Page 17 of At Love’s Command

Her smile did odd things to his chest when she looked at him like that, as if they were connected at some level, knowing what the other was thinking. Of course, he’d have to be an idiot not to know what she’d been thinking, since she’d been harping on him about watching Wallace the entire time they’d been here, but that logic didn’t stop his chest from expanding beneath her approving gaze.

“The infirmary will get terribly crowded if all three of you try to squeeze in there,” she said, her voice low, as if only meant for him. “If he feels up to it, this might be a good time to help Mr. Wallace stretch his legs. The four of you can make use of the parlor, but I expect my patient to be back in bed in an hour.”

“Understood.”

She gave him a nod, offered a smile to Jonah, then returned to her duties in the examination room, leaving him and his men to converse in private.

Matt watched her go, his gaze lingering a hair too long on the doorway she’d disappeared through, judging by Jonah’s raised brow.

“What?” he snapped.

Jonah raised a hand in surrender, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Nothin’. Just never seen you bowled over by a woman, is all.”

“She’s a doctor,” Matt said, exasperated. “She gives the orders here.”

Jonah patted him on the shoulder. “I ain’t referrin’ to the doctor, Cap. I’m talkin’ ’bout the woman.”

“Shut up, Brooks.”

Jonah chuckled and strode down the hall. Matt followed, a scowl on his face. A scowl that deepened when he realized his gaze had traveled back to the examination room doorway without his permission, searching for a glimpse of a certain chestnut-haired female. He jerked his attention back to his men and lengthened his stride.

Yep. The sooner he got out of this clinic, the better.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

My legs still work, fellas,” Wallace grumbled as Matt flanked him on the left and Preach on the right while he gingerly swung those legs around to make his exit from the bed. “You don’t have to hover so close.”

Preach stepped back a pace, but Matt held his position. Wallace’s care was his responsibility, and he wouldn’t shirk his duty, even to spare the kid’s pride.

“Brought you each a set of clothes.” Jonah tossed a small gunnysack through the doorway to Matt. “Figured you’d want to change.”

“Thanks.” Matt upended the bag onto the bed behind Wallace and collected the gear that belonged to him.

He’d cleaned up as best he could in the kitchen before dawn this morning while Josephine slept upstairs and the night nurse snored in the parlor. He’d been tired enough to force himself back to sleep after the lady doc’s first visit of the night, but not after the second. Even with the pallet she’d provided to soften the hard floor.

Too many scenarios had spun through his mind. Most with an intriguing female doctor square in the center. With pretty green eyes and a stubborn chin. A chin he imagined tipping up to meet his kiss. Which was when he knew he needed to get off the floor and squash his wayward thoughts with practical action. So he’d ventured into the kitchen, found some bread to snack on, then heated a kettle of water and scrubbed himself clean from head to waist. Then he pumped some cold water into the empty dishpan, washed Wallace’s blood out of his vest, and hung the garment over the back of a chair to dry. Then he’d washed the handful of dishes sitting on the counter. Then he’d washed the counter.

Once he was out of things to wash, he’d made fresh coffee, brewed the way he liked it. Thick, black, and potent. Guaranteed to paste a man’s eyelids open and clear his mind of distractions.

He found a pair of scissors in a drawer and trimmed up his beard, sorely wishing he’d had a razor to clean away the scraggle growing on his neck, but that would keep until he was back at Dalton’s ranch. He’d filled the rest of the time sitting in the hall with a lamp pilfered from the parlor, going over options for their next job. Completely expelling Dr. Josephine Burkett and her green eyes from his mind.

Until he heard her stirring above him.

Thankfully, Wallace awoke around the same time and provided Matt a more appropriate target for his attention.

Now he had all his men with him, and he was finally starting to feel like his old self. Focused. Taking care of business.

“Preach, help Wallace with his shirt. Can’t have him sitting in Miss Josephine’s parlor half-naked. Take care with his arm, though. Just leave the right sleeve hangin’.” Man, but it felt good to be giving orders again.

Matt untucked yesterday’s shirt from his trousers, unbuttoned the top buttons, and pulled it over his head. He tossed it onto the empty chair, then reached for the clean shirt on the bed.

“Excuse me, Mr. Brooks. I have a sling for Mr. Wallace’s arm . . . oh.” Josephine pushed into the infirmary and stopped, her gaze stuck on Matt’s chest. “I . . . um . . .”

Embarrassed, Matt grabbed for his shirt and held it up in front of him, not that the wadded-up fabric covered much. Most of his battle scars, ugly puckers and reddened slashes that no lady would want to see, were no doubt still on display.

Yet Josephine showed no disgust or pity or even medical interest. She just stared, her jaw slightly slack, her eyes . . . warm?