Page 11 of At Love’s Command

Uh-huh. She was searching for big words now. On purpose. That slight pause was a dead giveaway. She apparently enjoyed a good sparring match as much as he did.

“Speak however you like,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “Just don’t expect it to deter me.” He took a step forward.

Dr. Jo didn’t move. Well, she crossed her arms, but that was a fortification of her stance, not a retreat. “Glower as much as you like,” she countered. “Just don’t expect it to deter me. Your weapons must be stored elsewhere.”

“Where would you suggest? Want me to dig a hole out back and bury them? I can’t just leave them out on the front stoop or in the tack room at the livery. As much as I’d like to believe that all the people in Purgatory Springs are honest folk, I’m not about to tempt fate by leaving my valuables unsupervised. The guns stay with me.”

“Those guns are the reason Mr. Wallace nearly bled to death. I won’t have them in my infirmary.”

Matt’s jaw tightened at the not-so-subtle hint that he and his lifestyle were responsible for Mark’s condition. “These guns aren’t responsible for Wallace’s injury,” Matt said, giving the rifles in his hands a lift. “These guns are responsible for saving our lives when the rustlers attacked. Rustlers who are all alive, having sustained only minor injuries, by the way. Because these guns were handled by men who respect human life and do all in their power to preserve it.”

She frowned at his argument but didn’t offer a reply. Hopefully that meant his logic had found a crack in her opinions.

“These are the tools of my trade, the key to my livelihood,” he said. “You wouldn’t appreciate someone demanding you leave your doctoring bag outside simply because they didn’t approve of scientific advancements. You’d want to keep it close at hand because it is part of who you are. I’m asking for the same courtesy.”

“Fine. But will you at least unload them? I doubt an invading army is planning to storm the clinic any time soon.”

He supposed he could grant her that concession. With the rustlers rounded up and taken into custody, there was no immediate threat. It might go against his grain not to be battle-ready at all times, but if she was willing to let him keep the guns, he’d see they were unloaded.

“Deal.” He set the rifles against the wall and held out his hand.

Slowly, she uncrossed her arms, then reached out and clasped his hand in a firm shake. The contact sent an unexpected frisson charging up his arm, and a wave of warmth pulsed through his chest. Her eyes widened slightly, as if she’d felt it too, but she withdrew her hand, and the sensation abated before he could examine it more closely.

Miss Josephine stepped aside and allowed him access to the small recovery room. He just couldn’t think of her as Dr. Jo when she wasn’t actively tending a patient, since the Dr. Joe he’d conjured in his mind at first hearing the name was a portly fellow with white muttonchop whiskers, spectacles, and a paunchy midsection. Matt retrieved the rifles, but instead of striding through the now unobstructed doorway, he held his position and allowed his gaze to follow his opponent’s retreat.

“I’ll bring dinner for the two of you in a couple hours,” she said, her back turned to him as she marched down the hallway.

Her hospitality surprised him. She clearly didn’t want him here, yet she offered to feed him. She was a contradiction.

“Thanks.”

Miss Josephine glanced over her shoulder, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Broth.” A touch of triumph quirked the edge of her mouth. “Residents of the infirmary eat from the invalid’s menu.” She gave him a quick examination, as if inspecting his health and evaluating his ability to eat solid food. “Perhaps I’ll add a little milk toast.”

“Sounds hearty.” Only a touch of sarcasm laced his words. In truth, it was all he could do not to laugh outright. She dueled with words the way Preach fenced with his cavalry saber. Matt would have saluted her for her combat skills if his hands hadn’t been full.

A wide smile blossomed, exposing white, straight teeth and transforming her face from that of the contrary doctor he’d been sparring with to an enticing woman he suddenly wanted to get to know a whole lot better.

She’s not for you, Hanger. Matt frowned as she disappeared back into her examination room. Josephine Burkett was a settling-down kind of woman, and Matt was about as unsettled as a fella could get. Too rough around the edges. Too hardened by war. Too dependent on violence for his livelihood. The exact opposite of what an educated woman who hated guns and lived to heal people would want.

“Is it true?” Elizabeth Carrington burst through the clinic’s back door, slightly out of breath, her toddler son, Grant, braced on her right hip and a basket slung over her left arm. “Do you actually have two of the Horsemen here?”

Josephine turned from where she stood at the stove in front of a pot of boiling water. “Good evening to you too, Lizzie.”

Her friend pulled up short at the sight of Josephine at the stove. Lizzie raised a brow and twisted Grant slightly behind her as if to shield him from an atrocity. “You’re not cooking, are you?”

Josephine laughed. “Of course not. I want my patient to recover.” Although the other occupant of her infirmary might have earned a dose of gastrointestinal distress with his gun-toting stubbornness. Then again, she’d taken an oath to do no harm. “I’m just sterilizing my surgical instruments. I know better than to infringe on your territory.”

She and Lizzie had struck up a partnership soon after Josephine opened her practice in Purgatory Springs. Josephine paid her a monthly stipend to provide evening meals for herself and any patients staying at the clinic. As the wife of the local mercantile owner, Lizzie had ready access to foodstuffs and could make even the simplest dishes taste better than most of the restaurant food Josephine had eaten back in Philadelphia. Plus, she always had the latest news to impart, and since she was the only woman in town close to Josephine’s age, they had quickly become fast friends.

“I brought some chicken soup for the injured one,” Lizzie said as she set the basket on the cabinet closest to the stove. She pulled out a jar filled to the brim with golden broth and chunks of chicken, carrots, and celery. “Then I have roast beef with potatoes and onions, corn bread, green beans, and a slice of cake for the other one.”

Josephine left her instruments to simmer and swooped in to steal the most adorable male in her clinic from his mama. “Anything for me?” she asked as she zoomed Grant through the air before snuggling him in for a hug. “Or are the Horsemen the only ones eating tonight?”

“It would serve you right if I left you to fend for yourself.”

A dire threat indeed. Josephine kept store-bought bread and jam on hand for breakfast, and since she could boil water successfully, she managed tea without much trouble. But anything that required actual chemical transformation from raw ingredient to baked/fried/roasted edibleness was best left to the experts. Lizzie knew this, of course, and wasn’t above using such knowledge to her advantage.

Lizzie retrieved a pot from the cabinet and poured the soup into it. “You still haven’t answered my question, you know.”