CHAPTER
SIX
Mr. Wallace made it through the night with no incident of fever. Josephine had checked on him twice. The first time after midnight, and the second at three o’clock. Both times, Matthew Hanger had awoken the instant she stepped foot in the room.
He had set the chair out in the hallway and stretched out on the hardwood floor with nothing but one of her cushions to pillow his head. It had to be dreadfully uncomfortable, but then, he was a cavalryman, accustomed to sleeping on the ground. Finding him thus had unnerved her, though. Not because he was on the floor, but because the moment she padded on stockinged feet into the infirmary, he jerked to a sitting position with fists clenched and eyes instantly alert. The movement had been so sudden and unexpected, she’d nearly screamed. Thankfully, she contained her shock, only allowing a small gasp to escape and thereby avoiding complete humiliation.
He had jumped to his feet, apologized for frightening her, then immediately started quizzing her about Mr. Wallace’s condition. She conducted a minimal examination, checking for red streaks from the site of the wound, feeling his head for fever, and checking to ensure his breathing was deep and steady. He passed each of her inspections, but she left another dose of willow bark powder on the bedside table anyway and instructed Mr. Hanger to administer it should his friend awaken in pain.
It had been a brief visit, five minutes at most, yet she left the infirmary with an odd level of reluctance. Usually she couldn’t wait to return to her bed and get a few more hours of sleep, but it had been different this time.
Because of him. Matthew Hanger, with his sleep-mussed hair and intense concern for his friend. The way he looked at her, hungry for good news. And when she’d confirmed the absence of infection indicators, the lines around his face had disappeared, giving him a much younger appearance, one certain women might consider handsome.
All right. One she considered handsome.
Josephine had not lingered, however, keenly aware of the need to maintain propriety. Matthew Hanger had still been fully clothed, having only removed his hat and boots, and she’d been the same. She’d kept on the dress from the day before, her only concession to comfort the removal of her shoes and the taking down and braiding of her hair. Still, it wouldn’t do to engage in personal, non-medical-related conversation, especially when Alice was almost certainly listening at the parlor door for any excuse to put in a chaperone appearance. So Josephine had returned to her room with a brief detour to the parlor to request the industrious Alice bring Mr. Hanger a stack of quilts to use as a pallet.
Her predawn visit had gone much the same, although the temptation to linger in the infirmary had intensified. Alice’s snores echoed from the parlor sofa throughout the clinic, making it clear that her chaperone was off duty. Nevertheless, Josephine held to her professional standards and conducted herself as any proper physician would. She tended her patient, reassured his companion, then returned to her room, where she fell asleep praying for Mr. Wallace’s continued recovery.
It was a different Horseman who slipped into her dreams, however. One with hazel eyes, an uncompromising jaw, and a protective drive that her dream self imagined extended to her.
Thankfully, the light of day brought a return of her scientific mind-set and banished imaginative tendencies to the mental closet where she locked away any thoughts that threatened to distract her from her calling. She was a doctor, not a debutante. Attraction, admiration, and any other -tions set on disrupting her medical routines would be kept sequestered for the duration of Mr. Wallace’s internment.
Which wouldn’t be much longer, judging by the healthy tissue beneath the bandage she’d just unwrapped.
“Things are progressing very well, Mr. Wallace.” Josephine set aside the used dressing and replaced it with a clean one. “I see no signs of infection.”
“I aim to please.” He grinned at her in a way that reminded her of her brother.
Charlie was a bit of a scapegrace, but he had a knack for talking his way out of trouble that left all concerned smiling and wishing him well on his next adventure. Her father hated his glibness, preferring he take responsibility for his actions—let his yes be yes and his no, no, like Scripture taught. But Josephine had too many memories of times when Charlie had teased her out of a somber mood after their mother had died to hold such an unforgiving position. He’d reminded her how to laugh with his silly antics and kept her from getting lost in her grief even while being mired in his own. Charlie might not be the studious type like she was or the businessman Father wished him to be, but he had the gift of making people happy and had healed the broken places of a young girl’s heart that medicine had been unable to reach.
“Can he leave the infirmary?”
Ah, there was the practical voice of which her father would approve. No superfluous repartee, just cutting straight to the chase.
Josephine glanced away from bandaging Mr. Wallace’s shoulder to answer Captain Hanger’s question. “I’d like him to stay a full twenty-four hours as a precaution, but if his recovery continues along this trajectory, I don’t see any reason the two of you can’t depart this afternoon.”
The captain nodded. No other comment. Josephine turned back to her patient, absolutely not disappointed that he didn’t try to engage her in further conversation. Matthew Hanger was a man who accomplished objectives with single-minded focus, not one who wasted time on unnecessary chatter.
Mr. Wallace smiled at her, softening the hard edges of his compatriot. “I’ll be sad to leave your esteemed company, Doctor Burkett, but I can’t say I’ll miss being imprisoned in this bed. I fear if I don’t stretch my legs soon, they might just run off without me in a fit of pique. I tend to stagnate if I don’t move around on a regular basis.”
“Well, we can’t have algae growing on you, now, can we?” She tied off the bandage and tucked the ends under one of the folds. “You have my permission to take a lap around the parlor this morning, if Mr. Hanger accompanies you. Don’t push too hard, though,” she warned with a point of her finger. “Wear yourself out, and you’ll set back your recovery, which means more stagnation time in bed.”
He shivered with theatrical aplomb.
She bit back a grin and imitated her most pompous medical school professor, peering down her nose at the mere mortal beneath her from her seat atop the exalted Mount of Wisdom. “Slow and steady wins the race.”
Mr. Wallace chuckled. “So I’m to mimic Aesop’s tortoise, am I?”
She forfeited her pretentious posture and offered a conciliatory smile. “I’m sure it will be taxing for someone of your active nature, but I promise it will pay dividends in the end.”
“I’ll see he doesn’t overdo it.” Matthew Hanger’s blunt statement should have spoiled the lighthearted mood Mr. Wallace’s colorful commentary had created, but it only made Josephine’s smile widen.
“Thank you, Mr. Hanger.” She nodded at him, then moved toward the door. “I have full confidence that you will execute your duties with the greatest diligence.” She paused at the doorway. “I’ll have Alice bring you both some breakfast before she leaves for the day. Eggs and hash sound all right?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Mr. Wallace’s enthusiastic agreement echoed behind her, but Josephine’s gaze remained on the man standing at attention near the door.
The slight dip of the captain’s chin was answer enough, and oddly more satisfying than the exuberance of his friend.
Suddenly hungry herself, Josephine left the infirmary to check on Alice in the kitchen.
Matt finished his coffee, then tipped his chair back on two legs until his head banged softly against the wall. He needed to get out of here. Soon. Before that woman got any further under his skin. The kid wasn’t helping any by planting crazy ideas in his head about the Horsemen retiring, and worse yet, about how Miss Josephine Burkett might actually prefer a more mature, stoic fellow to the smooth-tongued young charmer.
Not that Wallace was all flash and no depth. The kid was as loyal as they came to the people he committed himself to. He just preferred to keep most folks at a distance to avoid the pain that came from getting too close. Matt understood that. Lived that way himself. Just carried a different shield. Wallace wielded a golden shield of light and shine. Matt carried one of iron, heavy and impenetrable. Or so he thought. Until a certain lady doctor started chiseling cracks into it.
The sound of the clinic’s front door opening yanked Matt back to the present. He lowered the chair’s legs back to the floor, pushed to his feet, and stepped through the open infirmary door into the hall. Out of habit, his hand hovered over his hip until he recalled that his gun belt was stored under the bed with the rest of the weaponry.
“Hello?” A familiar voice echoed down the hall, bringing a smile to Matt’s face. “This Dr. Joe’s place?”
Matt marched toward his corporal and nearly collided with Miss Josephine when she stepped out of her examination room.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
Preach tugged his hat from his head and smiled politely as he stepped inside. Behind him, Jonah removed his hat as well, but his face wore the same weighty expression it always did in a new place, as if he expected to encounter enemies instead of friends. Though, as much as Matt wished it otherwise, as a black man in Texas, Jonah probably had the odds figured correctly.
“They’re looking for me,” Matt said. “For Wallace, really.” He felt a smile tug on his mouth as pride for his men expanded his chest. “Dr. Josephine Burkett, meet the rest of the Horsemen.”
“Doctor?” Preach’s brows rose, but he recovered quickly and tipped his head in a small bow. “Luke Davenport, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”
Josephine’s lips quirked. “Luke? You’re kidding, right?”
Preach shot a confused look at Matt before turning back to the doctor. “No, ma’am. That’s my name.”
“Matthew, Mark, Luke, and . . .” She turned an expectant look at the fourth man.
“Jonah. Jonah Brooks.” The former buffalo soldier dared her to comment with his gaze.
Josephine, being Josephine, did just that. But not in the way Matt expected. “Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there I thought you were going to say Thessalonians. How wonderful to have the Old Testament represented, Mr. Brooks.”
Jonah blinked. Apparently not the response he’d expected either.
Matt had lost count of the number of people they’d met after forming the Horsemen who tried to tease the sharpshooter into shortening his name to Jon. They all thought themselves quite clever. Jonah, however, found them insulting. A man owned his name. His identity. To suggest he change it to suit another’s whim smacked a little too much of one man trying to own another for Jonah to see the humor in it.
Brooks offered Josephine a small nod, then blurted, “How’s Wallace?”
“Come back here and find out yourself,” Mark called from the infirmary, bringing a grin to Preach’s face and a soft chuckle from the doctor.
“As you can hear, he’s doing quite well,” she said.
But the impatient patient wasn’t finished. “You know, it’s rude to talk about a fellow behind his back.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “We’re in front of you, Wallace.”
Preach slapped Matt on the back and charged down the hall.
“You’re welcome to visit,” Josephine called after him, “but don’t wear him out.” She turned to Matt, but he knew his orders.
“I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Her smile did odd things to his chest when she looked at him like that, as if they were connected at some level, knowing what the other was thinking. Of course, he’d have to be an idiot not to know what she’d been thinking, since she’d been harping on him about watching Wallace the entire time they’d been here, but that logic didn’t stop his chest from expanding beneath her approving gaze.
“The infirmary will get terribly crowded if all three of you try to squeeze in there,” she said, her voice low, as if only meant for him. “If he feels up to it, this might be a good time to help Mr. Wallace stretch his legs. The four of you can make use of the parlor, but I expect my patient to be back in bed in an hour.”
“Understood.”
She gave him a nod, offered a smile to Jonah, then returned to her duties in the examination room, leaving him and his men to converse in private.
Matt watched her go, his gaze lingering a hair too long on the doorway she’d disappeared through, judging by Jonah’s raised brow.
Jonah raised a hand in surrender, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Nothin’. Just never seen you bowled over by a woman, is all.”
“She’s a doctor,” Matt said, exasperated. “She gives the orders here.”
Jonah patted him on the shoulder. “I ain’t referrin’ to the doctor, Cap. I’m talkin’ ’bout the woman.”
“Shut up, Brooks.”
Jonah chuckled and strode down the hall. Matt followed, a scowl on his face. A scowl that deepened when he realized his gaze had traveled back to the examination room doorway without his permission, searching for a glimpse of a certain chestnut-haired female. He jerked his attention back to his men and lengthened his stride.
Yep. The sooner he got out of this clinic, the better.