Page 61 of At Love’s Command

When it came her turn at the chuck wagon, Josephine held out her tin plate to the gray-bearded man with the crooked nose. It looked to have been broken recently and not set very well. Dark bruising colored the bridge of his nose and blackened his eyes as well.

His ladle banged against her plate. “Thank you,” she murmured, the politeness automatic.

The cook’s face jerked up as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue. He stared at her long and hard, as if suspicious of her meaning. Then finally he gave a sharp nod. “Yer welcome.”

A tiny smile curved her lips, the first such gesture since this whole abduction fiasco began. Heavens, but it felt good. “I can set that break for you after supper, if you like,” she said.

The old man’s gaze jumped to her watchdog, who was in line behind her, before finding its way back to her. “Thank ya kindly, ma’am, but I reckon it’ll heal up good enough for an old coot like me.”

“Oh, but I don’t mi—”

“The man said no, Doc.” Carver emphasized his words with a shove to her backside—one that pinched as well as pushed.

Josephine yelped and nearly dropped her plate in the dirt as she lurched forward. Red-hot anger scorched her throat. She spun around to face him. Her arm twitched with the need to slap his face for such wretched presumption, but awareness of her surroundings kept her in check. Barely.

His eyes flashed with laughter. He knew the war raging inside her. He smirked, his dark gaze daring her to strike him.

Any excuse, he’d said. Any excuse to make Charlie pay the price.

Josephine forced the tension in her arm to relax. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Carver.” She dressed him down in her best schoolmarm voice.

Titters broke out among the men. Which was unfortunate, for Mr. Carver didn’t appreciate laughter being aimed in his direction.

He grabbed her arm and jerked her against him so hard that her dinner plate fell to the ground, splattering her skirt hem with stew as she stumbled into his chest.

“I’ll put my hands wherever I want, Doc, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.”

“Hey!” Charlie lurched forward. His chains rattled as he tried to get to her, but his iron leash pulled him up short. “Leave her alone!”

The stone-faced guard refused to comply, of course. “Who’s gonna make me, rich boy? You?”

Charlie glared at Carver but kept his mouth shut. The first wise thing he’d managed to do since they’d arrived.

Josephine wedged her hands between her torso and Carver’s chest and pushed, surprised when he actually let her go. Not that any sort of latent decency had erupted within his conscience. It was the approaching black-clad outlaw who had no doubt inspired her release.

Once she was free, Josephine took two steps away from Carver and straightened her clothing. The gray-haired cook retrieved her plate from the ground, scraped off the remainder of the splattered stew, and wiped it with a towel. He then ladled up a fresh portion and handed it to her. He never said a word, but the quiet act of kindness bolstered her spirits and her courage.

“You all right, Jo?” her brother asked.

She held her head high and nodded. “Don’t worry, Charlie,” she said as her gaze zeroed in on the man in black. “The balance of power will change when the cavalry arrives.”

“What’s that you say?” Taggart asked, his arrogant voice grating across her nerves. “Something about the cavalry? Surely you don’t expect them to sweep in and save the day.”

Josephine stiffened her spine and faced the gang’s leader. “Have no doubt. The cavalry is coming.”

“I don’t think so.” He bypassed the three men still in line at the chuck wagon and held his plate out to the cook. “The cavalry’s not much of a cavalry without horses. Besides, I shot the captain, if you’ll recall. He won’t be riding to anyone’s rescue.”

Josephine refused to flinch even when the dagger of his words sliced into her like a scalpel. “You don’t know Matthew Hanger.”

He’d survived the battlefield for more than a decade. He could survive an outlaw’s ambush. She believed in him. Believed in a God who could save men from lions, fiery furnaces, and giants.

Taggart just shrugged in the face of her faith. “Bullets tend to slow men down, darlin’. Even cavalry officers. If he’s not dead already, he soon will be.”

Josephine lifted her chin. She’d believe Matthew alive until empirical evidence disproved her hypothesis. “Have no doubt, Mr. Taggart. The cavalry will arrive. Hanger’s Horsemen never fail.”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue in condescension. “They’ve failed already, Miss Burkett. Or have you forgotten where you are?”

With indignation burning in her chest along with a fierce need to champion the man she loved, she took a step forward and challenged the cad. “Where I am is of less importance than where they are. They’re on your trail, Taggart. And they won’t stop until they take you down.”