Page 31 of At Love’s Command

She hadn’t allowed her mind to consider what kind of torture Charlie might be enduring, choosing to focus instead on what she could do to help him. But now that she had handed her burden to the Horsemen, the floodgates opened. Visions of his face swollen and bloodied. His posture bent sideways as he cradled broken ribs. His body riddled with bruises and welts. Josephine trembled at the horrible pictures her imagination painted, her own body aching in sympathy.

Matthew moved to stand in front of her and cupped his hands around her upper arms. His touch was gentle. Comforting. And as she raised her chin to meet his gaze, she felt his strength seep into her, helping her banish her fears with logic and hope.

“They won’t hurt him,” Matthew said, his voice firm, confident—as if he had no doubt that what he said was true. “Not yet, anyway.” That was slightly less inspiring, but the fact that he wasn’t glossing over things for her sake made it easier to believe him. “If they want to collect a ransom, they won’t damage the merchandise. It’s not in their best interest.”

She gave a jerky nod. It was all she could manage as she struggled to control her emotions.

He seemed to sense her turmoil, for his grip tightened slightly on her arms and he leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers. His hazel eyes glowed with promise, a promise she fought to believe.

“I’ll get him back for you, Josie. I swear it.”

“I know.” Her lips curved of their own volition, so moved was she by his vow. They’d known each other for such a short time, yet in that moment she had no doubt that he would sacrifice his life to accomplish his mission. It was just the kind of man he was. Honorable. Capable. Selfless. The kind of man this world needed.

But the idea of him giving his life for her brother stirred fear instead of bringing comfort.

She raised her hands and grasped his arms above the elbows, closing the chain that held him to her and her to him. “As much as I want my brother back, I want you to come back too, Matthew. Promise me you will.”

His throat worked, but he said nothing.

Josephine bit her lip, her gaze falling to somewhere around his collarbone. “The only thing worse than losing my brother would be carrying the knowledge that I was the cause of a great man’s death.” She forced her gaze back up to his face, a face lined with experience, hardened by war. Yet in his eyes she saw his noble soul and champion’s spirit. “I might not know you well, Matthew Hanger, but I’ve seen your heart. The world would be a darker place without you in it.”

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Matt stared at the top of Josie’s head, her admiration crawling over him like a colony of fire ants, nipping at his conscience, at his honor. She was saying those words to the man she thought he was, not to him.

“I’m not a great man,” he ground out, his voice like gravel. “You don’t know the things I’ve done.” He released her arms and stepped back.

Her hands fell to her sides, but they soon found their way onto her hips. The confusion he expected to see on her face was nowhere in evidence. Instead, she looked downright miffed.

“Must you be so contrary? Contradicting me at every turn? It’s really quite tiresome.”

“I’m trying to be honest.” And heaven help him if her combative stance didn’t get his blood firing. The self-pity that had slumped his posture a moment ago ceded to the warrior inside who insisted on winning whatever battle he faced.

“Good,” she said. “I like honesty. What I don’t like is a man assuming he knows better than me and running roughshod over my opinions.” She lifted her right hand from her hip and jabbed her index finger into the dip of his shoulder. “I’ve seen your dedication to your men. I’ve seen your patience with young boys barraging you with questions. I’ve heard accounts of you risking your life to fight for those beset by wicked men. I’ve seen you worship with a Bible in your lap and a song on your lips. I didn’t make up my opinion on a whim, Mr. Hanger. I have empirical evidence to back my claims.”

Matthew crossed his arms. “Your evidence don’t show the whole picture. You haven’t seen me kill.”

She flinched but didn’t back away. “My father was a soldier,” she said. “He killed men in battle. Yet I respect him more than any man I’ve ever known. I might despise humanity’s need to solve disputes with guns instead of words, but I understand the nature of war and don’t lay blame on those who wage it.”

He should just surrender now, accept her terms, and allow her to keep her heroic opinion of him. But he couldn’t. Some perverse need drove him to expose the dark places of his soul, to prove that he wasn’t the man she thought him to be.

“I’m a harsh taskmaster.” He jutted his chin, daring her to see the real man beneath the façade. “I’d drill new recruits until they broke—insulting them, torturing them for hours in the hot sun or the freezing snow. More than one have called me a monster.”

She raised a brow. “Yet your men would follow you into Hades if you asked it of them. That tells me that even at your worst, you are thinking about what is best for them, and they know it. You’re training them to survive.”

He frowned. Stubborn woman, insisting on believing the best of him when she didn’t know the worst. Time to bring out the big guns. His heart pounded in his chest, and his throat tightened around the words marching up his craw.

“You haven’t seen me fail to save women and children from a slaughter my own troops rained down on them.”

Her eyes softened, but the line of her mouth remained as firm as ever. “And you haven’t seen me fail to save patients who died under my scalpel.”

The statement brought him up short. He’d never considered that someone outside the military could understand the deep-seated regret and self-blame inherent in watching a person die, one he’d sworn to protect. Matt looked at Josie with new eyes—eyes that didn’t just see a beautiful woman and a skilled doctor, but someone familiar with the path that led through the valley of the shadow of death.

“I still see their faces.” He clamped his jaw closed. He hadn’t meant to divulge that. Commanders didn’t admit weakness in front of their men. But then, she wasn’t one of his men, was she?

The horrors of Wounded Knee flashed through his mind. The sharp scent of gunpowder wafted into his nostrils. The boom of the Hotchkiss guns echoed in his ears. As he looked out over the Texas prairie, he didn’t see grass. He saw bloodstained snow. Scores of dead Lakota. The old woman he’d tried to save. The children. The boy with Matt’s bullet in his shoulder. All gone. Slaughtered. And he’d been part of the massacre.