At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  Matt wasn’t buying it. Neither were his men, judging by their closed expressions. Charlie had signaled something to the outlaws. The question was . . . what?

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  A bird twittered, and Josephine’s chin jerked up. From her bench in front of the boardinghouse, her gaze scanned the road over the pages of the dime novel she’d purchased in the mercantile that morning. Nothing. Well, not nothing. The drugstore clerk was still sweeping the walk in front of his store, a pair of ladies chatted in front of the café a couple doors down while their children banged sticks together in a mock sword fight, and a man loaded sacks of feed into the back of a wagon across the street. They’d all been there the last time she’d looked up too. Probably because her last glance had been less than a minute ago when a horse in the livery corral had nickered.

  She forced her lungs to inhale at a slow, steady rate, then exhaled on a prayer.

  Please let them be safe.

  Her hands crinkled the pages of her paperbound book. Not that she had read more than a handful of its words. She turned pages every so often to keep up appearances, but in truth, the only purpose the book served was to give her hands something to hold so the townsfolk wouldn’t think her deranged for sitting on a bench for hours and staring anxiously down the road.

  She’d been here since noon, her bag packed and waiting at her feet. She had six train tickets purchased for both the 4:18 departure and the 6:47. Josephine checked the time on the pendant watch that she’d purchased along with her reading material. Three-forty. Still time to make the earlier train if Matthew and the others returned soon.

  Please let them return soon. The longer the day grew without sight of them, the harder it became to fight off the worry that had prodded her since breakfast.

  A particularly loud clack followed by a triumphant shout drew her attention to the children. Little warriors defeating pretend foes. If only real foes were as easily vanquished.

  A soft rumble caught her ear, barely audible over the activity of the town. If she hadn’t been straining to hear exactly that sound for the last couple hours, she would’ve missed it.

  The book fell to her lap as she straightened away from the back of the bench.

  The rumble intensified.

  She scooted to the edge of her seat.

  Hoofbeats. Those were definitely hoofbeats.

  Josephine stood, her gaze locked on the road leading into town, her fist mangling the dime novel’s cover.

  Please let it be them.

  A dark spot appeared on the horizon and grew. Then separated into individual forms of horsemen. Five horsemen.

  “Thank you, Lord.” The words fell from her lips in a whisper, but they shouted in her soul.

  Fighting the urge to run out to greet them, since placing oneself in the path of running horses was not the wisest option available, she chose instead to drop her crushed novel onto the bench and collect her medical bag from where it sat on the boardwalk next to her carpetbag. She only glanced away from the approaching riders long enough to latch onto the handle of her bag, but even then her other senses remained fixed on the men. The sound of thudding hooves and the vibration of the boardwalk took precedence while her eyes were briefly engaged elsewhere.

  Bag in hand, she stepped down to street level. They were closer now. Close enough for her to recognize hats. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t see Matthew’s tan hat. Nor Charlie’s black one with its flat top and silver concho band. She looked again. Only four hats. And she didn’t recognize the one in the back.

  Heart thumping erratically in her chest, she adjusted her grip on the medical bag and strained to identify faces. Mr. Brooks must be in front, his darker skin distinguishing him from the others. And Mr. Davenport’s bulkier build fit the large man on the right. Mr. Wallace’s gray horse stood out from the rest. And there! The space between riders widened a bit and allowed her to make out Sandy’s distinctive palomino coat.

  Charlie! The man in the center without a hat must be her brother. And he was healthy enough to ride unassisted, thank the Lord.

  That left Matthew to bring up the rear. But why would he be wearing a strange hat? The shape and dark brown color were all wrong. It was Matthew, wasn’t it? Josephine gave herself a mental shake. Of course it was Matthew. The Horsemen would never leave him behind.

  As the men closed the final fifty yards and reined in, Josephine’s gaze sought Charlie’s, her doctor’s eyes examining him for injury. He looked remarkably well. No visible bruising on his face. No blood staining his clothes. He looked a bit ragged around the edges, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well, but that was to be expected, having been held hostage for several days.

  “Charlie?” She moved forward before the horses came to a full stop. Mr. Brooks and Mr. Davenport parted their horses like the Red Sea to allow her access to her brother.

  “Hey, sis.” He looked appropriately abashed, his head hanging low as he walked Sandy up to her.

  Charlie had mastered that repentant mien years ago when they were children. Whenever he’d gotten caught doing something naughty, he’d shrug his shoulders, soften his eyes, and give one of those half-grins that made every woman within sighing distance melt. It never worked on their father, but it had disarmed Mama every time. Charlie would say how sorry he was, and she’d wrap him in a hug and forgive him his indiscretion. After she died, Josephine stepped into her shoes and fell prey to the same tactics. A sister’s place wasn’t to discipline, after all. It was to protect. So she sheltered him. More than she should have. Their housekeeper, Darla, had a soft spot for him too. Which explained why she had gone behind her employer’s back and written to Josephine when Charlie was abducted.

  “Are you hurt?” She placed a hand on his ankle above the stirrup, her eyes doing a second, more intensive scan now that he was closer.

  “Nah. Little rope burn on my hands, but nothing serious.” The scruff of a half-grown beard darkened Charlie’s jaw, and for the first time, Josephine saw him not as her baby brother, but as his own man. A man she didn’t really know. Between medical school and starting her practice, she hadn’t spent any significant time with him for close to a decade.

  “Let me see.” Doctoring was easier than sistering. It gave her something productive to think about instead of questioning how she might have contributed to her brother’s shortcomings.

  He held out his palms for her inspection. The skin was red, and there was a small tear at the base of his right index finger, but nothing a little salve wouldn’t cure.

  She stepped away from him and glanced at the rest of the men in turn. “Any injuries need tending? We have a little time before the train arrives.” Her gaze skittered from one to another, oddly reluctant to focus on the man at the rear of the party. The man she most wanted to tend. “Better to see to them now than wait for infection to set in.”

  And better for her to stop acting like a suddenly shy miss, embarrassed to talk to a man she favored in front of her brother.

  Josephine steeled herself and turned. Matthew was dismounting, not even looking at her. Humph. Nothing like a dose of humility to still one’s fluttering pulse. He shrugged out of the dingy coat she didn’t recognize and tossed it over Phineas’s back. Then he plucked the dirt-encrusted hat from his head and hooked it over the saddle horn.

  “Lose your hat?” she asked. It wasn’t the most intelligent or pertinent question, but it was the first one that came to mind, and really, she was growing just a tad exasperated that he wouldn’t face her.

  “Decided to trade it in.” He still made no effort to turn.

  “For that?” She grimaced at the filthy hat before focusing on the man she was starting to suspect was actively avoiding her attention. “I should probably check your head for lice.” She took a step closer.

  “No need.” He waved her off, but she ignored the gesture.

  So help her, if he was hiding an injury . . .

  “Preach, tend the horses.” Matthew retr
eated from her, tossing his saddlebags over his shoulder and calling out orders to his men like some kind of defensive maneuver to block her advance. “Jonah, inventory the supplies. Wallace, keep an eye on our . . . guest.”

  Why would someone need to keep an eye on Charlie? Josephine’s mouth tightened. Matthew’s tone gave the impression that the order stemmed from a lack of trust rather than a desire to protect. The implication abraded her family loyalty and left her voice a tad sharper than it should have been.

  “Any orders for me, Captain?”

  Still, he didn’t turn. He simply waved her off. “Just see to your brother.”

  Josephine marched after him. “I will not be ignored, Matthew.” She grabbed his arm from behind, then flinched when he yanked it away.

  He immediately stopped and twisted his neck to look at her, his eyes apologetic. “Sorry, Josie. I didn’t mean to pull away from you like that. I just—”

  “Josie?” Charlie’s voice challenged from behind her. “Who gave you the right to address my sister so informally?”

  “I did,” she snapped. For pity’s sake. If men weren’t being stubborn, they were being ridiculously overprotective. She turned back to Matthew. “Apology accepted. Now quit dissembling and face me.”

  Matthew quirked a half grin. “Still slinging those ten-dollar words, I see.”

  The grin distracted her, but only for a moment, because out of the corner of her eye she spied the large stain on the left leg of his trousers. Her gaze flew back to the arm she’d grabbed a moment ago. A smaller stain soiled his sleeve, as well. No wonder he’d jerked away from her.

  “You’re injured!” It emerged more as an accusation than the expression of concern most women would make over a man they cared about. But most women weren’t doctors. Doctors their men should trust with their wounds because they believed them competent. “Why would you hide that from me?”

  “They’re just scratches, Josie. I swear. I’ll rent a quick bath at the barbershop, clean ’em up, and be good to ride. Nothing to concern yourself over.”

  “Nothing to concern myself over?”

  “Oh, now you’ve stepped in it.” Charlie chuckled.

  Josephine swung around and jabbed a finger in her brother’s direction. “You be quiet. He wouldn’t be injured in the first place if it weren’t for you.”

  “Hey!” All jocularity fell from Charlie’s face. “I didn’t ask him to take on Taggart’s gang for my benefit.”

  “No. I did.” She spun away from her brother. His lack of remorse and failure to accept any level of responsibility made her chest ache. “And I paid for his services with the promise of medical treatment. Anytime. Anywhere. And I plan to hold up my end of the bargain.” She met Matthew’s eyes, her heart doing a little flip. “I need to make sure you’re all right. Even the smallest wound, if not properly treated, can turn septic. Please, Matthew.”

  He blew out a breath, his face reddening slightly. “Fine. But this can’t take more than fifteen minutes. Taggart and his gang didn’t follow us, but I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them. I’ll feel better when we have more distance separating us.” He speared her with his gaze, making it clear she was the part of us he was most concerned about.

  Feeling mollified and even slightly cherished, Josephine gave a crisp nod. “Very well. I’ll follow you to the barbershop. Once you’re out of your bath, I can examine your wounds.”

  Charlie, having dismounted, pushed his way into the conversation. “Not without a chaperone, you won’t. I’m coming with you.”

  “Guess it’ll be a party,” Mr. Wallace said with a smile. “I won’t mind having the chance to clean up a bit.” His easy manner helped diffuse the tension flaring between her brother and Matthew. They didn’t seem to like each other very much. Odd, since Matthew had just saved Charlie’s life.

  “Let’s get a move on, then.” Matthew glared at Charlie, then marched off toward the building with a striped pole out front, two doors down from the mercantile.

  Josephine hurried to catch up, but Charlie slowed her with a hand to her arm as the two of them followed a short distance behind.

  “Is this fellow courting you, Jo?” he asked in a hushed voice, the frown on his face indicating his lack of enthusiasm over the prospect.

  “There’s no official understanding between us, but there’s . . . potential. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “None of my business? I’m your brother.”

  “And I’m a twenty-eight-year-old professional woman who happens to be fully capable of making decisions pertaining to her personal life without the opinion of a male family member.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Still bossy as ever, I see.” They reached the boardwalk, and he tugged her to a stop.

  Matthew continued on to the barbershop, and Mr. Wallace hung back a few steps to give the siblings some privacy.

  “I’m not putting myself in your business because I think you need me,” Charlie said. “Heaven knows you have too much stubborn pride to need anyone.” The trace of bitterness in his voice made Josephine frown. “It’s just that I care about you, and I don’t want to see you hurt.” He glanced at Mr. Wallace, then modulated his tone to a softer decibel. “This man’s not good for you, Jo. I know men of his kind. Men who make their living with their guns. He’s violent and cold. You didn’t see how he fought back there in that canyon. Facing down a dozen men with a six-shooter in each hand like some kind of demon.”

  Josephine’s knees nearly buckled. A dozen men? How had Matthew escaped with only two small flesh wounds? Surely God had been watching over him. God and the Horsemen.

  “You’re a healer, Jo. This . . . this mercenary is the opposite of everything you stand for. You can’t let that into your life. It changes you.”

  Those last words carried a haunting quality that stirred Josephine’s compassion. He was speaking from experience.

  She clasped Charlie’s hand. “I know you see him as no different from those men who took you hostage, but you’re wrong, Charlie. Matthew is a good man. A former cavalry officer. Someone who fights on behalf of decent people at the mercy of evil men. People like you.” She squeezed his hand. “Matthew Hanger risks his life for strangers. He’s a hero.”

  Charlie’s face paled, and he stumbled back a step. “Did you say Matthew Hanger? As in Hanger’s Horsemen?”

  Josephine raised a brow. “That’s right. The Horsemen are the ones who rescued you.”

  Charlie reached for the railing behind him, as if he were having trouble staying on his feet.

  “Charlie?” She put a hand to his forehead to check for fever. “Are you all right?”

  He pushed her hand away. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Let’s get in there. Your beau doesn’t seem the type to put up with delays.”

  He stomped up the steps and disappeared into the barbershop. Mr. Wallace followed, giving her a shrug of commiseration as he strolled past.

  What on earth had gotten into her brother? Wouldn’t someone who’d just been rescued from a group of villainous thugs be thankful the famous Hanger’s Horsemen were on his side? Yet his reaction left her with the distinct impression that thankful was the opposite of what Charlie felt.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  Matt made quick work of his bath. One, because he didn’t trust Josephine not to march straight into the bathhouse and demand to see his injuries. And two, because Charlie kept shooting him disgruntled looks, and being naked in a tub didn’t exactly throw much weight behind Matt’s “don’t mess with me, whelp” glare. The scowl he used to keep new recruits in line worked much better when he was dressed, armed, and standing toe-to-toe with the kid who needed to be taken down a notch.

  Steeling himself for the pain he was about to inflict, Matt lathered the washrag. The wound three inches above his knee already throbbed from the long ride and stung from the soap in the water. But when he scrubbed the rag over it, fire ignited in his leg. Matt didn’t so much as blink, though. Just
finished as fast as possible, then propped his ankles on the end of the tub to raise the wound out of the water while he dunked his head and cleaned the rest of the sweat and dirt from his skin.

  When he emerged, Wallace was standing at the end of the tub, frowning at the red, oozing spot on Matt’s thigh. “Ouch. That looks like more than a crease, Captain. An inch of your hide is missing. She’s probably going to have to stitch it.”

  An unappealing prospect. Not because of the pain involved, but because of the embarrassment inherent in such an exercise. Matt grimaced. Josie was a doctor. A professional. But she was still a woman, and a man just didn’t go around exposing his thighs in front of ladies. Especially one he was attracted to. He shot a sidelong glance at Charlie, who had taken off his shirt and was washing his chest and arms at a small tub atop a table. Maybe having a chaperone was a good idea, after all.

  “Are you decent in there?” Josephine’s voice slipped under the curtain separating the bathing room from the rest of the barbershop.

  Matt’s legs retracted like a recoiling rifle and splashed back into the water. Wallace grinned in a good-natured tease, but Charlie’s guffaw rubbed like salt in Matt’s wound.

  “Better give him another minute, sis,” Charlie called. “He’s not quite fit for mixed company.”

  “I’m not company,” she grumbled, and Matt could easily picture the disgruntled look on her face. “I’m his doctor.”

  Thankfully, she didn’t press the issue and remained on her side of the curtain.

  Matt wasn’t taking any chances, though. He lurched out of the tub, uncaring that water sloshed everywhere, and grabbed the towel Wallace handed him. He rubbed the water from his skin and hair with quick strokes, then grabbed a set of clean clothes from his saddlebag. He tugged on his cotton flannel drawers, ignoring the pink stain that seeped into the fabric over his left thigh, and pulled a serviceable gray shirt over his head. He did up the buttons, then reached for his trousers, only to realize he couldn’t put those on if Josie was going to examine his leg.