Page 72 of At Love’s Command

Matt’s pulse pounded, something Percival must have sensed, for the horse snorted and stepped sideways.

“She weren’t movin’, but she was upright.”

What did that mean? Was she dead? Alive? Tied to a stake?

Those scenarios made no sense. How would Taggart collect his ransom if Josie was dead or tied up by the creek for her father to find? There had to be more to this that they couldn’t see. But what?

“Meet up with Wallace. Have him signal Burkett to move forward with caution. Keep an eye on his back trail, making sure the outlaws aren’t luring us into an ambush. I’ll circle around with Preach, cross the road on the far side of the bend, and come at the creek from the north. Hopefully we’ll flush any of Taggart’s men who might be about.”

“You know it’s likely a trap, right, Captain?”

Matt tightened his jaw. “Yep. But we’re going in anyway.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Percival vaulted across the road with such speed and grace, Matt wondered if perhaps he should have been named Pegasus instead. Unfortunately, speed and grace couldn’t protect him from any spying eyes that might be looking on. Jonah hadn’t spotted any of Taggart’s men, but Matt’s gut told him someone was out there. How many someones was yet to be determined.

He and Preach, guns at the ready, took cover among the pecan trees that surrounded San Geronimo Creek. When Matt caught a glimpse of blue through the trees, he stopped, signaling Preach to continue past him to protect their eastern flank.

As soon as Preach moved on, Matt craned his neck right and left, desperate to get a better view through the branches.

Josie?

He recognized the blue fabric. It was definitely her coat. Hat too. But the headgear sat at an unnatural angle. Too close to her shoulders. Too flat. Was she unconscious? Slumped over in a tied position?

Don’t get ahead of yourself, soldier. Catalog the evidence.

Matt steeled his nerves and concentrated on what could be observed, not what the observations might mean.

First observation—nothing moved. Except when the wind buffeted the cloth. No arms waved. No head nodded. No feet kicked.

Feet. Matt sharpened his attention. Shouldn’t he be able to see the green of Josie’s skirt? All he saw was blue and the black of her hat. He supposed she could be wearing her trousers, but even then, something of her should be visible below the knees.

It had to be a dummy. Bait to draw them out.

Turning in his saddle, he scanned the area. Where are you? Taggart had to have men watching them. But from where?

The fact that gunfire hadn’t erupted when he and Preach crossed the road made a full-on ambush unlikely. Which meant this was an intelligence-gathering mission, not an attack. The outlaws would need high ground with a clear view of the path.

Matt scoured the nearby treetops. Nothing.

They wouldn’t be to the south. Such a position would risk exposure, with Burkett approaching from that direction. The west failed to offer a clear view to the creek. So that left north and east. East provided the most protection, with the creek serving as a buffer. North offered high ground with a small rise about a quarter mile away. A man would have to have field glasses to see anything from that distance, though.

Matt gritted his teeth as he recalled a particular pair of field glasses that had aided in Charlie Burkett’s rescue. A pair Matt had selected himself for their high-quality magnification. A pair now in Taggart’s possession, thanks to his theft of the Horsemen’s gear. Matt scowled at the rise visible through the trees, wishing he’d left the glasses behind at that canyon and encouraged Phineas to trod them underfoot.

He squinted into the distance, then turned to estimate where the spy’s gaze would likely fall. His view would be somewhat obstructed, but there were enough gaps between the trees to confirm Burkett’s presence. The view would likely confirm his and Preach’s presence too. Though, if they were lucky, whoever watched would only suspect them of being Gringolet hands, not Horsemen.

“Josephine!” Burkett’s shout brought Matt’s focus back to the blue fabric.

Josie’s father rode into view, then jumped from his horse’s back. He dashed in and out of Matt’s tree-interrupted sight line until stuttering to a halt.

“What kind of game is this, Taggart?” Burkett bellowed loudly enough to rattle the leaves above him. “If you want your money, show yourself. And my daughter.”

The affirmation that the misshapen figure wasn’t Josie poured relief over Matt like the shower of a rushing waterfall and made it easier to hold his position.

“Taggart!”