Disobeying the Marshal by Lauri Robinson Page B

neck.
    “Cord—” She stopped near the gate, gazing at his house. “I—”
    Cord took a deep breath, searching for command over his reeling desire. He’d acted upon his yearnings for Florie once before, let them rule his actions. Not this time. Tonight he’d do it right. He tugged her forward. “We’ll talk inside.”
    Clearly reluctant, she let out a sigh that made her shoulders droop beneath his arm.
    The determination he used to uphold the law spiked within him. “It’s all right, Florie,” he vowed. “I promise, everything will be all right.”
    Qualms ate at her stomach as Florie watched Cord open the door, and they grew even more when she stepped into the large house. The interior was dim and full of unknown mysterious shapes. Moonlight flowing in the open doorway bounced off the glass chimney of a tall lamp sitting on a nearby table as Cord lifted it and struck a match.
    Florie focused on breathing. If possible, Cord was more handsome than she remembered. Being this close and not falling into his arms was pure agony. She pressed a hand to her stomach and begged for the strength to do what she had to do.
    His fingers wrapped around hers and once again he led and she followed. She’d follow him to the end of the earth if he wanted. Right now, he led her beyond the foyer and into a front parlor, complete with upholstered furniture, wicker tables and large pots of lush ferns. The room was so big it held a massive player piano in the far corner.
    For a moment she found herself captivated. Trapped by the luxury. Oh, to live in such comfort would be a fairy tale. Her mind snapped and a shiver raced up her spine. What was she doing? This wasn’t a fairy tale, and she didn’t belong in El Dorado. Hadn’t seven years ago, and didn’t now. No matter what she dreamed, she was here for one thing.
    “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