At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  “We were going to Hondo to see my sister, but I think I’m going to turn around at the next stop and head home. We have a doctor there I trust.”

  “I think that’s wise.” Josephine nodded, then reached into her bag and pulled out a small packet of white powder. “This is potassium bromide. Mix a small pinch of it in some water and give it to him to drink once you are on your way back. It’s a sedative that is helpful in preventing convulsions. It will make him sleepy, but it should ensure that he doesn’t have another episode during your journey home.”

  The mother took the packet. “Thank you, Doctor . . . ?”

  “Burkett.” Josephine smiled. “Of Purgatory Springs.”

  “God’s blessings be upon you, Dr. Burkett.”

  Josephine reached over and straightened a hank of hair that had fallen over Tommy’s forehead. Such a young lad to suffer such a frightening attack. She prayed the seizure was a single incident and that the damage from his fall had not created a permanent disability. Being epileptic was a hard road to walk for anyone, let alone one so young. “God’s blessings on you and your son as well.”

  Josephine retrieved her doctor’s bag and made her way back to her seat, surprised when the Horsemen continued flanking her. Their coats tucked under Mr. Davenport’s left arm, they marched two in front of her and two behind. When they reached their seats, Mr. Brooks and Mr. Wallace slid onto the two benches behind her while Mr. Davenport opted for the rear-facing seat in front of hers, tossing the coats onto the seat between him and the window. Confusion knit her brow, and it only grew when Matthew relieved her of her medical bag and stowed it overhead. Then he clasped her hand and slid onto her bench, his hold on her bringing her down beside him. He slid over to the window, propped his boot on the edge of the seat in front of him by the coats, then tugged her into his side.

  “Preach and the others will keep an eye out for trouble,” he murmured softly. “It’s time for you to rest.”

  She glanced around the railcar. Passengers were staring at her strangely, as if they’d never seen a doctor treat a patient before. Then she caught a whisper. Something about the impropriety of ladies sprawling upon the floor of a public conveyance. Another about outlandish women claiming to be doctors. Another, more disturbing one about witches and exorcisms.

  For pity’s sake. Did small minds have nothing better to do?

  Then she felt the warmth of Matthew’s hand cupping her jaw. She turned away from the disturbing whispers and focused her attention on the man at her side.

  “Lay on my shoulder, Josie. Rest.”

  “What about your plans?”

  He smiled, lines crinkling around his hazel eyes. “We’ve got the big things hammered out. The rest will keep. Come on.” He urged her closer. “Try and grab a few winks.”

  I’ll watch over you. He didn’t say it aloud, but everything emanating from him breathed the promise into her.

  He offered escape from her exhaustion, her worry and frustration, and suddenly the desire to carry her own load no longer appealed. With one more long look into his eyes, she handed over the last threads of trust she’d been clinging to and leaned into him.

  Her head found his shoulder. Her eyes slid closed. And in less time than she would have thought possible, she slid into sleep.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  Matt had a crick in his neck and an ache in his lower back, but he’d never felt better in his life. Josie’s head lay nestled against his chest, having slipped from his shoulder somewhere between Seco and Sabinal. His arm curled around her shoulders to hold her securely against him, and his thumb idly stroked her sleeve.

  Preach had rejoined the other Horsemen after the majority of the passengers debarked in Hondo, leaving Matt to enjoy Josie’s company alone. Free of knowing looks and teasing eyebrow waggles from his second-in-command.

  Holding Josie was about the sweetest torture he’d ever known. Having her so close, so unguarded, so soft against him had quickly become addicting. He’d studied her. Every nuance. Every detail. The moment her breathing deepened and her muscles fully relaxed into sleep. The way her fingers twitched when she dreamed. The softness of her hair against his neck. The slightly floral scent of the hotel soap on her skin. The way she felt snuggled up against his side.

  For a man used to the company of other men, holding a woman was a new experience. One he liked. A lot. But only because the woman was Josie. She did things to him. Fired his blood. Softened his demeanor. Made him want to be a better man. She called to a place buried deep inside him that felt like family—felt like love. Not that he knew much about the subject, being raised by his uncle after the Comanche killed his parents. Elijah Hanger had been a gruff man, not given to sentiment. He knew his way around a horse, though. Taught his nephew everything from grooming to riding to tending injuries and focused a young boy’s grief into a serviceable skill and a soul-deep passion.

  Matthew twisted his head to take one final, leisurely look at Josie before waking her. The Chatfield stop was coming up, and he was pretty sure she’d want to clear the sleep from her brain before the train pulled into the station. Even so, he hesitated. She looked so peaceful. No worry for her brother creasing her brow. No shadows of exhaustion dimming her eyes. Just smooth skin, dark brown lashes fanning upon her cheeks, freckles peeking through and dancing over the bridge of her nose. Beautiful. The kind of beautiful that put thoughts in his head that had no business being there. Thoughts about holding her like this for the rest of his days.

  Well, maybe not like this, he admitted as the train rounded a curve and a new twinge shot up his back. A house would be better. Their house. No strangers looking on. No interfering friends on hand. No rescue mission to distract from the simple pleasure of holding her. Just the two of them. Together. Vows spoken. Bed waiting. An entire night of—

  “Chatfield Station!” The conductor’s voice boomed through the railcar as he made his rounds and readied passengers for the next stop.

  Josie didn’t even flinch. He’d known she was tired, but this was exhaustion.

  “Sorry, Josie,” he whispered as he gently lifted her into a more upright position. He caressed the side of her face and murmured her name close to her ear. “Josie? Time to wake up, sweetheart. We’re coming into Chatfield.”

  Her lashes lifted slowly. She blinked. Looked around. Focused on him. “Matthew?”

  Man, but he could get used to hearing his name in her sleep-roughened voice. Waking up to that every morning would be heaven. His gaze traveled over her face, settling on her mouth. The urge to steal a taste was strong. But his honor was stronger.

  Dragging his focus back to her eyes, he said, “We’re almost to Chatfield Station.”

  “Oh.” The word exited on a sigh as soft as her eyes, which were still glazed with the residue of sleep.

  Or was something else making her expression dreamy? His pulse kicked a little harder in his veins.

  “Oh!” She stiffened and pulled away from him, as if the memory of why she was here and what she was doing had flooded her brain all at once. A touch of pink colored her cheeks as she glanced at the arm he’d casually draped over the back of the seat after her jerk forward had sent it plunging off her shoulders. “Sorry. I, ah, don’t usually nap in the afternoon. Leaves me terribly groggy.”

  Matt grinned. Seeing her rattled was rather enjoyable. It gave a man the idea that he didn’t have to be perfect to walk by her side. A mighty fine thought for a man all too aware of his imperfections.

  She set about smoothing her skirt and checking her hair, as if worried she’d come undone during her slumber.

  “You look fine,” he assured her, deciding it best not to tell her that she had a faint line across her cheek from where it had pressed against a wrinkle in his shirt. It made him smile, though.

  She caught his smile and started to return it before something out the window behind him snagged her attention. Probably the outskirts of town, judging by the way the train was slowing
. Whatever she saw drained the last of the softness from her features and brought forth the determination he’d grown accustomed to seeing her exhibit whenever she had a job in front of her.

  “Will you and the others stay the night in Chatfield,” she asked, her tone brisk, “or will you head to Uvalde right away?”

  His arm dropped from the seat back to his lap. Time to focus on the mission, not the woman. “We’ll get you settled, then use what daylight we have left to start toward Uvalde. It’s only about ten miles, so we should cover most of that distance before nightfall. We’ll make camp away from the road, then start our reconnaissance at first light. We’ll finalize our plans and make our move. Should have your brother back to you by midafternoon.”

  She nodded, but tension lingered in the lines around her mouth, and worry glimmered in her eyes.

  He squeezed her hand. “We’ll get him out, Josie. I swear it.”

  Her gaze met his, and his heart kicked in his chest. “I know you will.” No hesitation, no uncertainty. She believed in the Horsemen. In him. “Just make sure you get yourself out too.”

  “That’s the plan.” Matt grinned. How could he not, when she’d all but announced that she cared about him?

  The screech of braking wheels vibrated through the car, followed by the hollow sound of the train whistle. Matt glanced out the window and spotted the platform. His grin tightened into a firm line. Time to get to work.

  Military precision wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Josephine frowned as she hustled across the road in front of her boardinghouse to join the men gathered in front of the livery. She’d barely had time to get settled in her room and unpack a few things before she’d spied the Horsemen through her upstairs window, inspecting their tack and saddlery in the same manner they did every time they’d been ready to mount up and ride out. She knew what that signaled. They were fixing to leave. Without saying good-bye.

  Mr. Brooks noticed her first. He signaled his captain with a subtle tip of his head. Matthew turned. Took a step in her direction. But she didn’t wait for him to come to her. She intended to share a piece of her mind with all the Horsemen.

  “Forget something, gentlemen?”

  Matthew’s arched brows only fueled her irritation. “I don’t think so. We’re still good on supplies. Ammunition. Weapons.” He glanced at his men. They nodded at his assessment.

  She crossed her arms. “You didn’t think to check in with your employer before heading out?”

  Her question only seemed to deepen Matthew’s confusion. “I explained our plan before we left the train. I thought you understood we needed to leave as quickly as possible to take advantage of what daylight we have left for travel.”

  Mr. Wallace cleared his throat. “I think she was expecting a more personal good-bye, Captain.”

  She had been, but that wasn’t the only thing tweaking her temper, nor the most important. “Where’s my palomino?”

  The lines disappeared from Matthew’s forehead, as if he was thankful to have a question he could answer. He gestured toward the livery. “He’s inside. All settled.”

  “Why is Sandy inside instead of saddled and ready to travel with you?”

  “Because . . . he’s your horse.” Matt looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. She might yet, if these thickheaded men didn’t pull the cotton wool out of their brains and start thinking clearly.

  “A horse I have no need of while I’m waiting in Chatfield for your return. A horse that could serve as my brother’s mount once you extricate him from his captors. A horse that could keep your own from fatiguing due to the weight of an extra man should a pursuit ensue. A horse,” she emphasized, “I would have offered for your use had you done me the courtesy of briefly checking in before running off into the wilds of outlaw territory.”

  “I’ll go fetch the palomino,” Mr. Davenport grumbled as he ducked into the livery with all the haste of a soldier seeking cover from cannon fire.

  Mr. Wallace wasn’t much better, doing a quick about-face. “I’ll see about getting a refund for that packhorse we rented.”

  Mr. Brooks apparently didn’t feel compelled to offer an excuse. He just turned and rounded the corner of the livery, leaving her alone with Matthew.

  “I didn’t realize the horse mattered so much to you.” He held his arms away from his body, palms facing forward in a non-threatening position, as if she were an unstable gunman with a loaded revolver and a hair trigger.

  Josephine sighed. “It doesn’t. Not really. It’s just . . . I know I’m not a soldier, Matthew. My knowledge of military tactics wouldn’t fill a thimble, and I have no notion of how to go about planning a rescue. But that doesn’t mean I have nothing to offer. I might not be going with you, but this is still as much my mission as it is yours. I want to understand what is going on, and I want the chance to help in any small way I can.” Her shoulders slumped. “If nothing else, I had hoped to offer a prayer for the safety of you and your men before you left.”

  Matthew ran his forefinger and thumb over his mustache, his gaze falling to the ground. “Of course you have something to offer . . .” The words died away. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It didn’t occur to me . . .” He blew out a breath, then yanked the hat from his head, slapped it against his leg, and let it dangle from his fingertips. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers. “I ain’t used to dealin’ with women and their feelings, Josie. I’m used to the military, where you take orders and give orders without chitchat or explanation. I see something that needs doin’, and I go do it. That’s how I was trained.”

  Women and their feelings? Josephine pressed her lips together to keep from spouting her feelings all over his imbecilic head.

  “You’re gonna have to be patient with me,” he said, his gaze apologetic.

  Her ire softened a little.

  “Give me time to adjust. I might be an old dog, but I can still learn new tricks.”

  She uncrossed her arms and blew out a breath, letting the last of her affront escape on the wind. “Quit calling yourself old.”

  He didn’t smile, just held her gaze with serious intent. “You’re right. I was so focused on the task in front of me, I didn’t give a thought to what others might need. What you might need. Forgive me.”

  His eyes glowed with such fervor, such sincerity, she barely managed a whispered, “You’re forgiven.”

  Finally, a smile touched his lips. A crooked half-grin that had her stomach attempting acrobatics. “Thank you for the use of your horse. It’ll save us some money and perhaps some time.”

  Josephine bit back a smile at his attempt to soften his honesty. She was costing them time. They’d had a packhorse hired and ready to go, and they would have been on the road by now if she hadn’t stormed across the street to confront them. But she didn’t regret it. Time wasn’t the only valuable commodity to be considered. Trust. Openness. Communication. They were important too. And had she not come, Matthew would have left never knowing how she felt, and she would have stewed over his callous disregard for her feelings. But now . . . now he stood before her, promising to take her needs into consideration and proving once again that his honor ran as deep as his loyalty. A woman could build a life with this man. Even an opinionated physician who’d thought herself destined for the shelf of spinsterhood.

  Of course, he had to be agreeable to such an arrangement. Oh, and survive his mission—the mission she’d assigned him.

  One by one, the Horsemen reappeared, apparently having decided they’d given their commander sufficient time to smooth the lady’s ruffled feathers.

  Yet Matthew never looked at them. He looked only at her. “Do you have any other questions or concerns?”

  She had a lot of concerns, mostly centered around everyone making it out of Uvalde in one piece. But she shook her head. “I’d still like to say that prayer, though. If your men wouldn’t mind.”

  Matthew raised his arm and made a sharp motion with his hand that his men responded to without que
stion. In the next moment, she was surrounded on all sides, the shadows from their bodies blocking out the sun.

  “Hats off, boys,” Matthew ordered. “Josie’s gonna pray for us.”

  All three removed their hats and bowed their heads as if prayer was a familiar posture.

  Josephine dipped her own head and folded her hands at her waist. “Dear Lord, watch over these brave men. Keep them safe from harm, and grant them success in rescuing Charlie. May they be like David’s mighty men, striking fear in the hearts of the wicked and winning victory for the cause of the righteous. We ask these things in the name of Jesus. Amen.”

  A quiet chorus of amens echoed around her as faces lifted and hats found their way back to heads.

  “A fine prayer, ma’am.”

  Josephine blinked. The compliment came from Mr. Brooks. She nodded, feeling acceptance from him for the first time.

  The Horsemen moved to their respective horses and started to mount. Josephine followed Matthew, not quite ready to separate from him.

  Matthew looked over the back of his horse toward Mr. Davenport. “Got a verse for us, Preach?”

  The big man swung up into the saddle, peered off into the distance for a moment, then turned back toward her and winked. “Romans 8:31. ‘If God be for us, who can be against us?’”

  He gave a waggle of his brows, then set off. Wallace and Brooks followed. But as Matthew started to mount, Josephine took hold of his arm.

  “Wait.”

  He pulled his foot out of the stirrup and pivoted to face her.

  Without taking time to think the instinct through, Josephine pushed up to her tiptoes, grabbed his face, and planted a kiss on his mouth. “Be careful,” she ordered before she turned her back and marched across the street to her boardinghouse.

  Several dozen thudding heartbeats pounded in her chest before she finally heard the sound of Phineas’s hooves cantering out of town. Only then did she turn to watch Matthew ride away.