Page 59 of At Love’s Command

Case in point—instead of walking around to the far side of the table as she had instructed, he reached an arm around her back and latched onto the ankle in question, bringing his foul breath even closer. His front pressed indecently against her back, sending a shiver of fear-tinged disgust over her skin. She held her ground, though. Well, almost. She did take a tiny step closer to the table as she bent her head to her task.

“Your head’s blocking my light,” she groused, hoping he’d care enough about his compadre to give her a little space.

Carver shifted, erasing the miniscule separation she’d managed to preserve. “Make do, Doc.”

Knowing he took pleasure in her discomfort, Josephine hid it as best she could beneath a stiff spine and a brusque demeanor. The faster she stitched this wound, the faster she could put some space between her and her boorish warden. Closing the edges of the bullet hole with the fingers of her left hand, Josephine jabbed her needle into the hairy calf.

A holler followed by a string of profanity polluted the air as the recipient reared his head back, bringing the top of his torso off the table. Carver reached around her with his other hand and smacked the fellow’s shoulder back down, throwing her ribs atop her patient’s backside in the process.

“You know, if you’d moved to the other side of the table like I asked,” she said as she shoved backward in retaliation for his placing her in such an undignified position, “you wouldn’t be impeding my suturing with your ruffian deportment.”

For once, Carver had no reply. He probably hadn’t understood her insult. Too many ten-dollar words.

Ten-dollar words. Matthew’s phrase. Josephine’s fingers trembled, and her bottom lip threatened to imitate the motion.

Oh, Matthew. Are you alive? I pray you are. I pray that God is watching over you, providing for you, healing you when I cannot.

Josephine bit down on that quivering lip and forced her fingers to settle as she tied off the first suture. Thinking of Matthew brought too many emotions to the surface. Emotions she didn’t have the luxury of indulging, not when any show of weakness would incite the wolves.

Still, she hated knowing that she could help if she were with him. Hated being outside the realm of control. Both for Matthew’s situation and her own. The only control she wielded was over the hairy leg in front of her and the needle in her hand.

Matthew’s in your hands, Lord. You know what’s best. Help me to accept whatever your best means, even if it’s not what I want it to be.

Filling her head with quoted verses about how God worked together for the good of those who loved him, and filling her heart with the optimism to believe the promise would translate into the preservation of Matthew’s life, Josephine snipped off the suture thread and set her needle to flesh once again.

Inaction was a military man’s worst enemy. Matt had been able to power through the pain while he marched across the countryside, driven by his mission to save Josie. But now that they’d made it onto the train and he could do nothing more productive than sit and plot, the fire in his side ignited with new life and refused to be ignored. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that lessened the agony, but all he got for his trouble was what felt like a dagger slipping between his ribs. A hiss escaped him along with a flinch he no longer had the energy to hide.

“All right,” Preach grumbled as he twisted on the bench he and Matt shared and leveled a frown at his captain. “Vest open. Shirt up. No argument.”

Matt scowled. “You fuss worse than an old lady. You know that, right?”

Preach raised a brow as he crossed his arms. “Old ladies don’t get to be their age by being stupid. If you’re gonna watch my back on the battlefield, I gotta make sure you ain’t gonna faint on me because you were too stubborn to tend a wound properly.”

“Yeah, well, the person I want tending my wounds got carried off by outlaws, so I’m a little cranky.” But he reached for the buttons on his vest anyway. Might as well take a gander at the damage. Had to pass the time somehow. They still had at least an hour before they reached San Antonio.

Thankfully they sat at the rear of a passenger car containing fewer than a dozen people. And most of them were busy trying to catch a few winks of shut-eye.

As he reached for the third button, a hand gripped his shoulder. Matt glanced up at Preach, surprised to find his friend’s bossy bearing traded in for an expression of serious intent. “We’ll get her back, Matt.”

Matt’s hands stilled on the buttons as his chin dipped in a lackluster nod. “I know. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I’ll go crazy if I let myself consider any other outcome.”

“Horsemen never quit,” Luke said, his voice quiet yet ringing with intensity. “We find a way to achieve the mission, and we protect our own. The doc’s one of us now, Cap. The moment you staked your claim, she became family. There’s not a one of us who wouldn’t give our life to save her.”

Moved to an embarrassing degree, Matt dropped his head and resumed fumbling with his buttons.

“We all like her. In my estimation, any woman who can keep up with a group of hardened cavalry officers on horseback is a woman worth keepin’. Wallace practically worships her, thanks to her saving his life and all. Shoot, even Jonah likes her, and you know how particular he is about folks. Barely tolerates most two-legged creatures.”

Matt got the vest undone and gingerly stretched it open on the right side where blood had soaked through. He tugged his shirttails free of his trousers. Dried blood glued the cotton to his skin at the wound site just beneath his rib cage. He eased the fabric away as gently as he could manage, but it still stung like the dickens. And oozed. Blood and a clear discharge. Not a terribly appetizing picture.

“That’s definitely deeper than a crease.” Preach contorted his big frame to examine the wound more closely. His frown knocked away Matt’s last fingerhold on optimism. “I’d be surprised if that bullet didn’t nick a rib. Chasing down Whitaker did you no favors neither. That crevice is twice as wide as any bullet would’ve made. Must’ve aggravated it with all that scrambling about.”

“Yeah, well, that scrambling about got us a ride to town along with new boots, so I’d say it was worth the price.” Any sacrifice would be worth the cost if it meant getting Josie away from Taggart.

Preach shrugged. “Prob’ly.” His mouth quirked a grin as he jutted one foot into the aisle to admire his boot. “I am rather fond of my new footwear. Couldn’t believe that fella had a pair in my size. I usually gotta special-order ’em.”

Thankfully Taggart’s men had been more concerned with stripping them of weapons than funds. In their effort to speed Josie away, they hadn’t taken the time to go through the Horsemen’s pockets, which left them enough cash to pay Whitaker for the boots and secure tickets for the train. Of course, the outlaws had stolen the bulk of their money when they stole their saddlebags. Never knowing how much money they might need to complete a job, the Horsemen always rode flush, despite appearances to the contrary. Now, however, all that remained was a collection of spare change. They should have enough to rent some horses from a livery in San Antonio when the train arrived, but after that, they’d be living off pocket lint.

“Hey, Wallace.” Preach stretched his boot farther across the aisle and kicked Mark’s foot off his crossed ankle.