Page 58 of At Love’s Command

“You’re a lifesaver, Mr. Whitaker. Thank you.” Matt tipped his hat as he scrambled around to the back of the wagon. With swift movements, he climbed the wheel spokes and hoisted himself into the bed. The others followed.

As soon as the four Horsemen found seats in the back among an assortment of crates and trunks, Whitaker snapped the reins, and his team surged forward.

“You know, I don’t usually make my trip into Chatfield until Saturday morning,” the driver called over his shoulder in a voice loud enough to be heard over the hooves and wheels, “but something just kept itching under my skin, telling me to leave early. Guess it’s a good thing for you fellas that I decided to scratch it.” He chuckled.

“That it is,” Matt agreed, deciding Wallace’s angel theory might have some basis in reality after all. It seemed the Lord had one assigned to transportation detail after all. “An answer to prayer.”

“Oh, I know all about answered prayers,” Whitaker said. “My business wouldn’t still be afloat if it weren’t for the Good Lord opening new doors when old ones closed. Why, just yesterday I had a big sale fall through and was worrying about how I was gonna pay my suppliers. Then you fellows show up.”

Matt turned to his companions. None of them looked any less puzzled than he felt. Preach shrugged. Jonah shook his head. Wallace, however, verbalized the question on everyone’s minds.

“How exactly are we helping your business, Mr. Whitaker?”

The old man turned just enough that Matt caught his wink. “Take a gander in them boxes.”

Preach was the first to take him up on the offer, unfastening the trunk closest to him. Wallace reached around with his good hand to hold the lid as Preach pulled back a layer of cotton batting. His eyes widened. Then laughter burst from his chest as he wagged his head in disbelief.

“What is it?” Matt eyed the crate nearest him.

“Boots.” Preach pulled one from the trunk and held it up for inspection. “‘But my God shall supply all your need.’ Philippians 4:19.”

Wallace grinned. “Only God could arrange for a bunch of barefooted Horsemen to be rescued by a bootmaker.”

“Go ahead and help yourselves,” Whitaker called. “If the outlaws done stole your money too, I can write up an IOU when we get to Chatfield. You fellas seem the type to pay your bills.”

As the men started digging through boxes and trying on boots, Matt’s mind turned back to Josie.

Thank you for your provision, Father. But please, provide for her too. Watch her back and keep her safe.

Preach slid on a pair and admired the fit. “I think the Horsemen just found a new bootmaker.”

Whitaker turned in his seat, his eyes wide. “The Horsemen?”

Matt thumped the kind old bootmaker on the shoulder. “I’m Matthew Hanger. This here’s Jonah Brooks, Luke Davenport, and Mark Wallace.” He nodded to each of his men in turn, and they nodded to Whitaker. “You’ve just rescued Hanger’s Horsemen and earned yourself four customers for life.”

“Hanger’s Horsemen.” Whitaker started to slump in his seat, but Matt gripped his shoulder tightly in support. The team slowed in response to his inattention, but the bootmaker didn’t seem to notice. “Julia ain’t never gonna believe this,” he mumbled.

“Whitaker?” Matt tightened his grip. “You all right?”

Suddenly their driver came back to himself. He shook his head, then sat taller in the seat. “I’m fine, boys. Just fine.” He gripped the reins with renewed purpose. “Paxton Whitaker, Bootmaker to Hanger’s Horsemen.” He glanced back at Matt. “Got an awful nice ring to it.” He chuckled softly. “Think I’ll make it my new business slogan.” Grinning like a kid who’d been gifted the pick of the litter, he snapped the reins and instantly got the flagging horses back up to speed. “Let’s go, lads. The Horsemen got a train to catch.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Must you hover?” Josephine scowled up at the guard whose breath fogged across her nape like a sticky cloud of humidity. Carver answered by leaning even closer.

Mercy, how she wanted to scrub that discomfiting sensation off her skin, but she’d already sterilized her hands. An outlaw lay sprawled on his belly atop a table someone had pilfered from the farmhouse, his left pant leg rolled up to expose matching entry and exit wounds on his calf.

It amazed her how many of Taggart’s men had wounds to their lower extremities. Even in a life-or-death battle against a dozen hardened criminals who had no qualms about taking human life, Matthew and the rest of the Horsemen had held fast to their vow of non-lethal force. Such honorable men. So different from the drunken, foul-mouthed horde surrounding her now.

The men in the barn watched her as if she were the afternoon’s entertainment. To some, she seemed to be a curiosity, unaccustomed as they no doubt were to being in the presence of a proper lady. To others, her gender seemed to inspire only lust and crude gestures. She’d quickly learned not to make eye contact with any of them until medical treatment deemed it necessary. After the first hour, some of the novelty wore off, for most had gone back to their card playing or drinking.

Josephine contemplated the hairy calf before her. The outlaw attached to it was half-insensate with alcohol, but the pain of the needle was sure to rouse him.

“Come around the table and hold his ankle down.” Josephine gestured to the guard with a lift of her head. “He’s not going to like it when I start suturing.”

Carver hadn’t permitted anesthetization, stating he refused to allow her to incapacitate any of the men. Not that they were in any kind of fighting shape in their current form. Most had anesthetized themselves with liquor and were barely coherent. Even after dosing them with soap and hot water, they still reeked of whiskey and gin. Josephine suspected Carver’s real reason for disallowing her use of ether was that he enjoyed watching others suffer. He certainly enjoyed making her life as uncomfortable as possible.