Page 9 of At Love’s Command

Wallace quirked a half-grin. “Not even the horses? Phineas and Cooper have been standing out there a long time, Matt. Go see to them while I catch a little shut-eye.”

A stubborn look tightened the captain’s mouth, heralding a coming argument. Josephine headed it off with a touch to his arm. His attention flashed to her.

“Rest is the best thing for him now, and that’ll be easier without you hovering.”

Mr. Wallace chuckled weakly. “That’s the truth.”

“Shut up, Wallace.”

The growled response elicited another unrepentant chuckle from her patient. “Go on, Captain.” The laughter faded from Mr. Wallace’s voice. “I’ll rest better knowing Coop’s been taken care of.”

“Fine, but I’ll be back in an hour.” The last part of that statement was aimed at her.

Josephine nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Matthew Hanger held her gaze for a long moment, his expression stern and unrelenting, as if trying to impose his will upon her—a will that clearly insisted he not be dismissed next time.

Josephine met his challenge, chin raised. He was afraid. She understood that. Felt compassion, even. But she’d not be cowed. This was her campaign, not his. He could join her on the field of battle if he wished, but she was the general, and she’d make the decisions about what was best for her patient.

Finally, he broke eye contact and pivoted toward the door. Josephine gave her patient a quick once-over to ensure all was as it should be, then followed the captain out.

He stopped at the bench in her waiting room to collect his things. All right, it wasn’t really a room. More like the front entryway. The small building she rented for her practice didn’t afford space for anything more substantial. She’d brought in a bench and set it against the wall in order to have a place to shoo people when they started getting underfoot or hindering the confidentiality of doctor-patient conversations. Today, it apparently doubled as a hat and coat rack.

Maybe she should bring in one of those as well. Her clientele still skewed heavily toward the feminine side of the population despite her success with Hiram Johnson, but maybe if she made her office more male-friendly, the masculine citizenry would be more likely to come in.

Then again, most of the men of her acquaintance had to be near death before they’d seek out a doctor of any gender. She eyed the man in front of her as he fit his tan hat to his head, covering the short dark hair that life had dusted with a smattering of gray strands. She doubted Matthew Hanger would seek a doctor for anything less than a bullet. Even then, he’d probably prefer to throw some whiskey on the wound, dig out the ball with his hunting knife, and sew it up himself. He’d probably even manage the feat with relative success if the wound were in a place he could reach. He had done an admirable job with Mr. Wallace’s field dressing, after all, and he struck her as the warrior type. Nothing would stop him except death itself.

Or his own stubbornness.

Josephine picked up the vest with gold buttons that had been tossed on the bench’s seat and handed it to its owner after he unrolled his sleeves and fastened his cuffs. “Cavalry?” she asked, nodding toward the distinctive light blue wool.

Mr. Hanger’s hand paused mid-reach.

She’d surprised him. Good. She liked keeping military types on their toes. Reminded them they didn’t always have all the answers.

“Retired,” he ground out as he accepted the vest from her and slid his arms through the holes.

“I thought so. My father supplies horses to the army. We had cavalrymen around the ranch a lot when I was growing up.”

“Burkett . . .” The captain’s brows lifted a fraction, and a hint of excitement danced in his hazel eyes. “Thaddeus Burkett? Of Gringolet Farms?”

“You’ve heard of him?” Josephine smiled. Of course Mr. Hanger had heard of him. Her father produced some of the most sought-after horseflesh in the country.

He’d ridden for the US Cavalry during the War Between the States, and after the conflict ended, he sold the small breeding farm he’d inherited from his father in Pennsylvania, took his stock, and moved west, wanting to breed a horse more suited to the rugged territory of the expanding frontier. Mustang mares provided the perfect foil for his eastern studs. As army forts sprang up to protect settlers from bandits, Indians, and general lawlessness, the need for good horses bred for endurance and intelligence abounded. Her father met the demand with outstanding mounts that had the army coming back year after year.

“Heard of him?” Mr. Hanger’s entire demeanor changed. For just a moment, the worry for his friend disappeared, and a lightness came over him. “Gringolet mounts are the most coveted horses in the regiments. I’ve seen officers fight over them.”

“You were an officer, right? Mr. Wallace called you Captain. Did you ever have a Gringolet horse?”

Mr. Hanger shook his head. “No. By the time I received my rank, I’d already been paired with Phineas and had no desire for a different mount. We’ve been together nigh on ten years.” He spoke with a level of fondness most people reserved for family. But then, to a cavalryman, his horse was family.

Josephine opened the clinic door and led the way down to the street. She walked up to the blood bay standing patiently where his owner had left him, fully tacked and unhitched. The animal was well-trained. She held her hand out to the gelding to let him become familiar with her scent, then stroked his neck, letting her fingers sift through his dark mane. “Well, when Phineas is ready for the rocking chair, I’d be happy to introduce you to my father. Should you be interested in a private purchase.”

“Thanks.” Mr. Hanger grinned at her, his own hand reaching up to pat his faithful companion’s neck.

Something flickered in her belly. Not attraction, surely. She despised arrogant military types. But the man before her didn’t look arrogant at the moment. Or even all that militaristic. He simply looked like a man who loved his horse.

Josephine snatched her hand away from Phineas and took a step toward the gray horse beside him, who suddenly seemed a much safer target for her affection. “There’s a livery just past the mercantile.” She pointed, as if the captain would have trouble finding it on a street that contained less than a dozen buildings. “They should have everything you need. Oh, and if you let me know where you’ll be staying, I’ll send word if there is any change in Mr. Wallace’s condition.”