At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  Only when he stopped twisting did he catch a glimpse of the boots on the other side.

  He struggled to unfold. To bring his rifle barrel up. A glint of metal appeared around the corner, warning Matt that he was out of time. He flattened his body against the ground to make himself a smaller target, but instead of the gunshot he expected, a dull metallic thud rang in the air.

  The camp cook glanced around the wagon, a Dutch oven dangling from his hand and an unconscious outlaw crumpled at his feet. “Get under the wagon. More are on the way. I’ll go for the kid.”

  Matt scrambled on his belly and elbows beneath the chuck wagon, taking a quick glance behind him as he went.

  Where was she?

  Panic knifed through his gut when he couldn’t spot Josie immediately. Had she made it to the trees? No. She’d only been a little over halfway a moment ago when Wallace intervened. Raising up on his elbows, Matt jutted his head out from under the wagon. He caught a glimpse of her white shirt and flapping green skirt, but before he could exhale in relief, a dark horse swooped in from the north.

  The rider leaned sideways in the saddle, grabbed her about the waist, and flung her face-first over his lap.

  Josie squealed.

  Matt grinned.

  Preach had her. Thank God.

  He’d given his corporal one job: Get Josie away from the battle and keep her safe. Now that she was in Luke’s care, Matt could concentrate on finding Taggart and taking him down.

  The sound of glass shattering brought Matt’s attention back to the house. Crawling to the north end of the wagon to get a less obstructed view of the farmhouse, Matt positioned his rifle and sighted the house. Someone was knocking out window glass with a rifle barrel. A man in black sleeves.

  Taggart.

  Matt’s jaw tightened. Of course the head outlaw had reserved the most easily defended position for himself. They’d have to drive him out. Find a back way in or set the building on fire.

  No easy task with Taggart’s men swarming through the yard. And not all of them would remain on foot. Matt scowled as his gaze swept the area surrounding the barn. Four or five outlaws had captured horses and were in the process of mounting.

  Taggart presented the bigger threat long-term, but riders prepared to give pursuit posed an immediate danger. Josie was the mission, Taggart the secondary objective. Matt shifted his aim to the paddock beside the barn.

  A movement beside him, however, had him twisting to the side and yanking his revolver from its holster for close-quarters defense.

  “Easy, Hanger. I’m bloody enough already.” Charlie raised his palms in surrender, a broken chain dangling from his right wrist. His bottom lip was swollen enough to make his words slur as he halted his lopsided slither under the wagon and waited for Matt to decide his fate.

  Matt fought the need to plant his fist on the kid’s chin for what his actions had cost Josie and his men, but looking at the battered mess that was Charlie’s face, he doubted there was an inch of untrounced territory available for him to leave his mark.

  “I saw Preach grab Jo.” Charlie didn’t shrink from Matt’s gaze. “Thank you.”

  The quiet words softened something inside Matt. Rich with remorse and humility, they were the words of a man ready to admit his wrongs and accept instruction. There might just be an honorable soldier under all that rebellion after all.

  Matt turned back to gauge the outlaws’ progress with the horses. A man was shouldering open the gate. In less than a minute, criminals on horseback would be after Josie.

  “Your sister’s not out of danger yet.” Matt hesitated for a heartbeat, then flipped the revolver in his hand and extended it grip-first. “Can I trust you not to turn it on me this time?”

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie took the weapon in hand, his face hardening with determination as he scooted over to take up position beneath the left side of the chuck wagon. “I won’t be repeating that mistake.”

  “Good.” Matt aimed his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The first mounted outlaw grabbed his chest and toppled backward off his horse. “Then let’s protect your sister’s retreat before we lose our advantage.”

  “Let me go!” Slung ignominiously on her belly across her captor’s lap, Josephine kicked her legs and arched her back in an effort to escape.

  The big man just shoved her head back down, his arm the size of a small tree. “Keep yer head down, Doc. Too much lead flyin’ around here. Matt’ll shoot me himself if one of those bullets finds your pretty hide.”

  “Mr. Davenport?” Instead of arching up this time, she simply craned her neck until she could make out the profile of the man whose knees jarred her rib cage.

  Luke Davenport crooked a half-grin and winked, though he never took his gaze from the battle around him. “At yer service, ma’am.”

  Thank heavens. Josephine relaxed until a new urgency filled her.

  Matthew!

  She’d seen him for one blessed moment. Vibrant. Strong. Running like a man who hadn’t been laid low by a madman’s bullet.

  Yet. But now there were a dozen madmen taking aim at him.

  She twisted her head to look behind her, the scene a chaotic blur as the horse’s gait jostled her up and down.

  She caught sight of Charlie first. Arnold, the cook, gripped him beneath his arms and dragged him backward toward the chuck wagon, where a man clad in a blue cavalry vest was crawling on his elbows to find cover beneath the wagon bed.

  Her heart settled at the sight. Matthew was still alive. For the moment.

  Keep him safe, Lord. You preserved his life against Taggart’s bullet before. Please protect him again.

  Josephine wanted to do more than pray for the man she loved. She wanted to help. But she was a healer, not a warrior. This situation was beyond her control. Beyond her abilities. Her eyes slid closed as she surrendered to the truth. She couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t shield the ones she loved. Only God could do that.

  Yet she must remain vigilant. Her eyes sprang open as certainty blossomed in her soul. This moment might call for being still, but a moment was coming soon when she’d be called to take action. She needed to watch. And listen.

  The sounds of gunfire grew muffled as the trees thickened. Finally, Preach drew his horse to a halt. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lowered her to the ground.

  “Get on Matt’s horse,” he said, his chin flicking toward a fine dark bay.

  One who carried the Gringolet brand. One whose birth she’d witnessed.

  “Percival.”

  The horse nudged her shoulder as she neared, bringing a smile to her face. She stroked his neck, a sense of rightness settling over her.

  Matthew had selected Percy. Out of all her father’s stock, he’d selected the one closest to her heart. The one she’d been tempted to claim as her own when she left to start her practice in Purgatory Springs. In fact, when she’d offered Matthew her pick of Gringolet mounts in exchange for rescuing Charlie, this was the horse she’d imagined him choosing. Somehow, seeing Percival here, now, brought a comfort she hadn’t expected. She leaned her face against Percy’s neck, closed her eyes, and felt Matthew’s presence.

  Preach turned his mount to face the battle and drew his revolver. “Mount up, Doc, and be ready to ride. If any of Taggart’s men break through our line, my orders are to get you to your father pronto.”

  He expected her to flee? Not a chance. She was a doctor on a battlefield. Her place was here, tending the wounded. Especially the wounded she cared about. What if Matthew or Charlie took a bullet? That was what she needed to be ready for. Not saving her own skin.

  Josephine fit her left foot to the stirrup and swung into the saddle, not caring that her skirt hiked up to expose her ankles and shins. “If we need to retreat temporarily, I’ll follow your lead, but I’m not abandoning Matthew and the others.” She set her jaw. “I’m a doctor. My place is with the wounded. Whoever they may be.”

  Preach shot a glare over his shoulder. “You’re Matt�
�s woman. Your place is wherever he says it is. And he said it’s with me until I deliver you to your father.”

  Josephine bristled. “I am no man’s possession, Luke Davenport. I will defer to your greater knowledge of warfare and do nothing to endanger Matthew or the other Horsemen, but neither will I shirk a fight that is as much mine as it is yours.”

  She could have sworn she saw his eyes light with respect before his heavy brows slashed down in a frown. “You’re the mission, lady. And a cavalryman never compromises his mission. Your feelings are irrelevant. If I have to snatch you off that horse and carry you across my lap to gain your cooperation, that’s what I’ll do. Got it?”

  Josephine gave a stiff nod. “I understand.”

  But comprehension and compliance were two different things, and she intended to keep her options open.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SIX

  I need to reload!” Charlie reached for Matt’s gun belt and started slipping bullets from the leather loops into the cylinder of his six-shooter.

  “Make your shots count, kid,” Matt warned, worried Charlie would run through their supply of ammunition before they ran through their supply of outlaws. “One careful shot is worth ten rushed ones.”

  As if to demonstrate, Matt took aim at the last rider in the paddock. The same man who’d spied on them at the original ransom location. On the same horse—Phineas.

  Matt cleared his mind of the chaos around him, ignored the bullets banging against the wagon bed above his head, and zeroed in on his target. Adjusted for the rider’s movement. Anticipated where he would be. Mentally calculated the best angle to avoid hitting his horse. Exhaled. Squeezed the trigger.

  His shoulder absorbed the kick of the rifle. The rider absorbed the bullet. He tumbled from the saddle. Phineas held his position as trained.

  Matt let out a shrill whistle. Phineas’s ears pricked, and his head turned in Matt’s direction. Matt whistled again. Phineas shot through the paddock gate.

  The outlaws were concentrating their attack on the two areas dispensing the hottest fire—the chuck wagon and Jonah’s tree. Both of their positions were compromised. They needed an exit strategy.

  Matt rolled onto his back and fed cartridges into his Winchester repeater. He’d need all fifteen shots for what he had in mind.

  “Time to get you to your sister, Charlie.” Matt slapped the kid’s back, then flipped onto his stomach and crawled out from under the wagon. Staying low, he crouched behind the wagon with his rifle at the ready.

  One.

  Matt braced his shoulder against the wagon’s side.

  Two.

  He listened. Charlie’s scraping. Guns firing. Men yelling. The gunfire seemed thickest to the west, but Taggart was to the north, and the lead outlaw’s position would present the clearest shot on Matt and Charlie. Plan formed, Matt turned his body north and braced for the charge.

  Three!

  He stood. Shot at the house window. Levered a new cartridge into the chamber. “Phin!” He added a whistle to his call as he shot at an outlaw taking cover behind a trough.

  Undaunted by the gunfire, Phineas answered his master’s call.

  “Mount up, Charlie!” Matt yelled in a voice that left no room for question.

  He continued firing. At the barn. Then the house. Then at a man running between the two. The man grabbed his right leg, hobbled to the house porch, and crawled beneath it.

  Wallace rode up, offering Charlie additional cover in mounting Phineas. “I’m going for Brooks,” Wallace yelled. “We’ll get him to his mount and put an end to this once and for all.”

  “Good!”

  Matt spotted a new man on horseback in the paddock. He took aim, then hesitated. The outlaw made no move for the gate. In fact, he seemed to be building up speed to . . . Matt dropped his finger from the trigger as the rider jumped the fence on the far side of the paddock where the top rail had fallen down.

  “Looks like some are turnin’ tail.”

  And after one broke ranks, others were sure to follow.

  “I’ll cover your retreat, Captain,” Wallace said as he raised his pistol and fired toward the barn. “Get him out of here.”

  Matt didn’t waste time debating. In one smooth motion, he mounted behind Charlie. “Follow the path Preach took,” he instructed, keeping his gun hands free while Charlie took the reins. “Don’t stop until you see your sister.”

  Charlie obeyed.

  Using nothing but knee strength, balance, and his familiarity with Phineas’s gait to keep him on his horse, Matt focused his firepower on the house, keeping Taggart occupied with self-preservation so he couldn’t return fire until they presented a more distant target.

  Once they’d covered enough ground that Matt could no longer contort his body to fire at the house without falling off the horse, he leaned tight against Charlie’s back and urged Phineas to greater speed. A hot sting sizzled across his left upper arm, but he ignored it. All his attention centered on delivering Charlie and getting back to the battle to support his men and take down Taggart.

  That attention disintegrated the moment he saw Josie.

  “Charlie!” She called her brother’s name, slid off Percival’s back, and ran to greet them despite Preach’s growled order to remain mounted.

  Man, she looked good. Healthy. Whole. Her sea-green eyes glowing with relief. Her chin tilted in that no-nonsense way he loved. He couldn’t look away. Or catch a full breath.

  Charlie separated himself and awkwardly lifted his right leg over Phineas’s neck to dismount. Matt dodged to the side to give the kid room to maneuver. That was when Josie saw him.

  “Matthew.”

  His name sounded like a prayer, and the near reverence in her tone made his heart swell to twice its normal size. She halted mid-step, her gaze locked on his.

  He wanted nothing more than to drop to the ground and sweep her into his arms. To hold her close and breathe her in. To claim her mouth and tell her everything that was in his heart. But a war raged behind him. A war he couldn’t afford to neglect.

  Charlie was saying something, but his voice was little more than a dull drone in Matt’s ears. Josie seemed unbothered by it as well, her attention never leaving Matt’s face.

  He raised himself up over the cantle to sit properly in the saddle, then collected Phineas’s reins with his left hand, his rifle still clutched in his right. “I have to go.”

  She bit her bottom lip as she nodded. “I know.” She stepped close and placed a hand on his knee. Her chin lifted, and fire ignited her gaze. “You better come back to me, Matthew Hanger.”

  He knew he could make no promises, so he offered no words at all. Just dropped the reins, bent down, and fit his hand to the back of her neck. He pulled her to him and slanted his lips over hers in a hard, fast kiss born of desperation, love, and all the promises he longed to fulfill.

  Then, before the temptation to abandon the fight and carry her away grew too strong to resist, he released her, took up the reins, and rode back into the heart of the battle.

  Josephine’s lips tingled as she watched the man she loved ride back into danger. She lifted her fingers to her mouth, trying to capture the various sensations, analyzing and cataloging them for future reference. The tickle of his mustache brushing the top of her lip, the bristles of his four-day-old beard abrading her chin, and the sweet pressure of his mouth melding against hers with a passion so fierce, her breath still stuttered.

  She told herself she was savoring the feel of Matthew’s lips on hers because the intimacy had tasted so strongly of love. But in truth, her desire to cling to the kiss stemmed from the fear that it might have been their last.

  Bring him back to me, Lord. Please.

  “Can you ride, Burkett?” Preach’s brusque voice cut through her prayer and brought Josephine’s head around.

  Her brother stood before the Horseman, his face a mangled mess. One eye had already swollen shut. The other sported a congealed cut atop its brow. Ab
rasions lined his cheeks, and who knew how many bruises riddled his body, thanks to Carver’s fists. The way he cradled his right side told her he probably had a couple cracked ribs, if not downright broken ones. The last thing he needed was to bounce around on the back of a horse.

  “No, he needs to—”

  “Yes.” Charlie interrupted her, his gaze never leaving the big man before him. He straightened his posture and lifted his chin. “What do you need me to do?”

  Josephine bit her tongue and blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes. The earnestness of his gaze pierced her heart. Of all the times for her brother to opt for maturity and self-sacrifice. He could puncture a lung or be hit by a stray bullet or . . . or he could regain some of the honor he’d lost.

  “Ride to the exchange location,” Preach said. “Fetch your father and his men. We’ll need their help to finish cleaning out these outlaws and to deliver the survivors to the closest law.”

  “Probably down in Hondo,” Charlie offered. Then a thought seemed to sober his helpfulness. “Will, uh, will you be turning me in as well?”

  Preach, still mounted, glared down at her brother, his expression unreadable. Charlie shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he awaited judgment.

  “You chose the right side in the end. I suppose that oughta count for something.”

  Josephine didn’t realize how stiff she’d become until her spine relaxed at his words.

  “But if any of us finds you on the wrong side of the law again,” Preach warned, his voice so hard it could chip granite, “not even being the doc’s brother will save your hide. Got it?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Her brother strode toward Percival, his steps filled with purpose. But Josephine couldn’t let him go. Not yet.