Page 89 of At Love’s Command

At least he hadn’t killed her brother outright, Josephine thought with a wry grin. They’d arrived twenty minutes ago, neither very talkative, but both still able to sit a horse.

“Better watch out, Brooks. The doc’s grinnin’. No telling what kind of torture she’s cooked up for you,” Preach called from his position at the north end of the barn where it opened into the paddock. From there he could guard the prisoners as well as watch the terrain for any outlaws who might return. Mark held a similar position at the south end.

“I would argue that Mr. Brooks is far too intelligent to believe such a ludicrous charge,” Josephine stated as she came up behind Jonah, “but the fact that he keeps avoiding my attempts to tend his wounds has me questioning that assessment.”

Jonah failed to rise to her bait. Just turned the saddlebag he’d been searching upside down and shook it until every last crumb of stale hardtack tumbled out.

Josephine set her doctor’s bag on the table and crossed her arms. “Your search for outlaw gold can wait, Mr. Brooks. I need to clean that gash on your head.”

“It ain’t gold I’m hunting, Doc.” More than impatience tinged his voice. There was something that sounded like . . . heartbreak.

Josephine uncrossed her arms and placed a hand on the sharpshooter’s shoulder. “What is it, Jonah? What are you looking for?”

His hands stopped their frantic shaking of the leather bag, but his gaze never left the table. “My daddy’s compass.” His quiet words pierced her heart. “It weren’t in my bag. One of the outlaws must’ve taken it.”

A family heirloom, perhaps all he had left of the man who’d fathered him.

She pushed her medical bag aside and grabbed one of the emptied pouches. “I’ll help you search.”

He shook his head. “It ain’t no use. I been through them all. It ain’t here.” He dropped the bag onto the table. “It probably rode off with one of the men who escaped.” His head came up, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just a compass. I can buy a new one.” The flatness of his tone stirred her compassion.

“It does matter. Let’s look through these one more time. Maybe you missed something.”

He raised a brow and glared at her.

“Don’t get in a huff, now.” She rolled her eyes and opened the bag she’d confiscated. “You’ve suffered a head trauma.” Judging by the size of the jagged gash and the extensive bruising around it, he’d sustained a serious contusion while vacating his sniper position in the tree. “It’s possible your normally eagle-eyed vision is operating at less than optimal efficacy.”

His mouth twitched just a hair at the corner. “Matt’s right about them ten-dollar words of yours. They make a man’s head hurt.”

“Your head hurts because you butted a tree limb with your cranium, Mr. Brooks. It has nothing to do with my choice of vocabulary.”

That bit of sass earned her a chuckle as Jonah shook his head and dragged one of the saddlebags he’d discarded earlier back toward him for another examination.

Fifteen minutes later, Josephine’s optimism for finding the missing compass had faded, and Jonah’s mention of ten-dollar words had reinvigorated her concern for Matthew. As she lifted silent prayers for the safe return of both the compass and the man she loved, somehow the two became intertwined. The longer they went without recovering the compass, the more she fretted over Matthew’s failure to return as well.

“That’s odd.” The statement, the first Jonah had uttered since renewing his search, brought Josephine’s head around. “There’s a slit in the side seam.” He bent his elbow at an odd angle as he dug around in the leather bag. “Could just be the stitching wearing out.”

She bounced up on her toes. “Or it could be a hidden pocket. This is the bag of an outlaw, after all.”

Jonah met her gaze, a flash of excitement, of hope, dancing between them. It was all she could do not to push him aside and take over the exploration herself.

“Get your knife. We can cut away the seam entirely.” She’d offer her scalpel, but she didn’t want to dull the blade.

He shook his head. “I think I’ve . . . got it.” He pulled his hand from the bag, a tarnished brass pocket compass in his palm.

Josephine beamed at him and clasped his forearm. “You found it! Oh, Jonah, I’m so glad.”

Now, if only . . .

Preach let out a sharp whistle. Jonah’s smile evaporated, the steely sharpshooter back on high alert.

“Got movement to the north,” Preach reported.

“The captain?” Jonah took a step toward Preach as he slid his father’s compass into his pocket and reached for the rifle he’d left leaning against the barn wall.

Preach shrugged. “Too far out to tell. Man on foot. One, maybe two horses.”

Matthew! It was him. Josephine had not a single doubt. She sprinted past the Horsemen, ignoring their shouts to stop, their warnings that it might not be him.