Page 81 of At Love’s Command

Run for the trees. That was what Charlie wanted her to do. Save herself while he kept Carver occupied. She looked to the trees. Took a step. But the pounding thuds of fists on flesh tore at her heart. She couldn’t leave her brother.

Helpless tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Then a violent punch splayed Charlie at her feet. She bent to help him rise, but as he stood, he grabbed her arms and looked into her face. A cut above his eye dripped blood, a welt on his cheek foretold a nasty bruise, but it was his gaze that arrested her.

Go! He mouthed the word and shoved her away from him. Then, with a roar, he launched himself at Carver once again.

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Josephine ran.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

Run, Josie.” Matt mumbled the plea beneath his breath as he trained his rifle on the man who’d been guarding her. When she stumbled away from her brother, hope leapt in his chest. He hadn’t been sure she’d leave Charlie behind, but doing so provided the best chance to get her away unharmed. Seeing her grab a handful of skirt and sprint for the trees ignited Matt’s confidence. “That’s right, darlin’. Run.”

To me.

She fled straight toward his position, as if she heard his heart calling to hers. But before she’d closed half the distance, a shout went up from the camp.

Faster, Josie. Matt tightened his grip on the rifle. Faster.

Jonah was positioned in the branches of a tall oak twenty yards to Matt’s left. Wallace and Preach waited on horseback far enough away to be out of sight but close enough to hear when the gunfire started. They had orders to charge into the fray at the first shot.

Matt’s shot. The one he planned to hold off on as long as possible. He wanted Josie clear of the area before lead started flying.

When the cry of alarm rose, the man pummeling Charlie straightened. His arm dropped to his side and his fist unclenched as he reached for his revolver. He tossed Charlie to the ground and set off after Josie. “Don’t make me shoot you, Doc,” he yelled.

Charlie lunged after him and managed to wrap his arms around the outlaw’s feet. The tangle didn’t last long, however. The outlaw kicked free, knocking Charlie’s head in the process.

The guard raced after Josie, his long stride eating up the small lead she’d gained. Matt judged the remaining distance, and his jaw clenched. She wouldn’t make it. Her guard would overtake her before she reached the trees.

A little farther, he urged silently as the rest of the camp came to life. Movement danced in his periphery. Men getting to their feet. Reaching for weapons. Running to the scene. The instant Matt fired, retribution would explode directly toward his position, trapping Josie in the middle.

He needed to draw the fire away from her. Give them a visible target.

After he took down the most pressing threat.

Matt aimed at the guard’s chest, his vow not to use lethal force nagging on his conscience. Yet he couldn’t afford to miss. Not with Josie’s life at stake. He needed to take the high-percentage shot. Praying that the God who’d sent Israel’s warriors into battle and fought at their side would understand the extenuating circumstances, he squeezed the trigger.

The shot cracked. The guard dropped. Matt roared a battle cry and charged into the fray.

Josie pulled up short at the sight of him, her beautiful eyes going wide. Matt held her gaze for one precious second, then gestured with his left arm for her to sprint for the trees while he turned his attention to eliminating the threats to her escape.

He zagged to the right. Slowed. Raised his rifle and shot. A man howled, clutching his shoulder. Another shot echoed from above. Another outlaw fell, this time to Jonah’s bullet.

Hooves pounded behind Matt. A guttural yell that sounded surprisingly like the bugle call to charge announced Preach and Wallace’s arrival. Matt fought the urge to look behind him, to check on Josie’s progress. Trusting his men to keep her safe, he focused on his job—protecting her back.

The red-bearded Dawson charged out of the house, gun raised. His barrel aimed not at Matt, but someone behind him.

Matt’s blood turned to ice. Josie. His position was vulnerable, out in the open, but that didn’t matter. He dropped to one knee, raised his rifle, and took the shot. Dawson jerked and fell backward against the house wall. He didn’t drop his gun, though. Wincing, the outlaw adjusted his aim. Matt pumped the lever on his repeater to expel the spent cartridge and load another into the chamber. Too long. It was taking too long.

Dawson fired. A horse screamed.

Wallace had ridden straight across the bullet’s path, protecting Josie with his horse and his own body. The gelding reared, its front hooves pawing at the air, but the animal didn’t go down. Thank the Lord. Wallace drew his weapon and shot Dawson in the chest. The gun fell from the outlaw’s hand as his body slid the rest of the way to the ground.

Bullets flew from every direction now. The barn. The house. The copse of trees to the south. As Wallace withdrew in order to prepare for another pass, Matt sprinted for the only cover near enough to do any good—the chuck wagon. Laying cover fire for himself as he ran, Matt pivoted south and alternated shots left and right. The whine of a bullet zinged by his ear. He tucked his rifle into his body and rolled. After more rotations than he could count, his boot collided with a wagon wheel. He quickly swiveled on his hip to get his head safely behind the wagon.

Only when he stopped twisting did he catch a glimpse of the boots on the other side.

He struggled to unfold. To bring his rifle barrel up. A glint of metal appeared around the corner, warning Matt that he was out of time. He flattened his body against the ground to make himself a smaller target, but instead of the gunshot he expected, a dull metallic thud rang in the air.