Page 85 of At Love’s Command

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. Abrasions 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.

She intercepted him. “Wait.”

Charlie turned, his mouth set in a firm line. “I’m going, Jo.”

“I know.”

As much as she wanted to protect him from possible physical harm, she knew this was something he needed to do. She even admired him for it. Not only was he willing to risk his own safety to fetch reinforcements, but he was voluntarily facing their father. Alone. After betraying the family. That took more courage than riding through a yard of gunslinging outlaws.

“I’m not stopping you,” she said, staunchly eradicating all sisterly compassion from her tone just as she would dirt from a wound. “I just want to wrap your ribs before you go. If you puncture a lung, you’ll do no one any good.”

“Hurry up,” Preach grumbled as he turned away from the siblings and focused on the gunfire still echoing from the far side of the trees.

Josephine lifted her skirt, grabbed a handful of petticoat from beneath, and tore off the entire bottom flounce. “Lift your shirt,” she ordered. Steeling herself not to react to the damage he revealed, she gave him a cursory examination and gently probed his ribs. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

“Some,” he mumbled softly, as if not wanting Preach to overhear the admission, “but no more than it hurts to do anything else.”

A rather weak endorsement of health, but considering his current state, it would suffice. She reached for the wide cotton strip she’d slung over her shoulder. “All right, then. Arms up.”

He complied, his one visible eye rolling at her big-sister tone.

She wrapped his ribs tightly enough to provide protection and support but not so tight as to impair his breathing. As she tied off the bandage, she looked him in the eye.