At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave a sober nod. It really was hard not to grin, but she was making such an effort to look fierce, he didn’t want to ruin the game.

  “Good, because I plan on holding on to those fine words for a good long while. And another thing.” She jabbed him again, though this time it was more of a full-handed pat than a jab, one that lingered against his chest, giving him the oddest urge to flex his muscles. “You are far from being in your dotage. I’ve seen your physique, if you’ll recall, and as a doctor, I can assure you that among male Homo sapiens, you fall far above the average.”

  The fact that he had never heard the term Homo sapiens did nothing to impair his understanding of her meaning. She didn’t see an old man nearing his fourth decade with graying hair and aching bones when she looked at him. She saw a man in his prime. He did flex his muscles then, and that grin he’d been fighting found its way onto his face. Only it wasn’t humor inspiring its appearance this time. Nope. It was full-on swagger.

  “And what if I’m more interested in your opinion as a woman than a physician?” he asked as he set a hand to her waist and tugged her closer.

  “A physician is trained to catalog the strengths and weaknesses of the human anatomy,” she said as her palm flattened against the wall of his chest, “and report accurate findings. But a woman?” Her gaze lifted from his chest to his face. “A woman keeps her secrets.”

  As close as they were, she had to tip her chin to meet his gaze. Her lips beckoned, and the urge to kiss her was so strong it required physical effort to hold himself back.

  “I promise not to tell anyone,” he whispered.

  Her attention slid to his mouth, and the kissing side of the tug-of-war inside him gained momentum. He lowered his head an inch.

  “Hey, Captain!” Preach’s voice boomed from somewhere behind them.

  Matt jerked his head up even as Josie stepped away and started brushing at the edge of her jacket. A growl built in his throat. His corporal was going to get an earful later tonight.

  “What?” he shouted at the man who stood a fair distance away, carefully turning his attention to the east so as not to look directly at the couple whose position had been rather cozier than dictated by the client-Horseman relationship.

  “Gettin’ late. If we’re gonna make Cypress Mill before nightfall, we gotta get a move on. Horses are rested, and provisions are packed.”

  Matt let out a sigh. He couldn’t blame Preach for being practical. “Very well, Corporal. We’ll be right there.”

  But when he turned to offer Josie his arm, she skittered past him and hurried back toward the other Horsemen without a single backward glance.

  He guessed she’d be hangin’ on to those secrets of hers a while longer.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  The clickety-clack of the train rocking along the rails should have lulled Josephine into a doze, but she was too busy trying to eavesdrop on the conversation happening behind her to allow her weariness to have its way. Matthew had been sitting in the backward-facing seat in front of her, but he’d abandoned her company an hour ago to talk in hushed tones with his men.

  She hated not being privy to their discussion. She wanted to know their plans, their strategy for extricating Charlie. Yet they probably wouldn’t speak freely in front of her. Her father never had.

  As a girl, whenever she happened to enter the stables while he was discussing business with one of his army buyers, he’d interrupt himself mid-sentence in order to avoid tainting her delicate female ears with talk of breeding or financial concerns. He always greeted her warmly and made time for whatever questions she had, but then he’d send her on her way, taking care not to resume his business dealings until she was out of earshot.

  Which was probably why, on such occasions, she made a beeline for his study. If her father didn’t think it proper to teach a girl about horse breeding and economics, she’d simply teach herself. Books didn’t care if she wore skirts instead of trousers. Their knowledge belonged to anyone with the courage to open their covers. And she had courage in spades. The size of the tome and the length of the words didn’t dissuade her. She pursued them all, though the treatises on commerce quickly grew tedious. The books on animal husbandry, however, fascinated her and beckoned her back again and again.

  God’s creation was a marvelous machine, each cog and gear accomplishing a unique purpose within its own sphere that then affected the health and function of the overall animal. Those early forays into her father’s study had lit a fire within her to understand the workings not only of four-legged creatures, but two-legged ones as well.

  She had been fighting against male notions of what the female brain could handle ever since.

  To be fair to Matthew and the other Horsemen, her exclusion from their conversation was most likely not based on gender. Matthew was too practical not to take the shortest distance between two conversational points. And he seemed to appreciate her general intelligence. No, her lack of military training was her disqualification. A fair omission, since she’d never engaged in a rescue mission. They had no reason to include her. Just as she would have no reason to include any of them in a discussion on the proper course of medical treatment for an incapacitated patient.

  Still . . . being left out rubbed with all the discomfort of a cat being petted against the grain.

  But enough of this moping. She’d hired Matthew and his men because she believed them capable. Time to trust them to do their jobs and quit trying to listen in on their plans. Craving knowledge might be her greatest strength as a doctor, but it was her greatest weakness when it came to matters of faith. Faith in people and faith in God. Knowledge inspired confidence. A lack of knowledge left her feeling powerless and afraid. And weak. As someone who thrived on being in control, weakness was hard to stomach. As was relying on someone else to solve her problems. Yet she had no choice in this case. She didn’t have the expertise or skill to rescue Charlie on her own, so she had to rely on those who did. And not just the Horsemen.

  Her eyes slid closed. Grant them success, Lord. Shape their plans with your potter’s hands. You know all. See all. Therefore, your power is infinite. Cover Matthew and his men with your protection. Guide their steps. And please . . . take care of Charlie. He’s made myriad mistakes, but you are a God of mercy as well as justice. Let mercy reign.

  A yawn overtook her as she prayed. She opened her eyes and gave her head a little shake. Two full days in the saddle were taking their toll. She might still possess the skill to ride like a cavalryman, but that didn’t mean her muscles were accustomed to such lengthy outings. Her thighs, back, and abdominal muscles were protesting—loudly—about their gross overuse. She hadn’t just pushed her rented horse to the limit, traveling nearly eighty miles in two days. She’d pushed herself to the limit too. She was exhausted, worried, and as sore as she ever remembered being. The worry made it impossible to treat her exhaustion, but perhaps she could address her aching muscles.

  Josephine pushed to her feet and stepped into the aisle, reaching overhead to grip the luggage rack for balance as the railcar swayed. A dull throb permeated her legs when she straightened, causing her to bite back a moan. The best prescription for sore muscles was stretching and gentle exercise. A walk down the aisle should ease the stiffness, if not the ache.

  And if it happened to take her past the Horsemen, well, that was just a bonus.

  The dapper older gentleman seated across the aisle dipped his head politely as she turned down the walkway, though his gaze raked over her with unconcealed disapproval. Probably her mismatched outfit and lack of a proper bonnet. At least she’d remembered to pack a skirt so she wasn’t traipsing through the railcar in her trousers. That would have really raised his brows. A smile tugged at her mouth at the thought. Her dark green skirt might be wrinkled and the color completely unsuitable for the blue jacket that still smelled of horse, but her white shirtwaist was clean. Acting as if she wore the latest Paris fashion, she hel
d her head high and nodded to him in return as she strolled by.

  Putting the stodgy fellow out of her mind, Josephine turned her attention to the left, where the low voices of the Horsemen rumbled. They sat two to a seat, facing each other, their heads close together as they plotted and schemed. Mr. Wallace caught sight of her first. He straightened and smiled, and immediately the rumbling ceased as the other three sat up and nodded to her. Matthew twisted in his seat, his gaze finding hers.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m just stretching my legs.”

  His gaze traveled over her, not a hint of disapproval evident on his rugged face, just concern and sympathy. This was a man who had trained new recruits. Any efforts to hide her fatigue and soreness were pointless, but her pride insisted she try.

  He rose to his feet, his voice softening to a timbre that would travel only to her ears. “I’m sorry we had to push you so hard yesterday.”

  She touched his arm. “Don’t be. It was necessary. My brother’s well-being is more important than my comfort.”

  “You should try to sleep. We still have at least two hours before we arrive in Chatfield.”

  “Maybe,” she said. She doubted she’d be able to drift off with the hard wooden benches, the rattle of the rail wheels, and the frequent stops to take on mail and passengers, but it might not hurt to try. Right now, though, she had legs to stretch, and he had plans to finish.

  She took a step down the aisle, letting her fingers fall away from his elbow. “I’m fine, Matthew. Truly.” Her gaze swept over the other three men. “I’ll let you get back to your discussion, gentlemen.”

  They nodded politely to her, each giving his own interpretation of the action. Mr. Davenport, seated to Matthew’s left, smirked a bit, as if amused by seeing his commander so concerned for a woman’s comfort. Mr. Brooks, across from him next to the window, offered a brisk nod that seemed more impatient than polite, as if he considered her a distraction they would’ve done better to leave behind. Mr. Wallace touched the brim of his hat with the hand of his uninjured arm, his smile pure charm as she moved past. Not for the first time, it struck her how different they were from each other, yet the tie that bound them could not be denied. These men would fight for each other. Die for each other.

  A swirl of foreboding eddied in her stomach, leaving her slightly ill. She hardened herself against the unwelcome angst and made her way toward the rear of the railcar. She wasn’t leading them to their death with this mission to save Charlie. These were seasoned soldiers. Experts at defeating outlaws and criminals. They’d rescue Charlie and return unscathed.

  She had to believe that God would grant them victory over the villains holding Charlie. It was all she had to hold on to in a situation residing completely outside her control. So she clung to the belief with all her strength. Every time she had rolled over the last two nights, she had prayed for Charlie’s safety. But not only his. She’d prayed for the Horsemen too. For Matthew especially. He was doing this for her. He’d said as much. Which meant if something happened to him or to one of his men, it would be her fault.

  Think on what is lovely, Jo. Not all this darkness. Think on what is virtuous and praiseworthy.

  Unfortunately, the most virtuous and praiseworthy thing that popped into her mind was the man sitting behind her, which circled her back to where she’d started. She’d never get her mind off her troubles at this rate.

  “Tommy?” The alarmed cry sharpened Josephine’s focus like nothing else could. She knew that tone: a mother afraid for her child. “Tommy! What’s happening?”

  There. Four benches down the aisle. Right side. A boy, aged seven or eight. Slumped against his mother’s side. Convulsions wracking his body. His arms stiff and unnatural. The mother clutching her son, trying to control the uncontrollable.

  Josephine ran down the aisle. “Don’t fight him. We need to lay him on the floor where he won’t hit anything. Here. In the aisle.”

  The mother looked at her, tears in her eyes. “I have to help him.”

  But she wasn’t. The boy’s shins were banging against the seat in front of him over and over.

  “I’m a doctor. The convulsions will pass on their own in a moment. In the meantime, we need to keep him from injuring himself. The best way to do that is to lay him flat in a place where he can’t hit anything. The aisle gives us the most room.”

  People in nearby seats were gasping and shrinking away, as if afraid the boy’s condition was contagious.

  “It’s the falling sickness,” one man declared.

  A woman with a high-pitched voice shrieked. “It’s a demon!”

  “It’s not a demon,” Josephine snapped. She turned to the mother, softening her voice. “Slide off the seat and onto the floor of the aisle. He’ll come with you.”

  The woman nodded and moved to the edge of her seat. Josephine circled behind her, then gripped under her arms to help her descend. It wasn’t graceful, but it worked. Josephine helped her scoot around until her back faced the opening of the seats across the aisle and her legs sprawled perpendicular across the walkway. The boy had slipped from her lap, but he lay straighter, his legs no longer beating themselves against the seat. His arms flailed, though, elbows locked, wrists bent, hands balled.

  One of the fists caught his mother across the cheek. A small, surprised cry escaped her, but she didn’t pull away from her son. “It’s all right, Tommy. Mommy’s here.” She touched his shoulder. “Mommy’s here.”

  “So am I,” a deep voice pronounced. Josephine looked up to find Matthew hunkered in the aisle in front of them, her doctor’s bag in his hand. “What can I do?”

  The rest of the Horsemen filled the aisle behind their leader. All expressions fierce. Ready to do battle. Whatever that might entail.

  “Your coats. Take them off and use them to create padding between his legs and the legs of the benches. I’m going to roll him onto his side to keep his arms more controlled and to ease the pressure on his chest. I don’t like his color.”

  The boy’s face had a grayish hue. The muscle spasms were forcing the air from his lungs.

  “Move!” a harsh voice growled. Mr. Davenport’s, she believed, not that she took the time to verify. All she knew was that a flurry of footsteps commenced, followed by four coats being rolled up and positioned around the boy’s legs and torso with the precision of soldiers setting up a military perimeter.

  “Is he dying?” The mother turned her tearstained face to Josephine.

  Jo shook her head. “No. It’s nearly over. Look. He’s starting to relax.”

  The convulsions had indeed slowed. The boy let out what sounded like a sigh, and Josephine thanked God when she saw him draw a full breath.

  “Tommy?” His mother ran a hand over his hair.

  “It might take a couple minutes for him to wake,” Josephine warned, not wanting the woman to be any more frightened than she was already. “Has this happened before?”

  The boy’s mother shook her head. “Never.” Her eyes sought Josephine’s for answers. “Is he sick?”

  “Convulsions can have many causes.” She placed the back of her hand against the boy’s forehead. “He doesn’t seem to have a fever. Sometimes high fever spikes can cause them.” Or an infection of the brain. “Has he been ill lately?”

  The mother shook her head. “No. He’s been perfectly fine. He was running and playing at the station in San Antonio with some other children before we boarded. Well, until he fell off the railing.”

  Josephine immediately moved her hands to the back of the boy’s head, her fingers searching for a lump beneath his hair. “Did he hit his head?”

  “Maybe. He wouldn’t tell me, just brushed me off when I ran over to check on him. You know how boys are.”

  That she did. Charlie always hated it when she tried to soothe his hurts in front of his peers.

  There. Her fingers probed a large protrusion on the side of his head. “There’s a knot here. Feel it?”
She moved the hair aside and invited the boy’s mother to find the swelling.

  The woman nodded as her eyes widened. “Did he crack his skull?”

  Josephine smiled reassuringly. “No. There’s no blood.” Though there might be swelling inside the skull as well as outside. “It could be the reason for the convulsions. You should take him to a doctor as soon as you get to your destination. Have him examined. Tell the physician about the convulsions.”

  The boy stirred. His eyes fluttered open. “Mama?”

  “Tommy!” She bent over and kissed her son’s forehead. “Oh, thank the Lord.”

  A lingering tightness in Josephine’s chest relaxed as the boy looked around, his eyes losing their glassiness, his color improving.

  “Why are we sitting on the floor?” he asked.

  His mother laughed, a sound of abject relief as she recognized that the danger had passed.

  “Here, ma’am.” Matthew extended a hand. “Let me help you up.”

  Josephine had forgotten he was there. She blinked as she looked away from Tommy for the first time. Somehow the Horsemen had surrounded her. One in front, one in back in the aisle, and one on each side in the seating areas. Unconcerned with causing a scene or displacing passengers, they’d positioned themselves as her protectors.

  Warmth radiated through her midsection.

  “I got the boy,” Mr. Davenport said as he bent down and scooped Tommy up with more gentleness than she would have thought the big man capable of exerting.

  With the crisis passed, chatter inflated through the car as the other passengers tried to process what they had witnessed.

  Josephine reached for her doctor’s bag and stood, accepting Mr. Wallace’s assistance as he cupped his good hand around her elbow. She smiled her thanks, then propped the medical bag on the seat facing Tommy’s mother.

  “Where are you traveling to?” she asked, smiling as if she were just making small talk. In truth, the answer mattered. Tommy needed quality medical care, and he’d be more likely to receive it back in San Antonio than in any of the small towns this train was headed to.