Page 87 of At Love’s Command

But Wallace shook his head. “Orders are to secure the premises. A handful of outlaws fled. They could circle back. Captain wants us here, guarding the doctor.”

Josephine fought the urge to scream as her feet hit the ground. “And who’s going to guard him?”

“‘One man of you shall chase a thousand: for the Lord your God, he it is that fighteth for you, as he hath promised you.’ Joshua 23:10.” As the quiet words fell from Preach’s lips, hot tears fell from Josephine’s eyes.

How quick she was to grab for the reins the instant the path the Lord led her down took a turn she didn’t favor. Where was her trust? Her surrender?

Josephine covered her face with her hands. Control was nothing more than an illusion, a lie to trap the competent in their own capability. One that created such a dependence on self that it clogged the conduit of wisdom and power flowing from the Omnipotent until only a trickle of living water found its way through.

Help me, Lord. Clear out the debris of pride and fear clogging my soul and let your river of living water flow through me unhindered. Help me trust that you are at work. That you will fight for Matthew, for justice. And should the worst happen, that you will fight for me too. That I might believe in your goodness even in the pit of despair.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

Matt bent low over Phineas’s neck, urging him to greater speed as he locked his gaze on the rider in black two hundred yards ahead. Taggart had the fresher mount, and he’d managed to get a jump on Matt by sneaking out the back door of the farmhouse, but Matt’s bones burned with the fire of justice, driving him to the edge of recklessness. Taggart would not escape. Not this time.

Little by little, Phineas closed the gap. Taggart twisted to glance behind. Drew his pistol. Fired two shots.

Matt ducked. The shots missed, but not by much. Taggart had skill.

Matt considered returning fire, but his ammunition was low, and rising up to make the shot would give Taggart a bigger target. Plus it would slow him down, and Matt intended to run this outlaw to ground.

Another shot kicked up dirt a few feet in front of Phin’s hooves. Phineas didn’t even break stride, just ran on, as determined as the man on his back to accomplish the mission.

They closed the distance to a hundred yards. Then fifty.

Matt kept Phineas slightly to Taggart’s right, making it nearly impossible for the outlaw to get an accurate shot off, since he had to stretch his arm across and around his body to the left to shoot behind him.

“We got him now, Phin.”

Thirty yards to go.

This time when Taggart craned his neck to look behind him, Matt could make out his scowl. Along with the fear in his eyes.

The gun appeared at Taggart’s left side again, farther around his back this time. But the curve of his arm was too steep, and when he fired, the bullet flew wildly right.

He only had one shot left, by Matt’s count. Not even an experienced outlaw could reload his weapon while racing on horseback.

Twenty yards.

The gun barrel appeared over Taggart’s right shoulder, the weapon upside down. A blind shot. A desperate shot.

Gunfire cracked the air.

Phineas stumbled, and his front legs crumpled beneath him. Matt flew forward. Kicked free of the stirrups. Tucked. Braced for impact.

His shoulder slammed into the earth. Then his spine. His hip. Pain exploded everywhere. He rolled. Drew his revolver. Ignored the pain screaming at him to stop.

He came up in a crouch. One shot. Had to make it count.

Forty yards. Fifty.

Matt exhaled. Aimed.

Sixty yards.

He pulled the trigger.