At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  Thankfully Taggart’s men had been more concerned with stripping them of weapons than funds. In their effort to speed Josie away, they hadn’t taken the time to go through the Horsemen’s pockets, which left them enough cash to pay Whitaker for the boots and secure tickets for the train. Of course, the outlaws had stolen the bulk of their money when they stole their saddlebags. Never knowing how much money they might need to complete a job, the Horsemen always rode flush, despite appearances to the contrary. Now, however, all that remained was a collection of spare change. They should have enough to rent some horses from a livery in San Antonio when the train arrived, but after that, they’d be living off pocket lint.

  “Hey, Wallace.” Preach stretched his boot farther across the aisle and kicked Mark’s foot off his crossed ankle.

  Wallace lifted the hat that had been covering his face and glowered at Preach, obviously unhappy at having his nap disturbed.

  Preach offered no apology. He gestured with a nod to the other passengers sitting in the front section of the car. “See if you can charm one of them fellas into loaning you their whiskey flask. The captain’s wound needs tendin’.”

  Wallace straightened, his eyes widening into full alertness. He leaned forward and eyed Matt around Preach’s wide shoulders. “Is it bad? I thought it was just a crease.”

  “Apparently he confused crease with canyon.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Matt smacked Preach’s elbow off its resting place on the back of the seat in front of them, taking great satisfaction in watching his corporal’s body jerk forward as he tried to stop his fall. “Just bleeding a bit more than optimal.”

  “You know what Dr. Burkett would say.” Wallace shifted into a schoolmaster tone that would’ve chafed Matt’s hide had it not been for the image his words evoked of Josie and her tendency to boss him around. “Even a small wound can get infected.” He turned a searching gaze to the front of the car. “Any idea who the best target might be?”

  Jonah spoke up for the first time. “Second bench on the left. Fella with the muttonchop sideburns. Silver flask. Left breast pocket.”

  Matt shook his head, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Jonah’s eagle eyes rarely missed anything.

  Wallace gave a nod, got up from his seat, and sauntered forward to work his magic. Preach, on the other hand, tugged his own shirt from his waistband, pulled out his knife, and notched a section about three inches from the hem. Grabbing hold of the split fabric, he tore it all the way around, earning him a handful of turned heads and raised eyebrows from the other passengers.

  “I got a handkerchief that’s fairly clean,” Jonah offered. He passed a white cotton square across the aisle.

  Preach dropped it onto the seat between him and Matt. “Thanks.”

  A minute later, Wallace was back with the whiskey. Matt slouched sideways to expose the red gash, then steeled himself.

  Preach met his eyes. Matt nodded. Whiskey poured.

  Every muscle hardened into stone as Matt fought to hold back a scream of agony. Preach had the gall to administer a second dose, then finally smashed the handkerchief against Matt’s throbbing flesh.

  “Hold this.”

  Matt obeyed, covering the dressing with his hand and pressing it tight against his side as the fire abated just enough for him to catch his breath.

  “Next time, I’m voting for cauterization.” Matt shifted as Preach reached around his midsection to apply the shirttail bandage. “Probably hurts less.”

  “You’re gettin’ soft in your old age, Captain. Whining about scratches.”

  Matt didn’t rise to the bait. In truth, he wasn’t sure he could rise to much of anything at the moment. His legs felt about as solid as wet newsprint.

  “Captain? You all right?” Wallace slid into the seat in front of them and regarded him with growing concern. “You’re looking pale all of a sudden.”

  He was feeling pale all of a sudden. If one could feel pale. He clenched his jaw and fought the fog invading his brain. He was a cavalryman. Withstanding pain was part of the job. He didn’t have time for weakness. He had a mission to accomplish. A woman to save. His woman.

  “I’m fine.” He gritted out the lie, knowing he was fooling no one, yet also knowing none of his men would call him on it.

  Warriors understood. A soldier completed his mission or died trying.

  With Josie’s safety hanging in the balance, nothing short of death would drag Matt from the battlefield.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  Josephine watched the sunset fade with a growing sense of dread. Tending the wounded had kept her busy throughout the afternoon and evening, but as night approached, apprehension found fertile ground in her soul.

  She was a woman alone in a camp full of men. Drunk men. Morally bankrupt men. Men held in check by an outlaw whose only motive to protect her lay in her monetary value as a hostage. That and possibly his desire for self-preservation.

  Taggart had witnessed the capabilities of the Horsemen with his own eyes. And now that he knew their identities, thanks to Charlie’s attempt to throw around the weight of others when he himself had none, Taggart understood who would come after him should any harm befall her while in his care. The number of arrests that could be laid at the Horsemen’s feet would give even the cockiest outlaw a moment’s pause. Whether or not that pause would last the night, however, was a question Josephine couldn’t yet answer.

  When the camp cook rang the bell and men started assembling in the yard between the house and the barn, Josephine made a point to look for Charlie. He stood beside the chuck wagon, one arm shackled to a spoke in the back wheel. When he moved to dip water into an outlaw’s cup, she noticed his limp, but the leg seemed to be bearing his weight for the most part, so the knee must not be broken. He looked up and caught her eye. She held his gaze for a single heartbeat, then turned away. Some of today’s injuries were not superficial.

  When it came her turn at the chuck wagon, Josephine held out her tin plate to the gray-bearded man with the crooked nose. It looked to have been broken recently and not set very well. Dark bruising colored the bridge of his nose and blackened his eyes as well.

  His ladle banged against her plate. “Thank you,” she murmured, the politeness automatic.

  The cook’s face jerked up as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue. He stared at her long and hard, as if suspicious of her meaning. Then finally he gave a sharp nod. “Yer welcome.”

  A tiny smile curved her lips, the first such gesture since this whole abduction fiasco began. Heavens, but it felt good. “I can set that break for you after supper, if you like,” she said.

  The old man’s gaze jumped to her watchdog, who was in line behind her, before finding its way back to her. “Thank ya kindly, ma’am, but I reckon it’ll heal up good enough for an old coot like me.”

  “Oh, but I don’t mi—”

  “The man said no, Doc.” Carver emphasized his words with a shove to her backside—one that pinched as well as pushed.

  Josephine yelped and nearly dropped her plate in the dirt as she lurched forward. Red-hot anger scorched her throat. She spun around to face him. Her arm twitched with the need to slap his face for such wretched presumption, but awareness of her surroundings kept her in check. Barely.

  His eyes flashed with laughter. He knew the war raging inside her. He smirked, his dark gaze daring her to strike him.

  Any excuse, he’d said. Any excuse to make Charlie pay the price.

  Josephine forced the tension in her arm to relax. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Carver.” She dressed him down in her best schoolmarm voice.

  Titters broke out among the men. Which was unfortunate, for Mr. Carver didn’t appreciate laughter being aimed in his direction.

  He grabbed her arm and jerked her against him so hard that her dinner plate fell to the ground, splattering her skirt hem with stew as she stumbled into his chest.

  “I’ll put my hands whe
rever I want, Doc, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.”

  “Hey!” Charlie lurched forward. His chains rattled as he tried to get to her, but his iron leash pulled him up short. “Leave her alone!”

  The stone-faced guard refused to comply, of course. “Who’s gonna make me, rich boy? You?”

  Charlie glared at Carver but kept his mouth shut. The first wise thing he’d managed to do since they’d arrived.

  Josephine wedged her hands between her torso and Carver’s chest and pushed, surprised when he actually let her go. Not that any sort of latent decency had erupted within his conscience. It was the approaching black-clad outlaw who had no doubt inspired her release.

  Once she was free, Josephine took two steps away from Carver and straightened her clothing. The gray-haired cook retrieved her plate from the ground, scraped off the remainder of the splattered stew, and wiped it with a towel. He then ladled up a fresh portion and handed it to her. He never said a word, but the quiet act of kindness bolstered her spirits and her courage.

  “You all right, Jo?” her brother asked.

  She held her head high and nodded. “Don’t worry, Charlie,” she said as her gaze zeroed in on the man in black. “The balance of power will change when the cavalry arrives.”

  “What’s that you say?” Taggart asked, his arrogant voice grating across her nerves. “Something about the cavalry? Surely you don’t expect them to sweep in and save the day.”

  Josephine stiffened her spine and faced the gang’s leader. “Have no doubt. The cavalry is coming.”

  “I don’t think so.” He bypassed the three men still in line at the chuck wagon and held his plate out to the cook. “The cavalry’s not much of a cavalry without horses. Besides, I shot the captain, if you’ll recall. He won’t be riding to anyone’s rescue.”

  Josephine refused to flinch even when the dagger of his words sliced into her like a scalpel. “You don’t know Matthew Hanger.”

  He’d survived the battlefield for more than a decade. He could survive an outlaw’s ambush. She believed in him. Believed in a God who could save men from lions, fiery furnaces, and giants.

  Taggart just shrugged in the face of her faith. “Bullets tend to slow men down, darlin’. Even cavalry officers. If he’s not dead already, he soon will be.”

  Josephine lifted her chin. She’d believe Matthew alive until empirical evidence disproved her hypothesis. “Have no doubt, Mr. Taggart. The cavalry will arrive. Hanger’s Horsemen never fail.”

  He shook his head and clicked his tongue in condescension. “They’ve failed already, Miss Burkett. Or have you forgotten where you are?”

  With indignation burning in her chest along with a fierce need to champion the man she loved, she took a step forward and challenged the cad. “Where I am is of less importance than where they are. They’re on your trail, Taggart. And they won’t stop until they take you down.”

  “If you don’t stop, Captain, I’m gonna take you down myself.” Preach planted himself in Matt’s path and glared as if he were the commanding officer.

  “Step aside, Corporal.” They needed horses, and he didn’t have the strength to traipse all over San Antonio searching for another livery that might have a night staff. If terrorizing a stable boy was what it took to get him a horse, he’d bellow and threaten until the kid either started bawling or fetched the owner.

  Preach, however, disregarded his order. He just stood there, arms folded, legs braced. “This isn’t you, Cap,” he murmured. “It isn’t us.”

  Wallace sidled past the two of them and started smoothing things over with the kid with wide eyes and a stubborn chin who barred their entrance to the livery. A kid Matt had dressed down as if he were a disobedient trooper under his command instead of a child probably no older than twelve or thirteen. One under orders by his boss not to bother him at home unless the place was either on fire or set upon by thieves.

  Since Matt wasn’t so far gone as to commit actual crimes, that left them at a stalemate, one he’d tried to win through bullying.

  Forgive me.

  Matt blew out a breath and squinted against the pounding in his head and the agony in his side. He’d thought the pain would improve after Preach’s doctoring, but it hadn’t. The wound throbbed. Constantly. That, combined with his worry for Josie, had worn his patience thin and his temper thinner.

  “Burkett won’t be traveling anywhere tonight.” The edge of challenge disappeared from Preach’s voice. “It’s not safe for the horses. He knows that.”

  And so do you.

  Preach didn’t actually say the words, but Matt heard them anyway. He did know better. He’d let the fear of missing his window with Josie’s father drive common sense and common courtesy straight out of him.

  “We’ll grab a few winks,” Preach continued, “get up with the sun, and set out first thing in the morning. Brooks can scout out the livery that opens the earliest, Wallace can ferret out directions to Gringolet Farms, and you can see a doctor for proper treatment.”

  The kid perked up at the name of the horse farm. “Yer goin’ to Gringolet?”

  Matt turned to the stable boy. “That’s right. You know it?”

  The lad still looked wary, but his chin bobbed in a small nod. “My brother got a job there. Said they have the best horseflesh in the West. He gets to bunk with the hands and help the trainers. Mr. Burkett even lets him ride some, since he’s so light. He ain’t much bigger than me even though he’s four years older.”

  “We’re friends of Mr. Burkett’s daughter, Josephine.” Matt relaxed his stance and carefully modulated his voice.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “The lady doc?”

  “Yep. She’s in trouble. That’s why we’re in such a hurry to get to Gringolet Farms. We’ve got to talk to her pa.”

  Wallace placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Do you know how to get there?”

  “I can do you one better.” The boy stood tall. “I can take you the back way. Shave a good twenty minutes off yer travel time.”

  “I’d be in your debt,” Matt said, humbled by the kid’s generosity, especially after the way Matt had snapped at him earlier. “And I owe you an apology. I never should’ve barked at you like I did. I’m sorry.”

  The kid nodded. “Thaddeus Burkett is a good man. He gave my brother a job with a man’s salary after my pa passed on. Don’t know how we woulda made it through that first winter without those wages. If Mr. Burkett’s girl needs help, I’m helpin’.” He looked Matt straight in the eyes, as man-to-man as he could manage while standing a foot shorter. “Meet me at sunup at the livery next to the river, just past the footbridge on Houston. James Portman opens the earliest. He’ll get you horses, and I’ll lead you to Gringolet.”

  Matt extended his hand to the boy. The kid hesitated, then clasped Matt’s palm with a firm grip.

  “What’s your name, son?” Matt asked.

  “John Spafford.”

  “Matthew Hanger. How’d you like to be an honorary Horseman?”

  The boy’s jaw came a tad unhinged for a moment before his arm pumped up and down as he tried to separate Matt’s arm from his shoulder. “Yes, sir!”

  Matt grinned. John’s big brother wouldn’t be the only one with bragging rights in the Spafford family after this.

  His smile dimmed as they left the livery and his gaze turned to the inky sky above. Josie was out there somewhere with only her worthless brother as protection against a camp full of undisciplined outlaws. Matt’s jaw clenched against the panic rising within him, and with a touch of desperation, he sought the darkened heavens for help. His gaze locked onto the brightest star he could find.

  Get her safely through the night, Lord.

  For a soldier trained against surrender, he sure was doing it a lot today. Forfeiting control to an almighty God should be easier than giving in to a gang of outlaws, yet he still struggled. He wanted to trust, but he’d lost loved ones before, and the little boy inside the man was terrified t
hat history would repeat itself.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dawn’s glow gently penetrated Josephine’s eyelids, stirring her from the exhausted stupor she’d fallen into sometime after midnight. She tried to stretch out of the cramped ball shape she lay in, but her shoes thunked against the bed’s wooden footboard. No. Not a footboard. A tailgate. Her eyes cracked open. The tan canvas cover of the chuck wagon glowed with early morning light.

  A smile curled her lips as she carefully negotiated her way into a hunched sitting position. She’d made it through the night unscathed. Well, her back ached and she had a terrible crick in her neck—she wouldn’t recommend half-filled flour sacks as a mattress substitute any time soon—but her dignity and purity were intact, and those mattered so much more than physical comfort.

  Praise and thanksgiving poured out of her soul to her heavenly Protector like floodwater through a spillway. She needed to thank her earthly protectors, as well. Two noble knights in tarnished armor. Rolling forward, she tucked her legs beneath her and crawled to the back of the small wagon, then reached an arm over the tailgate to release the latch.

  She lowered the tailgate slowly, but the creaking wood jolted Charlie awake from where he slept beneath it. His head jerked up, and one bleary eye pried itself open.

  “Jo? You all right?”

  She smiled, and all lingering frustration toward him melted out of her heart. His tousled hair and red eyes circled with dark smudges announced that he’d slept very little during the course of the night. He’d guarded her well. And perhaps even grown up a bit in the process, if the serious cast to his features was an accurate indication.

  “I’m fine. A bit sore, but a little walk to the bushes will work out the kinks.” She sat on the edge of the wagon bed and swung her legs over the side.

  “I’ll keep watch.” Charlie scrambled to his feet and offered her his hand—the one not chained to the chuck wagon wheel.

  After dinner, Taggart had corralled Carver and Dawson and taken them back to the farmhouse. Those two seemed to be his right-hand men, so they had probably secluded themselves to go over their ransom scheme and search for weaknesses in need of shoring up. Taggart’s display of confidence in Matthew’s inability to threaten his plans hadn’t been as impervious as he would have his men believe. Josephine liked to think her insistence that the Horsemen would come had planted enough seeds of doubt to rattle him into regrouping. After all, Matthew and his Horsemen had outmaneuvered Taggart’s gang once before. They could do so again. Taggart would be a fool not to organize a few contingencies.