Page 80 of At Love’s Command

She prayed for the first even as she mentally prepared herself for the second.

Her father could have decoded her hidden message. Could even now be closing in on the camp. The Horsemen could be near, as well. Could have picked up Taggart’s trail somehow. Matthew would’ve driven them hard, relentless in his pursuit. He’d promised to find her, and she believed him. Believed he lived and was searching for her.

She had to believe. If she didn’t, she’d have nothing to hold back the flood of despair that threatened to sweep her away.

Josephine finished opening the tin of carrots in her hand and dumped the contents into the soup pot. Two tins remained on the tailgate that served as a work surface, but she hid them with a dish towel, then proceeded to haul the large pot over to the cooking fire. Arnold looked up from banking a pile of coals in a separate pit that would soon cover a pair of Dutch ovens filled with biscuit dough.

“Let me get that, Miz Josephine.” He scurried forward to take the large pot from her hands. “That thing’s too heavy for you to be luggin’ around.”

“Thank you.” She released her hold on the handle as he took charge. “I thought I’d give Charlie a hand with the potatoes.”

“Nice of ya, but I think he’s about finished . . .” Arnold hefted the pot over the low fire, fitting the handle onto a hook suspended from an iron crossbar that spanned the length of the fire pit. “That right, Charlie? You got them taters peeled and chopped?”

Her brother hunkered down behind an overturned crate a short distance away, a bowl of prepped potatoes on the ground at his elbow and more on the cutting board on top of the crate. The chain attached to his right wrist had little slack remaining.

“Yep.” Charlie answered the cook, but his eyes met his sister’s. He felt it too. The anticipation. The need to be ready. “Jo can bring them to you.”

Josephine ambled toward Charlie, conscious of the gaze following her every move. Right before she reached her brother, her watchdog pushed away from the tree he’d been leaning against and moved to join them.

Rats. She’d hoped to speak to her brother without Carver’s interference. Unfortunately, her guard took his duty seriously. Which made her duty more of a challenge. If Matthew was out there, alive and coming after her just as he’d vowed, then the safest place for Charlie was by her side. She doubted the Horsemen felt any kind of loyalty toward her brother after his betrayal, but if she stayed near him, any buffer the Horsemen created for her would extend to him.

Charlie scraped the last of the potatoes from his cutting board into the bowl just as Carver arrived.

“I’ll take charge of that knife, Burkett. Set it on the board, then back away.”

Charlie did as he was told, raising his hands in the air as he backed toward the chuck wagon. Carver slapped his palm over the handle of the paring knife, then turned and flung it with expert precision at a log jutting from the fire a few scant inches from where Arnold was stirring the stew pot. The cook yelped and jumped back.

Carver chuckled. “Easy, Cookie. I’m just returnin’ yer knife.”

He was a sadist, and Josephine wanted nothing more than to dump the bowl of potatoes she’d just retrieved over his head. Instead, she made a point of ignoring him completely as she walked the potatoes to the fire and dumped them into the pot.

“I’ll wash the bowl for you, Mr. Watson,” she said as she headed back to the wagon.

Charlie rose to his feet. “I’ll help.” He fit his hand to the small of her back and pushed her toward the wagon.

She stumbled a bit at the forcefulness of his shove. What was he doing?

“They’re here,” he murmured as his hand latched onto her elbow. He hurried her to the side of the wagon where the whittled spoke waited.

“Who?” Her gaze swept the trees at the edge of yard, seeing nothing different.

Then a light hit her face. A concentrated beam that made her blink until Charlie growled a warning at her.

“Don’t look.”

She turned back toward the wagon, hoping Carver hadn’t noticed her suspicious behavior. Her heart thudded in her chest. The light. A signal. A reflection off a mirror.

Matthew. It had to be him. He was here.

“It don’t take two of you to wash a bowl,” Carver said as he came up behind them.

“Run for the trees.” Charlie’s urgent whisper screamed through her mind as he snatched the bowl from her hands and kicked the whittled spoke with his boot. The spoke splintered, and the manacle slid free.

“I’ve had enough of your bullying, Carver.” Charlie spun around, swinging the metal bowl at Carver’s head.

Carver ducked. The bowl glanced off the side of his skull. He straightened, bringing his fist up as he did so, straight into Charlie’s midsection. Charlie doubled over.

“Stop!” she cried.