Page 20 of At Love’s Command

“Might need to use assumed names.” Wallace’s eyes glowed with excitement. Apparently he wasn’t ready to let this one go just yet. “One of us could hire on undercover. Check things out from the inside. Once we get the lay of the land, Matt can meet with the widow to secure payment for our services, but we’d have to swear her to secrecy. Ensure she doesn’t tell the foreman who we are. It’d be the only way to learn the truth. I could get her to open up to me—”

Matt scowled. “You’ve got a hole in your shoulder. No one’s going to hire a cowhand with only one working arm.”

“Then I could coach Preach on how to earn her trust.”

“As if I need help sweet-talkin’ a woman.” The largest Horseman leaned forward in his chair and scowled with enough heat to send a lesser man running for cover.

Wallace only scoffed. “Preach, you couldn’t sweet-talk a woman with a bucket full of peppermint sticks in hand.”

“Enough!” Matt clapped his hands against his thighs, too tired to put up with this nonsense after the restless night he’d had. “No one’s sweet-talking anyone, all right?”

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Four sets of eyes swiveled to the doorway, where Josephine stood with a tea tray in hand.

“I’d hoped to sweet-talk my way into the room with tea and cookies.”

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Josephine smiled at the men before her, all of whom were rising to their feet. Even Mr. Wallace made the effort until the captain signaled with a sharp hand motion for him to remain seated.

She’d obviously gotten here just in time. The last thing her patient needed was to get worked up emotionally. The increased vocal volume coming from the parlor as she approached proved that she’d been right not to leave the men completely unsupervised.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a slightly sheepish glance at Mr. Hanger, “I didn’t make the cookies. Mrs. Carrington brought over a batch this morning. I did make the tea, but I’ve been told by reliable sources that my brewing skills are semi-competent.”

“I’m sure the tea is excellent,” Mr. Wallace said from the sofa, his charm apparently unimpaired by his exertion. She’d take that as a good sign. Had his charisma been absent, she would have ordered him to bed immediately.

Mr. Hanger suddenly appeared before her, having crossed the room while she visually examined her patient. He relieved her of the tray and turned to set it on the low table in front of the settee.

“Thank you.” Her mouth dried slightly as she watched him handle the heavy tray with ease, the play of his muscles visible to the discerning eye through the cloth of his shirt. And her eye was definitely discerning. Disconcertingly discerning.

Josephine bustled forward, poured tea, set cookies on plates, and absolutely did not think about Mr. Hanger’s muscles.

She’d seen countless men shirtless over the years. Her brother and his friends at the swimming hole. Cadavers in medical school. And, of course, patients with injuries to the torso or upper extremities. Goodness, she’d seen Mr. Wallace’s chest, and he was just as virile a specimen as Mr. Hanger. Well, perhaps not quite as virile, but certainly robust enough to create an impressive muscular display. Yet nothing about the younger man’s form drew her eye for any purpose other than professional inspection. The captain, on the other hand . . . well, the current fluttering in her abdominal region symptomized a disorder of decidedly non-professional origins.

Which meant it had no place in her clinic. And she had no place in this room. At least not until she had her unprofessional fluttering under control.

“Physician, heal thyself,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Captain Hanger looked at her oddly.

Rats. Apparently her comment had not been far enough under her breath.

Josephine covered her discomfort with a grin and straightened from bending over the tea table. “I know I interrupted your conversation, and I apologize. I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business.”

She kept her gaze averted from the captain, finding Mr. Wallace’s easy smile far less disruptive to her pulse.

“Your interruption is always welcome, Doctor Burkett.” Mr. Wallace winked at her. Almost as if he were privy to her wayward thoughts.

“Yes, well, you,” she instructed the hopefully not-as-insightful-as-he-seemed fellow with a point of her finger, “should take it easy on the flirtation. In my experience, men trying to impress those around them tend to push themselves harder than they should and end up impeding their recovery.”

He schooled his features. “Yes, ma’am.”

Of course, both of them knew it wasn’t her he was trying to impress.

Leaving the men to enjoy their refreshments, and putting some much-needed distance between her abdomen and Mr. Hanger’s muscles, Josephine headed for the door.