style="font-size:15px;"> 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.”
Cord’s hand slipped from her face, leaving a chill to ripple her skin. He sat back on his haunches, stiffening his spine slowly. His ruddy, sun-darkened skin paled and he slightly shook his head while asking, “You’re married?”
Florie bit her bottom lip, begging the sting to override the pain exploding in her chest. She wanted to justify herself, explain everything in a way he’d understand, but, ultimately, there was no excuse for her behavior that night.
Hating herself, she nodded.
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