshal’s office posthaste. I was on my way home from school and he said to get you right away.” She slipped beneath his arm, looking at him over her shoulder as she slid into the kitchen. “Momma says I can stay and visit with Miss Florie while you’re gone.”

  Florie, fighting to keep the quivers in her stomach—which had nothing to do with the babe or food—at bay, watched the emotions flow over Cord’s face, feeling her own cheeks take on heat as Elsie looked him up and down. He wore nothing but his britches. His chest and feet were bare. He seemed to realize the fact, and without a word, walked through the kitchen.

  “Would you like an apple?” Florie asked the child, finding herself as out of sorts as a frog in a snowbank. Cord knew. Knew Junior was the youngest Winter brother.

  “Sure.” Elsie pulled out a chair and sat, taking an apple from the bowl on the table. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Florie replied, listening to the noise coming from the other room. What had she expected? That laying with him would change everything? Make all the wrongs right? The fact his father owned the railroad her brothers-in-law robbed had been the icing on a cake. She’d contemplated leaving while he slept, but every time the thought appeared the baby moved, as if telling her, not yet. Not yet.

  Cord stuck his head through the doorway. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Trying to sound cordial in front of the child, Florie said, “All right.” Had the brothers escaped? Another fear entered. Rosalie would blame Florie for their capture, and compared to their mother, the boys were kittens.

  “I expect you to be here,” Cord said, eyeing her seriously. “Our conversation is not over.”

  He stared at her, long and hard, making her insides flip.

  “’Bye, Marshal,” Elise said, breaking the thick silence.

  After he nodded at the child, he turned. The front door thudded loudly as it closed.

  Florie mustered up a smile for Elsie,
and grabbed an apple, biting deeply into the shinny red skin. A chunk lodged in her throat. She coughed and swallowed, trying to dislodge it.

  “You all right, Miss Florie?” Elsie asked, worry crossing her face.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t cough up the apple. Patting her breastbone, Florie stumbled to the sink.

  The air had grown hard in her chest and stars swam before her eyes when someone hit her square between the shoulder blades. “Cough it up, Florence! Cough it up!”

  Another hard slap on her back sent the chunk of apple flying into the sink, followed by a gush of air.

  Holding herself up with both hands braced on the sink, Florie turned, still gasping for air. “Hello, Marie,” she choked to her mother.

  Chapter Seven

  Cord’s fists were balled so tight, his knuckles throbbed. He flexed one, then the other hand, never once taking his eyes off the old woman sitting on the chair in the back room of his office.

  “That’s the deal, Marshal. You either let my boys out, or I’ll tell the whole town how you got Florie in the family way and then left her out there on the plains.”

  “Do you really think anyone is going to care what you say?”

  “You do. So does Florie.”

  His temper flared, and his jaw tightened as he fought to control it. Rosalie Rockford—or Winter as he now knew—was a shrew. His heart bled for the life Florie must have had with the woman, and he had to thank the heavenly stars Otis had caught Rosalie trying to sneak back into his barn again this afternoon.

  “She’ll never be able to hold her head up in this town. Not with everyone knowing she bedded down with you without any nuptials being read.” Rosalie cast her beady eyes around the room, like a weasel sneaking into a henhouse. “Even her own mother will disown her.”

  “Her mother?” Cord could have bit his tongue off. The woman already had one up on him. He didn’t need to give her any more satisfaction, but his thoughts were rolling like marbles in a box.