Page 45 of At Love’s Command

She’d been here since noon, her bag packed and waiting at her feet. She had six train tickets purchased for both the 4:18 departure and the 6:47. Josephine checked the time on the pendant watch that she’d purchased along with her reading material. Three-forty. Still time to make the earlier train if Matthew and the others returned soon.

Please let them return soon. The longer the day grew without sight of them, the harder it became to fight off the worry that had prodded her since breakfast.

A particularly loud clack followed by a triumphant shout drew her attention to the children. Little warriors defeating pretend foes. If only real foes were as easily vanquished.

A soft rumble caught her ear, barely audible over the activity of the town. If she hadn’t been straining to hear exactly that sound for the last couple hours, she would’ve missed it.

The book fell to her lap as she straightened away from the back of the bench.

The rumble intensified.

She scooted to the edge of her seat.

Hoofbeats. Those were definitely hoofbeats.

Josephine stood, her gaze locked on the road leading into town, her fist mangling the dime novel’s cover.

Please let it be them.

A dark spot appeared on the horizon and grew. Then separated into individual forms of horsemen. Five horsemen.

“Thank you, Lord.” The words fell from her lips in a whisper, but they shouted in her soul.

Fighting the urge to run out to greet them, since placing oneself in the path of running horses was not the wisest option available, she chose instead to drop her crushed novel onto the bench and collect her medical bag from where it sat on the boardwalk next to her carpetbag. She only glanced away from the approaching riders long enough to latch onto the handle of her bag, but even then her other senses remained fixed on the men. The sound of thudding hooves and the vibration of the boardwalk took precedence while her eyes were briefly engaged elsewhere.

Bag in hand, she stepped down to street level. They were closer now. Close enough for her to recognize hats. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t see Matthew’s tan hat. Nor Charlie’s black one with its flat top and silver concho band. She looked again. Only four hats. And she didn’t recognize the one in the back.

Heart thumping erratically in her chest, she adjusted her grip on the medical bag and strained to identify faces. Mr. Brooks must be in front, his darker skin distinguishing him from the others. And Mr. Davenport’s bulkier build fit the large man on the right. Mr. Wallace’s gray horse stood out from the rest. And there! The space between riders widened a bit and allowed her to make out Sandy’s distinctive palomino coat.

Charlie! The man in the center without a hat must be her brother. And he was healthy enough to ride unassisted, thank the Lord.

That left Matthew to bring up the rear. But why would he be wearing a strange hat? The shape and dark brown color were all wrong. It was Matthew, wasn’t it? Josephine gave herself a mental shake. Of course it was Matthew. The Horsemen would never leave him behind.

As the men closed the final fifty yards and reined in, Josephine’s gaze sought Charlie’s, her doctor’s eyes examining him for injury. He looked remarkably well. No visible bruising on his face. No blood staining his clothes. He looked a bit ragged around the edges, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well, but that was to be expected, having been held hostage for several days.

“Charlie?” She moved forward before the horses came to a full stop. Mr. Brooks and Mr. Davenport parted their horses like the Red Sea to allow her access to her brother.

“Hey, sis.” He looked appropriately abashed, his head hanging low as he walked Sandy up to her.

Charlie had mastered that repentant mien years ago when they were children. Whenever he’d gotten caught doing something naughty, he’d shrug his shoulders, soften his eyes, and give one of those half-grins that made every woman within sighing distance melt. It never worked on their father, but it had disarmed Mama every time. Charlie would say how sorry he was, and she’d wrap him in a hug and forgive him his indiscretion. After she died, Josephine stepped into her shoes and fell prey to the same tactics. A sister’s place wasn’t to discipline, after all. It was to protect. So she sheltered him. More than she should have. Their housekeeper, Darla, had a soft spot for him too. Which explained why she had gone behind her employer’s back and written to Josephine when Charlie was abducted.

“Are you hurt?” She placed a hand on his ankle above the stirrup, her eyes doing a second, more intensive scan now that he was closer.

“Nah. Little rope burn on my hands, but nothing serious.” The scruff of a half-grown beard darkened Charlie’s jaw, and for the first time, Josephine saw him not as her baby brother, but as his own man. A man she didn’t really know. Between medical school and starting her practice, she hadn’t spent any significant time with him for close to a decade.

“Let me see.” Doctoring was easier than sistering. It gave her something productive to think about instead of questioning how she might have contributed to her brother’s shortcomings.

He held out his palms for her inspection. The skin was red, and there was a small tear at the base of his right index finger, but nothing a little salve wouldn’t cure.

She stepped away from him and glanced at the rest of the men in turn. “Any injuries need tending? We have a little time before the train arrives.” Her gaze skittered from one to another, oddly reluctant to focus on the man at the rear of the party. The man she most wanted to tend. “Better to see to them now than wait for infection to set in.”

And better for her to stop acting like a suddenly shy miss, embarrassed to talk to a man she favored in front of her brother.

Josephine steeled herself and turned. Matthew was dismounting, not even looking at her. Humph. Nothing like a dose of humility to still one’s fluttering pulse. He shrugged out of the dingy coat she didn’t recognize and tossed it over Phineas’s back. Then he plucked the dirt-encrusted hat from his head and hooked it over the saddle horn.

“Lose your hat?” she asked. It wasn’t the most intelligent or pertinent question, but it was the first one that came to mind, and really, she was growing just a tad exasperated that he wouldn’t face her.

“Decided to trade it in.” He still made no effort to turn.