Page 37 of At Love’s Command

“Will you and the others stay the night in Chatfield,” she asked, her tone brisk, “or will you head to Uvalde right away?”

His arm dropped from the seat back to his lap. Time to focus on the mission, not the woman. “We’ll get you settled, then use what daylight we have left to start toward Uvalde. It’s only about ten miles, so we should cover most of that distance before nightfall. We’ll make camp away from the road, then start our reconnaissance at first light. We’ll finalize our plans and make our move. Should have your brother back to you by midafternoon.”

She nodded, but tension lingered in the lines around her mouth, and worry glimmered in her eyes.

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll get him out, Josie. I swear it.”

Her gaze met his, and his heart kicked in his chest. “I know you will.” No hesitation, no uncertainty. She believed in the Horsemen. In him. “Just make sure you get yourself out too.”

“That’s the plan.” Matt grinned. How could he not, when she’d all but announced that she cared about him?

The screech of braking wheels vibrated through the car, followed by the hollow sound of the train whistle. Matt glanced out the window and spotted the platform. His grin tightened into a firm line. Time to get to work.

Military precision wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Josephine frowned as she hustled across the road in front of her boardinghouse to join the men gathered in front of the livery. She’d barely had time to get settled in her room and unpack a few things before she’d spied the Horsemen through her upstairs window, inspecting their tack and saddlery in the same manner they did every time they’d been ready to mount up and ride out. She knew what that signaled. They were fixing to leave. Without saying good-bye.

Mr. Brooks noticed her first. He signaled his captain with a subtle tip of his head. Matthew turned. Took a step in her direction. But she didn’t wait for him to come to her. She intended to share a piece of her mind with all the Horsemen.

“Forget something, gentlemen?”

Matthew’s arched brows only fueled her irritation. “I don’t think so. We’re still good on supplies. Ammunition. Weapons.” He glanced at his men. They nodded at his assessment.

She crossed her arms. “You didn’t think to check in with your employer before heading out?”

Her question only seemed to deepen Matthew’s confusion. “I explained our plan before we left the train. I thought you understood we needed to leave as quickly as possible to take advantage of what daylight we have left for travel.”

Mr. Wallace cleared his throat. “I think she was expecting a more personal good-bye, Captain.”

She had been, but that wasn’t the only thing tweaking her temper, nor the most important. “Where’s my palomino?”

The lines disappeared from Matthew’s forehead, as if he was thankful to have a question he could answer. He gestured toward the livery. “He’s inside. All settled.”

“Why is Sandy inside instead of saddled and ready to travel with you?”

“Because . . . he’s your horse.” Matt looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. She might yet, if these thickheaded men didn’t pull the cotton wool out of their brains and start thinking clearly.

“A horse I have no need of while I’m waiting in Chatfield for your return. A horse that could serve as my brother’s mount once you extricate him from his captors. A horse that could keep your own from fatiguing due to the weight of an extra man should a pursuit ensue. A horse,” she emphasized, “I would have offered for your use had you done me the courtesy of briefly checking in before running off into the wilds of outlaw territory.”

“I’ll go fetch the palomino,” Mr. Davenport grumbled as he ducked into the livery with all the haste of a soldier seeking cover from cannon fire.

Mr. Wallace wasn’t much better, doing a quick about-face. “I’ll see about getting a refund for that packhorse we rented.”

Mr. Brooks apparently didn’t feel compelled to offer an excuse. He just turned and rounded the corner of the livery, leaving her alone with Matthew.

“I didn’t realize the horse mattered so much to you.” He held his arms away from his body, palms facing forward in a non-threatening position, as if she were an unstable gunman with a loaded revolver and a hair trigger.

Josephine sighed. “It doesn’t. Not really. It’s just . . . I know I’m not a soldier, Matthew. My knowledge of military tactics wouldn’t fill a thimble, and I have no notion of how to go about planning a rescue. But that doesn’t mean I have nothing to offer. I might not be going with you, but this is still as much my mission as it is yours. I want to understand what is going on, and I want the chance to help in any small way I can.” Her shoulders slumped. “If nothing else, I had hoped to offer a prayer for the safety of you and your men before you left.”

Matthew ran his forefinger and thumb over his mustache, his gaze falling to the ground. “Of course you have something to offer . . .” The words died away. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It didn’t occur to me . . .” He blew out a breath, then yanked the hat from his head, slapped it against his leg, and let it dangle from his fingertips. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers. “I ain’t used to dealin’ with women and their feelings, Josie. I’m used to the military, where you take orders and give orders without chitchat or explanation. I see something that needs doin’, and I go do it. That’s how I was trained.”

Women and their feelings? Josephine pressed her lips together to keep from spouting her feelings all over his imbecilic head.

“You’re gonna have to be patient with me,” he said, his gaze apologetic.

Her ire softened a little.

“Give me time to adjust. I might be an old dog, but I can still learn new tricks.”

She uncrossed her arms and blew out a breath, letting the last of her affront escape on the wind. “Quit calling yourself old.”