Page 83 of At Love’s Command

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.