Page 90 of At Love’s Command

Dashing into the paddock, she wove between the horses, her eyes set on the one at the far end, nearest her brother.

“Stop her!” Preach yelled.

Her father looked up from the injured Gringolet horse he’d been tending. “Jo?”

She offered no explanation. Just ran. Her pursuers’ footsteps pounded behind her.

“Charlie! Leg up!”

Her brother stood at Percival’s side, currycomb in hand. The saddle and blanket had been removed. He turned to face her and surely spotted the men on her heels. For a moment she thought he might not comply, but she should have known she could count on the irrepressible scamp to have her back.

Charlie tossed the comb aside as she neared, braced his legs apart, and made a step of interlocked fingers. His eyes sparked with the same loyalty and mischief that had led them to master this maneuver as kids, in defiance of their father’s insistence that such a move was too dangerous for a girl.

He gave her a nod. “Ready!”

Three more steps and she was there. She planted her left foot in his palm, gripped his shoulder for balance, then kicked out her right leg as he tossed her up and over. Safely astride Percy’s back, she grabbed the reins and set off. With no saddle or stirrups, the jump over the downed fence threw her forward against the horse’s neck, but she recovered and kicked Percy into a gallop.

“Go get ’em, Jo!” Charlie’s proud call rang in her ears.

The more ground she covered, the more her heart urged her on. It was Matthew. She recognized his hat, his vest. But not his stride. He was hurt. Limping. Cradling his side as he led a horse with a man draped over the saddle. Taggart.

Phineas, like his master, limped behind. Head low, steps ginger, a darkened spot above his right shoulder. But like his master, he was alive. Alive and beautiful.

I’m coming, Matthew!

His head came up, as if he’d heard her heart’s vow. His posture straightened. The lead line fell from his hand.

“Josie.”

She swore she could hear her name on his lips, even though distance combined with Percival’s hoofbeats and those of the horse charging from behind made that a scientific impossibility. But then, science didn’t know everything.

Matthew started to jog toward her, his steps growing surer the more ground he covered. Josephine calculated the remaining distance. She let Percy run a few more strides then reined him in. The moment he slowed enough for her to dismount without breaking a limb, she slid from his back. Her dismount was not as graceful as she would have wished. Her impatience left her stumbling, but she corrected her balance before sprawling on her face, and that was all she cared about. Staying on her feet so she could get to Matthew.

And then she was in his arms. Crying. Laughing. Her palms splayed across his chest. Her gaze drinking him in.

“You came back to me.”

He cupped her face. The pad of his thumb grazed her cheek in a caress so tender, so filled with love, her heart squeezed. After raking her face with his gaze as if he sought to memorize every line and freckle, his hazel eyes finally met hers. “As long as I have breath in my bones, Josie mine, I will always come back to you.”

Then his lips crashed onto hers, and everything inside her exulted. She returned his kiss with all the passion her worry had tamped down, giving her love free rein. A moan escaped him, and she tried to move away, afraid she’d exacerbated an injury with her enthusiasm. But he tightened his hold, pulling her even closer, deepening the kiss until everything but him faded from her mind.

“I’ll, uh, see to Taggart for ya, Cap. Phineas too.”

The sound of Preach’s voice barely registered in her love-clouded brain. Matthew’s kiss gentled but didn’t stop. One of his hands left her face, his arm moving sharply for a moment, as if waving his man away, before coming to rest at the small of her back, then pressing up the length of her spine.

A warm chuckle filtered over them, followed by words that had something to do with Preach leaving his horse for Matthew to use. Then, finally, they were alone again.

Matthew didn’t ease his hold on her for several long minutes—minutes filled with kisses that heated her blood and curled her toes. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, her breathing came in ragged little pants. His forehead rested against hers, and his hands curled over her shoulders.

“Marry me, Josie.”

Her eyes flew open. Slowly, she leaned back and peered into his face. He met her gaze with such humility, her chest ached.

“I know I’m not much of a catch. I’m a warrior past his prime with blood on his hands and regrets on his soul, but I love you more than I ever loved anyone or anything in my life. After my folks died, I swore I’d never take a wife, never risk the pain of that kind of loss again. But I think it would hurt more to walk away from you now.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away with a knuckle roughened and scarred by battle, yet it stroked with such gentleness, she couldn’t help leaning her face toward him to seek more of his touch.

“I can’t promise you a life free from trouble or hardship,” he said, his voice husky with emotion, “but I can promise you that I will love you every moment of every day.”