Page 12 of At Love’s Command

“Did I need to?” Josephine grinned at Grant and took his small, fisted hand inside her own. “You obviously knew the two men were here.”

“I knew two men of some sort were here. The town’s been buzzing ever since the one rode in on that big red horse of his and carried the other into the clinic.” Lizzie rolled her eyes. Not that Josephine could see it, since her attention was wrapped up in making faces at the towheaded boy in her arms, but she could definitely hear it in her friend’s tone. “What I didn’t know was if these two men are the two men—two of the four Horsemen that Daddy hired to help fight off the rustlers.”

Lizzie’s father was Terrance Dalton, the rancher who had organized the cattlemen in the area to pool their resources and hire outside help. She probably knew more about the two men in the infirmary than Josephine did.

“I can’t say for sure,” Josephine said. Lizzie was the root stalk of the Purgatory Springs grapevine, and torturing her for just a little longer was too rich a temptation to resist. “They didn’t proclaim themselves Horsemen when they came in. The bullet lodged in the younger one’s shoulder left little room for chitchat.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Out with it!” Lizzie brandished a wooden spoon in a manner that would have been menacing had her son not started clapping and reaching for it as if grab-the-spoon was a game he played with her regularly.

“All right.” Josephine laughed as she pulled Grant out of reach of the spoon. “One of them did happen to mention fighting rustlers. Same one who wears a vest that closely resembles US Cavalry attire. Oh, and his name is Matthew Hanger. Does that help?”

“I knew it!” Lizzie thrust her spoon into the air in victory before retreating back to the stove. She might adore amassing information for the purpose of redistribution, but she always confirmed her facts before sharing. Unfounded gossip had no place on Elizabeth Carrington’s grapevine. In truth, she was more of a journalist than a rumor mill. It was why everyone came to the mercantile for the scoop on local happenings. They knew her information could be trusted.

Grant’s lower lip started to quiver as his mama left with the spoon. Diagnosing the problem and quickly devising a treatment, Josephine lifted the boy in front of her, then leaned in and blew on his neck in a loud, messy fashion. Grant dissolved into giggles, and Josephine’s heart dissolved into mush.

Lizzie grinned at her son’s laughter, then caught Josephine’s eye. “Any news on your brother?” she asked as she stirred, her expression growing more serious. “I’ve been praying for him.”

“Nothing good to report, I’m afraid. According to Darla, Charlie’s still running with a rough crowd. I worry about him.”

Charlie and her father were at odds more often than not these days. Two stubborn men set on having things their own way. The last she’d heard from their housekeeper, Father had threatened to cut off Charlie financially in order to force him into an honest day’s work. It might be just what Charlie needed, but then again, it might widen the divide between them instead. If that gulf expanded any further, she feared Charlie might be lost to them forever.

“I’ll keep praying for him,” Lizzie said, her eyes aglow with sympathy.

“Thank you.” The heartfelt words barely scratched the surface of her gratitude.

Tiny hands patted Josephine’s cheeks, bringing her attention back to lighter matters. She shifted Grant to her hip, bent forward, and nuzzled his neck. “Auntie Jo’s going to get your tummy!”

The little boy squealed and bent backward over her arm as she tickled his rib cage. Josephine grinned. Nothing in the world could instill more joy and hope into a person than the laughter of a child.

Grant was the first baby she’d delivered in Purgatory Springs, so she naturally felt a special attachment to him. But when the grinning fifteen-month-old’s sparkling blue eyes looked at her with complete trust and acceptance, she couldn’t help wishing, for just a moment, that she could be in a position to have a child of her own.

Few men considered twenty-eight-year-old, career-focused women prime wife material, however, and the men willing to overlook her shortcomings in those areas had significant enough shortcomings of their own to keep her firmly on the unmarried path. In truth, as much as her heart panged at the thought that she might never have children, she was content with her lot. God had called her to medicine. Of that she had no doubt. He’d placed a passion within her for scientific learning and a heart that ached on behalf of the hurting. She might never have what other women did, but what she did have was special, and she wouldn’t regret making whatever sacrifices were necessary to fulfill her vocation.

Besides, the only man to stir even a hint of romantic interest in her in recent memory was more likely to court death than a woman of medicine. He was a mercenary, for crying out loud. A man who made his living with his gun. The exact opposite of everything she believed in.

Well, maybe not everything. Yes, she believed the majority of bloodshed could be avoided if people would handle their disagreements in a civilized, intelligent manner, yet she realized such a view was rather utopian. The arguments Matthew Hanger had made earlier today held truth. As long as evil existed in the world, good men would be called to fight it. And afterward, doctors like her would be left to mend the brokenness.

Just because something palpable had passed between her and Mr. Hanger when her hand connected with his didn’t mean new doors were opening. Attraction was simply a physiological response, an innate feminine recognition of virility in the male of the species. Nothing more. She could have the same response to any number of men.

Only she hadn’t. Which meant there was something unique about Matthew Hanger that drew her to him.

Josephine set the disquieting observation aside and turned her attention to eliciting another laugh from the baby in her arms.

Matthew Hanger and his virility would be gone in a few days. She could ignore his effect on her until then.

CHAPTER

FIVE

Miss Josephine hadn’t followed through on her threat to make him eat milk toast. She’d fed him roast beef, vegetables, and a sweetened corn bread that could have been dessert had she not thrown in a piece of vanilla cake too. She’d blamed Mrs. Carrington for the excess and insisted that had it been up to her, he would have received bread and water. Dalton’s daughter had laughed at that and made some quip about that being true because it was the only meal Miss Josephine knew how to make. Apparently, the doctor wasn’t much of a cook. Handled children pretty well, though.

Mrs. Carrington had delivered the meal to the infirmary herself in order to thank him and his men personally while Josephine lingered outside the door, playing with the woman’s son. The lady doc had looked good with the babe on her hip. The kid seemed to soften her. The headstrong physician battling for respect faded behind the affectionate woman doting on a little boy who obviously adored her. Matt found it hard to concentrate on what Mrs. Carrington was saying, his gaze constantly wandering to the hall. Thankfully, Wallace had roused and carried the conversation for him, per usual.

Once Mrs. Carrington and her son departed, Josephine took her turn in the infirmary.

“How are you feeling?” She completely bypassed Matt and went straight to Wallace’s bedside.

The kid grinned that charmer’s grin of his—the one that never failed to gain an answering smile from whichever woman he aimed it at. “Like I have a hole in my shoulder.”