At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  If ever there was a time to think of her as the paunchy, balding Dr. Joe he’d first imagined her to be, this was it. Thankfully, his shirttails added additional cover, but he decided a leather shield would offer more protection and plopped his saddlebag into his lap as he sat on the stool beside the tub.

  “All right, Josie. It’s safe to come in.”

  She pushed the curtain aside and strode in, a picture of cool efficiency, as if marching through a male-occupied bathing chamber was something she did on a regular basis. Her face registered no curiosity or shock. She simply drew up a second stool for herself and sat down. Her attention was purely focused on his wound, not him, as she opened her medical bag and set it on the floor. Feeling distinctly less awkward than he had a moment ago, Matt relaxed.

  Until she touched him.

  The muscles in his leg twitched at the coolness of her fingers against his bath-heated skin. His heart hammered in his chest. Not even the sting of the fabric scraping across his wound offered sufficient distraction as she folded back the hem of his drawers to expose the injury on the outer edge of his thigh. She took hold of his knee and arranged his leg to maximize her view of the torn flesh. His pulse didn’t seem to recognize the complete absence of amorous intent on her part. Her touching his bare leg in any capacity was enough to set his heart thumping. The fact that she was doing so in a medical, probing-until-it-hurt type of way only dulled his ardor a smidgen.

  “Looks like you cleaned the exposed tissue fairly well,” she said as she leaned sideways to collect a blue jar from her bag. She unscrewed the lid, and a sickly sweet smell escaped, making his nose twitch. “I’m going to treat it with this carbolated gauze,” she explained as she pulled a short length of white material from the jar, “then I’ll stitch you up. Two or three sutures should do the trick.”

  She rubbed the moist gauze across his wound, and he fought the urge to hiss in reaction. Charlie, having finished his wash, was hovering close enough for Matt to hear his breathing. Matt might not mind letting his guard down around Josie and Wallace, but his pride refused to allow any weakness to show around a man he didn’t trust.

  Josie raised a brow as if she’d read his thoughts, but she made no comment. She replaced the jar of medicated gauze in her bag and pulled out a disc-shaped canister with the word Catgut printed in blue around the red cross at the center. She unspooled a length of thread and snipped off the end. After pushing it through a needle’s eye, she inhaled, then set the sharp end against his flesh.

  For the first time since she’d entered the chamber, she met his eyes. “Ready?”

  He held her gaze and gave a slow nod.

  Her face softened in apology for the briefest moment before she turned back to her task and poked the needle through his flesh.

  A tiny grunt escaped him, but Wallace was doing his best to engage Charlie in conversation, so Matt didn’t think either of them heard it. As the tug of the suture pulled through his skin, he fought the urge to wince.

  “You don’t have to prove anything to me, you know,” Josie whispered. “You can groan and contort your face as much as you want.” She knotted the thread, then glanced up at him, a tiny smile bending the corner of her mouth. “As long as you don’t move your leg, of course. Wouldn’t want you to throw off my suturing. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  He grinned as she cut off the end of the thread. “I’ll be still as a post,” he vowed in an equally low voice. “Can’t have my woman’s reputation marred.” An ironic statement, considering their current location, but true nonetheless.

  Her eyes met his again, her needle poised at the edge of his thigh for a second stitch. “Is that what I am?” Her breath seemed to catch at the edge of her throat. “Your woman?”

  Matt swallowed, his heart pounding like Phineas’s galloping hooves. Was that what he’d said? Something must’ve gotten tangled up in his head between my doctor and a woman and emerged as my woman. Yet as he peered into Josie’s face, he could no longer downplay his interest as mere attraction or friendly respect. His feelings ran deeper.

  Matt’s chest squeezed, and before he could call a halt, the truth popped out of his mouth. “I’d like you to be.”

  She said nothing, but a light came into her green eyes that suggested she might not be completely opposed to the idea.

  Then she looked down and stabbed him with her needle.

  Matt allowed a small groan to escape him this time. Not so much from the pain, but more as a release. Proving his toughness no longer seemed so vital. Josie had no need for it, and her brother . . . Matt looked over to where Charlie leaned against the edge of the tub, arms crossed, a glowering stare aimed at Matt’s head. Matt still couldn’t say he liked him, but Charlie might be family someday, and alienating him probably wouldn’t win Matt any points with the woman he hoped to make his wife. Perhaps letting his guard down would.

  His wife. Was he really contemplating marriage? After losing his family, he’d vowed to be a solitary man, like his uncle. Shielded from the searing pain of losing people he loved. The army had offered the perfect escape. A man with no family was actually an asset. An unattached soldier could protect the families of others with fearless abandon because his own death, should it come, carried no consequences. No wife or children depended on him for their livelihood. It had been the perfect path. Until Wounded Knee.

  And until a bossy doctor with ten-dollar words and gemstones for eyes elbowed her way past his fortified walls to set up shop in his heart. For the first time in his life, his desire to charge forward and lay claim to a woman outranked his instinct to defend and retreat. The strategic shift terrified as much as it exhilarated him.

  A muffled whistle from outside filtered through the bathhouse walls.

  “Train must be here,” Wallace said, dropping his foot from where it had been propped on the tub’s edge next to Charlie.

  “I’m nearly finished.” Josie tied off the second suture, then quickly added a third stitch to Matt’s hide. She blew a piece of hair off her forehead, then sat back. “Stand up, please. Legs apart. I need to apply a bandage.”

  Matt felt his neck warm, but he did as she instructed, catching the saddlebag as it tumbled from his lap. Like an experienced field surgeon, she had a dressing in place and a gauze bandage wrapped around his leg before he could count to twenty. Had he been counting. In truth, he’d been trying to figure out how to hold the saddlebag without looking like an idiot. Not that it mattered. She didn’t give the bag so much as a second glance. Once she had the ends of the bandage tucked away, she pushed to her feet and asked to see his arm.

  Matt complied, rolling up his right sleeve to expose the crease left from an outlaw’s bullet.

  She cupped his elbow in her hand and lifted his arm close to her face. “No stitches for this one,” she declared. “I’ll just dab on some salve, and we’ll be ready to go.”

  The sound of the outside door opening stole Matt’s attention from the feel of Josie’s fingers on his arm. Before he could voice his concern over being found half-dressed in a bathing chamber with a woman, Wallace and Charlie placed themselves between Josie and the door, blocking the view of whoever might have purchased a bath.

  “Passengers have disembarked, Captain.” Preach’s voice bounced off the rafters, cutting past the tension in the room. “They’ll be calling the all aboard soon.”

  “Be there in two,” Matt called. He pulled his arm from Josie’s light hold, causing her to smear some of her salve down his wrist. “Time for you to skedaddle, darlin’.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and twisted her around so that her back was to him. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  Wallace bent to retrieve her doctor’s bag and handed it to her. Josie frowned at being rushed, but she accepted the bag and moved toward the exit, her attention diverting to Charlie’s hands as she came abreast of him. Giving her brother a little shove, she herded him toward the door with her.

  “While I’ve got the salve out, I might as well see
to those sore spots on your hands. Come on.”

  Charlie grumbled but let her shoo him out of the bathhouse. Wallace followed, leaving Matt a blessed moment of privacy to pull on his trousers, socks, and boots. He tucked in his shirttails, stretched his suspenders over his shoulders, draped his saddlebag over his left arm, and rejoined his men.

  As soon as the sunshine hit his eyes, a light brown object hit his hands.

  “Got you a new hat, boss.” Jonah nodded toward Phineas, whose saddle was void of both items Matt had been forced to borrow.

  Preach led the horse forward. “One of the stable boys took that nasty stuff off our hands. Said he’d clean it up and give it to his brother. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Not at all.” Matt fit the new hat to his head. It was stiff compared to his old one, but the size was right, and the cavalry-style shape was exactly what he preferred. He tipped the brim toward Jonah. “Thanks, Brooks.”

  Jonah nodded.

  “Oh! My carpetbag,” Josie exclaimed. “I left it by the bench at the boardinghouse. The train tickets are in it.”

  Before she could rush away, Preach stepped forward. “No worries, Doc. I picked it up. Tied it onto the back of Sandy’s saddle for ya.”

  Sure enough, the palomino sported a red-and-gold-patterned lump atop his rump.

  She smiled. “Oh, wonderful! Thank you, Mr. Davenport.”

  Preach dipped his chin. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  “All right. If we’ve got everything, then,” Matt said, feeling a little grumpy over Preach playing Josie’s hero, “let’s get to the depot and load the horses.”

  Each man took charge of a lead line, and they moved as a group toward the depot. As they skirted around the platform to gain access to the freight cars, Charlie suddenly grabbed Matt’s shoulder.

  “Wait.”

  Matt turned, the sharpness in Charlie’s voice sending a jolt of alarm through him. “What is it?”

  “Those two men.” Charlie pointed to a pair of brawny fellows at the edge of the platform who were talking to the rail hand in charge of livestock. The same hand who had unloaded the Horsemen’s mounts the day before. “They’re from Taggart’s gang.”

  “Are you sure?” Preach demanded in a low voice.

  “Yes.”

  One of the two men turned, and all doubt fled Matt’s mind. He recognized that red beard. And by the way the man’s brows rose, he recognized Matt as well.

  “We’ve got to ride!” Matt immediately moved to Josie’s side and boosted her up onto Phineas’s back before mounting behind her. “Now!”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  Josephine’s mind raced as they fled the depot. How had Taggart’s men found them? According to Matthew, the outlaws hadn’t pursued the Horsemen after the rescue, so they must have taken the train. But how many were aboard? Matthew must have assumed there were more than the two they’d spotted. Either that or he was concerned about innocent bystanders being injured should a gunfight erupt. As far as she could tell, Chatfield had no marshal. For pity’s sake, the town didn’t even have its own post office.

  Hopefully, the smallness of the town would work in their favor. If the outlaws came by train, they might not have horses. The pickings at the livery were slim, more wagon horses than cow ponies. Then again, these men were outlaws. They’d just steal whatever they needed. And any mount they confiscated would be fresher than the ones her group rode. The Horsemen would not be able to keep up this pace for long. Especially with her and Matthew riding double.

  She prayed Matthew had a plan. Were there military rules of engagement for times like these? Or did one simply retreat until more cavalry troops could swoop in and deal with the enemy? With no reinforcements available on the ground, Josephine petitioned the Lord for some angelic army support.

  She felt Phineas begin to slow beneath her. She twisted and peered around Matthew to check for followers. Nothing yet. Nothing but a small cloud of dust in the distance. A cloud she wanted to attribute to wind or a stagecoach or anything other than what she knew it had to be.

  Was Taggart coming for Charlie, still angling for a ransom? Or did he intend to unleash vengeance on all of them for foiling his plans?

  Josephine pressed her lips in a tight line as she faced forward again and adjusted her grip on the saddle horn. She supposed she should be afraid, but with Matthew’s arms around her and his chest bracing her back, fear wasn’t what bubbled up inside her. No. Anger and indignation thrummed through her veins.

  These men had no right to hold her brother hostage. To extort money from her father. To threaten the lives of good men. One of whom had her rearranging the picture of her future to include not only a well-run medical clinic, good friends, and the respect of professional colleagues, but the love of an honorable man and perhaps even a child or two if God proved generous.

  A family of her own.

  She’d known the choice to pursue a medical career would drastically reduce her chances at making a marital match, yet she’d chosen it anyway. It wasn’t just a vocational calling, but a spiritual one. She’d sacrifice whatever was necessary to follow the path God had set before her. No regrets. She found joy in her work and satisfaction in knowing her life had meaning even if it wasn’t shared with the most intimate of companions.

  Yet the instant Matthew looked into her eyes and softly admitted his desire to claim her as his own, her paradigm had shifted. Stretched. The craving for family that had been easy to store away when it was an undefined commodity burst its bonds with unexpected vigor now that it was attached to a particular man. A fierce warrior with a kind heart. Her warrior. And no greedy, gunslinging outlaw was going to steal him from her. Not on her watch.

  If Matthew could face down a dozen men back in that canyon and come away with only a couple scratches, he could keep their little group safe with tired mounts and open terrain between them and the enemy. He was Matthew Hanger, king of the Horsemen.

  Even as the thought charged triumphantly through her brain, the horse beneath them slowed again. Phineas fell back from the pack, the weight of his load taking a toll. The others slowed in response, unwilling to let any separation pull them apart. The Horsemen rode as one.

  Charlie, on the other hand, began pulling away.

  Josephine made excuses for him. He hadn’t spent years riding with these men, so he wasn’t able to sense their unspoken needs or gauge their subtle reactions. But even so, his lack of awareness of the people around him hinted at an unflattering level of self-absorption.

  “Charlie!” She tried to call him back, but her voice drowned beneath the flood of pounding hooves.

  “Don’t worry,” Matthew said. “He’s safe enough. Taggart’s men will come from behind. Any distance he gains is just another layer of protection.”

  For him. But what about for you?

  Josephine peered behind them again and found more than dust. Her stomach tightened. “I see riders.” Definitely more than two. She’d guess as many as six or seven.

  “How far back?”

  “Not sure. Half a mile, maybe?” She’d never been good at gauging distances.

  “Preach!” Matt yelled, then jerked his chin toward their pursuers.

  Mr. Davenport craned his neck to peer behind them, then straightened, his expression showing no surprise. “Yep. They’re gaining on us. ’Bout five minutes back.”

  “That wallow to the north might work.” Mr. Wallace tipped his head in the direction of a shallow dip in the earth up ahead, probably a dry creek bed.

  Work for what? Josephine tried to peek at Matthew’s face, but his attention was focused on his men.

  “Jonah?” Matthew pointed. “The wallow.”

  Mr. Brooks nodded. “I’ll fetch the rabbit.”

  Charlie.

  Mr. Brooks gave his mount his head and herded Josephine’s brother like a stray calf while Matthew and the others veered toward the creek bed.

  Once there, the Horsemen dismounted, colle
cted their weapons and ammunition, and laid on their bellies in the wallow, rifles aimed at the approaching riders. All but Matthew. He waved Charlie over, then took Josephine’s hand and dragged her toward the biggest rock in the creek bed. Not that it had much competition from the few pebbles scattered about. The stone wasn’t more than a foot high and a foot and a half wide, but it was the best protection the area had to offer.

  “Lie flat and keep your head behind this rock,” Matthew ordered, the ferocity of his gaze sending tingles over her skin. “Don’t come out for anything, Josie. Promise me.”

  She nodded. It was all the answer she could manage. The anger that had been suppressing her fear evaporated as the reality of their situation sank in. They were taking a stand. Against an unknown number of outlaws. With nothing but a dry creek bed as protection. Their horses were spent. Their ammunition finite. Their chances of survival hairsbreadth slim.

  Matthew turned to Charlie and did something Josephine never would have expected. He pulled his left revolver from its holster and handed it to her brother. “Keep her safe.”

  Charlie accepted the gun, his mouth set in firm lines. “I will.”

  “Watch for my signal,” Matthew said, his voice like steel. “If things go south, take your sister and ride. We’ll buy you as much time as we can.”

  “No!” Pulse racing, Josephine grabbed Matthew’s arm. “I’m not leaving you.”

  His eyes locked with hers. Hard. Unyielding. “You will.”

  She shook her head, tears moistening her eyes in denial even as logic confirmed his plan. Two of six was a better survival rate than zero. But to leave him, knowing she’d never see him again? She wasn’t sure she could do it.

  His eyes softened, and he cupped her face with his hand. “Please, Josie.” His thumb caressed her cheek. The captain giving orders disappeared behind the vulnerable man with a tender heart. Her warrior was begging. “Do it for me.”

  Yes. For him. She would do it for him.

  Her lashes dipped as she nodded her consent.