At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  Preach headed to the remuda without a word while Matt searched for cover to use while he waited for an opportunity to approach Josie’s brother. There wasn’t much to choose from. A couple scraggly juniper bushes jutted up from the barren ground fifteen feet into the canyon. They would have to do.

  Matt strode forward casually, figuring if anyone happened to glance his way, he’d draw less notice if he looked like one of the gang moseying through camp instead of a hunched-over interloper trying to avoid detection. Once he reached the nearest of the bushes, however, he crouched behind it and shielded himself from sight.

  From between the branches, he could make out Charlie’s face but not the content of his conversation with the leader. The man in black grew agitated, apparently not liking something Charlie had said. Charlie smiled and gestured grandly with his hands, obviously trying to reassure his captor that everything would be fine. Probably regarding the ransom. The leader didn’t like what his prisoner was selling, however, for he snatched his cigarette from his mouth and flicked it at Charlie’s head. Charlie dodged. At the same time, the man in black surged forward, snatched Charlie by his jacket lapels, and hauled his face to within inches of his own.

  “Better hope your old man pays, Burkett.” The leader’s raised voice carried through the suddenly still camp.

  “He’ll pay,” Charlie assured him. “One way or the other. I swear it.”

  “He better.” The outlaw released his hold on Charlie, then made a show of straightening his crumpled lapels. “I ain’t in this just for kicks. I expect to get paid. And well.”

  “You will be.”

  The outlaw patted Charlie’s shoulder with enough force to send the smaller man stumbling sideways a couple paces. The leader smiled, sending a shiver running over Matt’s nape. “Then you got nothin’ to worry about, do you?” He started to turn away, then stopped and pivoted back to face Charlie. “Just remember what happens to folks who disappoint me.”

  Charlie held his ground, doing an impressive job of not looking intimidated. Matt had to give the kid credit. He might be a self-centered fool for getting himself into this mess, but he wasn’t a coward.

  The outlaw leader left Charlie and strode toward the men playing cards. “Dawson! Fetch the leather straps. Time to tie up our guest.”

  A big fellow with a shockingly red beard tossed down his cards and pushed slowly to his feet. “Sure thing, boss.”

  Matt’s gut knotted. If he didn’t make his move now, he might not get another chance. But how?

  He glanced right. Nothing. He glanced left. Nothing but a fellow relieving himself behind the second juniper bush.

  An idea sparked. It was brash. Risky. But it was all he had.

  Matt stalked forward, angling his approach to come at the man from behind. A quick glance around told him no one had noticed the action taking place in the camp latrine. Thanking God for bushy juniper and distracted minds, Matt closed on his target. Then lunged. His right arm snaked around the man’s neck and squeezed off his airflow before he could voice a protest. The outlaw grabbed at Matt’s arm, trying to peel it away, but Matt held tight, locking his right hand onto his left arm to increase the pressure on the man’s airway. Just a few . . . more . . . seconds. . .

  The outlaw went slack in Matt’s arms. Matt lowered him to the ground, then pulled the coat from the unconscious body and snatched the outlaw’s hat from where it had fallen in the dirt. Taking off his own coat and hat, Matt replaced his gear with what he’d pilfered. Pushing the grimy hat brim low on his face, Matt stepped out from behind the bush and strode toward the center of camp as if he belonged there, praying the others would simply see what they expected to see and nothing more.

  Keeping to the periphery, he meandered to a spot a few feet behind Charlie where someone had stacked extra branches and other kindling for the fire pit. The campfire wasn’t much more than coals now, since they were fixing to leave, but it was the only excuse handy, so Matt grabbed the end of the largest branch in the pile.

  “Hey, Burkett. Give me a hand with this, will ya?” Matt lowered his natural voice and roughened the tone.

  Charlie turned, confusion on his face. “Dawson’s fetching—”

  Matt, head down, waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah. Yeah. This’ll only take a minute.”

  Another man turned. “I got ya, Granger.” He gave Charlie a shove in Matt’s direction. “Make yourself useful, rich boy. Oh, that’s right. Ya ain’t rich no more, now that Daddy cut you off. Gotta dirty your hands and work for a livin’ like the rest of us.”

  Charlie’s face tightened in anger, but he kept his mouth shut as he stumbled toward Matt.

  Without looking up, Matt gestured toward the opposite end of the long branch. Charlie moved into position, bent, and lifted. Matt took the lead, carrying his end toward the juniper bush he’d hidden behind moments ago.

  It only took a few steps for Charlie to start grumbling. “Where are we taking this?”

  “Shut up and move,” Matt ordered.

  Just a little farther. Then Preach could scatter the horses. Matt adjusted his hold on the branch, sliding closer to Charlie.

  “This is stupid, Granger. There’s no point—”

  Matt lifted his head and looked Charlie full in the face. The kid’s brows shot up in shock. Then alarm lit his eyes. His gaze immediately darted back toward the camp.

  Matt didn’t hesitate. He dropped the wood, drew his gun with his left hand, and wrapped his right arm around Charlie in a move that would look like a friendly embrace to anyone who happened to glance their way. What they wouldn’t be able to see was the pistol pointed at the underside of Charlie’s chin.

  “Settle down. I’m a friend. Your sister hired me to rescue you.”

  Charlie’s face cleared. “Jo’s here?” His attention darted around the canyon as if his sister might be waiting behind the juniper bushes. “Where?”

  “I’ll take you to her. But we have to move now.”

  He expected the kid to become compliant at that point, but Charlie had the gall to shake his head.

  “I can’t. I have to be there for the ransom exchange. If I’m not, my father will never hand over the money, and Taggart will kill him in order to take it.”

  “Your father’s not coming.”

  “What?” Shock and hurt flickered in the kid’s eyes before something harder took over. “Guess that tells me where I rank in his esteem.”

  Matt’s impatience climbed. “You can be mad at your father later. Right now, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  Before Charlie could make up his mind, the screaming neighs of frightened horses pierced the air. Horses reared and charged. Their hooves pounded the ground as they ran for freedom. Men shouted and sprinted toward them, adding to the commotion.

  “We have to go. Now!” Matt dragged Charlie toward the back of the canyon where the rope waited.

  Preach was already halfway up the wall.

  Charlie finally quit dragging his feet and started running in earnest. Matt drew a second weapon and watched their backs as they raced to make their escape. A spooked horse nearly took him down from behind, but Matt kept his feet and his grip on his weapons.

  “Burkett’s escaping!”

  The cry went up right as Charlie reached for the rope. He stopped. Looked behind him.

  “Get going!” Matt ordered. “I’ll cover you from behind. I’ve got men at the top who will protect you.”

  Still Charlie hesitated.

  Matt shoved him with his shoulder. “Go!”

  The kid grabbed the rope and started to climb. Matt stood his ground at the base of the cliff and faced the outlaws charging his way.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  The first shot from above brought the outlaw leading the charge to his knees as he grabbed for his thigh and buckled. The second shot took out the pockmarked man in the blue kerchief, who dodged a horse only to fall backward when a bullet hit his right shoulder. By the time Wallace
added his ammunition to the mix, the outlaws were actively retreating and seeking cover.

  Unfortunately, they found it.

  The red-bearded Dawson and a fellow in a brown vest dove behind the large branch that Matt and Charlie had moved. The outlaws had to lie on their bellies to protect themselves, but they didn’t seem to care about aiming. They just braced their gun hands atop the thick branch and shot in Matt’s general direction while keeping their heads down. Matt pivoted sideways to make himself as thin a target as possible, but bullets still zinged by him far too close for comfort.

  Willfully ignoring the gunfire around him, Matt steadied his arm and shot a notch off the branch an inch from Dawson’s hat. The outlaw flinched and brought his gun hand down to cover his head. Matt didn’t expect the deterrent to last, but at least it slowed the current barrage.

  A movement to his left drew Matt’s attention. Three men were pushing the chuck wagon, rolling it past the fire pit. Once they maneuvered it into position, half a dozen men or more would be able to take shelter behind it, leaving Matt’s position vulnerable no matter how much cover fire Jonah and Wallace laid down.

  He glanced up the wall to judge Charlie’s progress. Halfway. Preach was dragging him from the top now, and the kid just hung on. Eyes squeezed closed. Mouth pinched tight. Hands white-knuckled as he clung to the slow-moving rope.

  Matt frowned. He should’ve given the kid his gloves. Too late now.

  Turning back to the fight before him, Matt caught a glimpse of a horse walking against the grain of the other animals. Small, controlled steps. Matt pivoted that direction to get a better view. A pair of black trousers distinguished themselves between the mount’s brown legs. Someone had caught a horse and was using it as a shield.

  Coward. A cavalryman might use a fallen horse as a shield in the midst of war as a last resort, but to use a live horse as protection in an offensive maneuver when other defensive options existed made his hide itch.

  Another movement returned Matt’s attention to the men behind the branch. Brown Vest was peeking around the end and taking aim. High aim. At Charlie. Matt fired with his left hand, then followed with his right, showering the outlaw with enough bark shards to force his eyes closed and hopefully keep him out of commission for several seconds.

  The shield horse reached the chuck wagon, then shied as the wagon jerked forward. The animal tossed his head and revealed the ingrate hiding behind him.

  The leader. Taggart.

  Of course.

  Taggart jerked the reins down with enough force to injure the bay’s mouth and tied the animal’s head with no give to the side of the chuck wagon to maintain protection on his flank.

  “Burkett! You worm!” Taggart yelled. “I’m gonna kill you!”

  Taking care not to shoot the horse, Matt let a shot fly directly over Taggart’s head, taking enormous satisfaction when he ducked behind the wagon.

  His satisfaction didn’t last long, however, for now that more substantial shelter was in place, the outlaws grew bolder.

  Jonah and Wallace had the high ground advantage, but two couldn’t hold off a dozen men forever. Bullets whizzed past Matt with greater frequency. A couple even creased his skin. He tried not to flinch when fire burned across his forearm, but when he lost a chunk of hide from his left thigh, his step faltered.

  He dropped to the ground, partially to cover his injury and partially to make himself harder to hit. Yet as soon as the dust hit his face, an advantage became clear. Bringing his right hand around in front of him, he took four shots beneath the wagon. He hit three different trouser legs and a wagon wheel. Taggart’s black trousers unfortunately remained intact, thanks to an inconvenient spoke. But the bullets pelting the canyon wall around him slackened as the other three outlaws behind the wagon howled in pain.

  “We got him, Captain,” Preach called from above. “Get to your rope!”

  Holstering the empty gun in his right hand, Matt took a few last potshots at Taggart with his left, then rolled the few feet to his rope. He scanned the area, spent his last bullet on Dawson, whose head was poking up from behind the log again, then shoved the spent revolver into its holster and leapt onto the rope. Praying for strong arms and trusting his men to cover him with all they had, Matt gritted his teeth and scaled the wall.

  Jonah and Wallace picked up the shooting pace, their repeating rifles spitting in rapid-fire fashion. Preach and Charlie would be fetching the horses. The pieces of the plan clicked through Matt’s brain, keeping him focused.

  A bullet hit his boot heel, spinning him sideways with the force. Matt tightened his grip on the rope as his body bounced against the canyon wall. All his momentum disintegrated. He clenched his jaw and glanced up to judge the remaining distance. Ten feet. He could climb ten feet. Even with a throbbing thigh and a bleeding forearm. He was a cavalryman. Built for war. He could do this.

  Ten feet.

  A groan tore from his throat as he flexed his biceps and pulled his body upward. He released one hand and grabbed for a higher position. Then another.

  Nine feet.

  Hand over hand he climbed. But fatigue drained his strength. Despite his mental fortitude, his arms unfolded. He dangled, five feet from the top.

  Gunfire continued all around him, friendly and non-friendly alike.

  C’mon, Hanger. This isn’t how you want to go out. Get moving, soldier!

  He pulled, then stopped when he felt his grip slipping. Heart thumping, he darted his gaze along the cliff wall, desperate to find some kind of support. He wasn’t going to make it without help.

  There. To the left. A root protruding from the wall.

  Matt stretched his boot toward it, raising his knee at an awkward angle. There wasn’t much there, but if he could plant his toe and the root held, he might be able to take enough weight off his arms to keep from losing his grip.

  He jabbed the pointed toe of his boot into the wall, catching the ball of his foot on the root. He straightened his knee, letting the foothold take his weight. It held. Thank God, it held. Warm relief rushed into his fatigued muscles.

  Then a deep voice rumbled from above. “I got you, Cap. Hang on.”

  The rope tugged, and Matt’s grip instantly tightened. God bless Preach.

  Matt focused all his energy on maintaining his hold on the rope as his corporal dragged him toward the rim. Three feet from the top, however, a spinning object in his periphery yanked his focus away from the rock.

  A black hat decorated with silver conchos flew out over the canyon. Bullets knocked it hither and yon until it finally fell to the ground in front of the chuck wagon. The shooting slowed.

  Matt grimaced as his shoulder scraped along the rim’s edge and his body folded over the side. He scrambled to his feet, thumped Preach’s arm in thanks, then frowned up at Charlie sitting astride Josie’s horse. Without his hat.

  The shooting ceased altogether as Jonah and Wallace retreated from their positions and raced to their mounts.

  Questions and suspicions flooded Matt’s mind, but they would have to wait. Taggart and his crew would pursue. Creating distance was paramount.

  Matt jumped to his feet and slid his hunting knife from its sheath. Grabbing the rope he’d knotted to the rock, he sliced through it in two quick slashes and let it plummet to the canyon floor as he swung up onto Phineas’s back. He couldn’t leave the outlaws an avenue to attack from behind, and reeling the rope in would have forfeited too many precious seconds.

  “Ride!” Matt’s command set the Horsemen in motion.

  The horses lunged forward, and in seconds, the group of five galloped as a unit away from the canyon. By tacit consent, the Horsemen surrounded Charlie in tight formation. For his protection, yes. But also because they didn’t trust him. No one knew for sure where his loyalties lay.

  Jonah led the way, guiding them to the main road, where their hoofprints would disappear among the myriad others cluttering the path. Not that Taggart wouldn’t guess they were headed northeast.
Only an outlaw would travel southwest into Mexico.

  Yet the longer they rode without any sign of Taggart’s men on their trail, the more uneasy Matt became. When the road crested a small rise, he called for a halt.

  “Why are we stopping?” Charlie asked, glancing over his shoulder to scan the road behind him. “We need to put more distance between us and Taggart.”

  “Wallace, toss Brooks the field glasses.” Matt glanced straight through Charlie as if he hadn’t spoken and made eye contact with his trumpeter.

  Mark didn’t hesitate. Holding his gray steady with his knees, he unhooked the strap of the binocular case from his saddle and tossed the equipment to Jonah. The sharpshooter snagged it out of the air and brought his horse around to face the rear. He pulled the field glasses from their case and held them to his eyes.

  “No sign of ’em.”

  Even with the delay of gathering their horses, a group of outlaws should have been visible on their back trail if they were giving pursuit.

  Matt drew Phineas even with Charlie’s mount and glared. “What did you signal?”

  Charlie flinched and jerked backward in his saddle. “Signal? What are you talking about? I was just trying to get away. Same as you.”

  Matt didn’t have time to play games. “Your hat,” he growled. “You tossed it into the canyon. You had no reason to do that. Not unless it was some kind of prearranged signal.”

  Charlie’s face darkened. He leaned forward, eyes narrowed and tone sharp. “In case you didn’t notice, I was the one being held against my will. The one whose life Taggart threatened. If you think I’m working in collusion with that kidnapping scum, you better get my sister to examine your head next time you see her, because it’s obviously malfunctioning.” He glanced briefly at the other Horsemen, noted their frowns, then shifted in the saddle and refocused his attention on Matt. “The wind caught it, all right? I pulled it off my head to bang the dust off, and a gust of wind carried it away. Guess my hands were too shaky from that climb to hang on.” When Matt failed to relent on his stare, the kid moved from angry to defensive. “You think I wanted my favorite hat riddled with bullets? I loved that hat.”