CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX

I need to reload!” Charlie reached for Matt’s gun belt and started slipping bullets from the leather loops into the cylinder of his six-shooter.

“Make your shots count, kid,” Matt warned, worried Charlie would run through their supply of ammunition before they ran through their supply of outlaws. “One careful shot is worth ten rushed ones.”

As if to demonstrate, Matt took aim at the last rider in the paddock. The same man who’d spied on them at the original ransom location. On the same horse—Phineas.

Matt cleared his mind of the chaos around him, ignored the bullets banging against the wagon bed above his head, and zeroed in on his target. Adjusted for the rider’s movement. Anticipated where he would be. Mentally calculated the best angle to avoid hitting his horse. Exhaled. Squeezed the trigger.

His shoulder absorbed the kick of the rifle. The rider absorbed the bullet. He tumbled from the saddle. Phineas held his position as trained.

Matt let out a shrill whistle. Phineas’s ears pricked, and his head turned in Matt’s direction. Matt whistled again. Phineas shot through the paddock gate.

The outlaws were concentrating their attack on the two areas dispensing the hottest fire—the chuck wagon and Jonah’s tree. Both of their positions were compromised. They needed an exit strategy.

Matt rolled onto his back and fed cartridges into his Winchester repeater. He’d need all fifteen shots for what he had in mind.

“Time to get you to your sister, Charlie.” Matt slapped the kid’s back, then flipped onto his stomach and crawled out from under the wagon. Staying low, he crouched behind the wagon with his rifle at the ready.

One.

Matt braced his shoulder against the wagon’s side.

Two.

He listened. Charlie’s scraping. Guns firing. Men yelling. The gunfire seemed thickest to the west, but Taggart was to the north, and the lead outlaw’s position would present the clearest shot on Matt and Charlie. Plan formed, Matt turned his body north and braced for the charge.

Three!

He stood. Shot at the house window. Levered a new cartridge into the chamber. “Phin!” He added a whistle to his call as he shot at an outlaw taking cover behind a trough.

Undaunted by the gunfire, Phineas answered his master’s call.

“Mount up, Charlie!” Matt yelled in a voice that left no room for question.

He continued firing. At the barn. Then the house. Then at a man running between the two. The man grabbed his right leg, hobbled to the house porch, and crawled beneath it.

Wallace rode up, offering Charlie additional cover in mounting Phineas. “I’m going for Brooks,” Wallace yelled. “We’ll get him to his mount and put an end to this once and for all.”

“Good!”

Matt spotted a new man on horseback in the paddock. He took aim, then hesitated. The outlaw made no move for the gate. In fact, he seemed to be building up speed to . . . Matt dropped his finger from the trigger as the rider jumped the fence on the far side of the paddock where the top rail had fallen down.

“Looks like some are turnin’ tail.”

And after one broke ranks, others were sure to follow.

“I’ll cover your retreat, Captain,” Wallace said as he raised his pistol and fired toward the barn. “Get him out of here.”

Matt didn’t waste time debating. In one smooth motion, he mounted behind Charlie. “Follow the path Preach took,” he instructed, keeping his gun hands free while Charlie took the reins. “Don’t stop until you see your sister.”

Charlie obeyed.

Using nothing but knee strength, balance, and his familiarity with Phineas’s gait to keep him on his horse, Matt focused his firepower on the house, keeping Taggart occupied with self-preservation so he couldn’t return fire until they presented a more distant target.

Once they’d covered enough ground that Matt could no longer contort his body to fire at the house without falling off the horse, he leaned tight against Charlie’s back and urged Phineas to greater speed. A hot sting sizzled across his left upper arm, but he ignored it. All his attention centered on delivering Charlie and getting back to the battle to support his men and take down Taggart.

That attention disintegrated the moment he saw Josie.

“Charlie!” She called her brother’s name, slid off Percival’s back, and ran to greet them despite Preach’s growled order to remain mounted.

Man, she looked good. Healthy. Whole. Her sea-green eyes glowing with relief. Her chin tilted in that no-nonsense way he loved. He couldn’t look away. Or catch a full breath.

Charlie separated himself and awkwardly lifted his right leg over Phineas’s neck to dismount. Matt dodged to the side to give the kid room to maneuver. That was when Josie saw him.

“Matthew.”

His name sounded like a prayer, and the near reverence in her tone made his heart swell to twice its normal size. She halted mid-step, her gaze locked on his.

He wanted nothing more than to drop to the ground and sweep her into his arms. To hold her close and breathe her in. To claim her mouth and tell her everything that was in his heart. But a war raged behind him. A war he couldn’t afford to neglect.

Charlie was saying something, but his voice was little more than a dull drone in Matt’s ears. Josie seemed unbothered by it as well, her attention never leaving Matt’s face.

He raised himself up over the cantle to sit properly in the saddle, then collected Phineas’s reins with his left hand, his rifle still clutched in his right. “I have to go.”

She bit her bottom lip as she nodded. “I know.” She stepped close and placed a hand on his knee. Her chin lifted, and fire ignited her gaze. “You better come back to me, Matthew Hanger.”

He knew he could make no promises, so he offered no words at all. Just dropped the reins, bent down, and fit his hand to the back of her neck. He pulled her to him and slanted his lips over hers in a hard, fast kiss born of desperation, love, and all the promises he longed to fulfill.

Then, before the temptation to abandon the fight and carry her away grew too strong to resist, he released her, took up the reins, and rode back into the heart of the battle.

Josephine’s lips tingled as she watched the man she loved ride back into danger. She lifted her fingers to her mouth, trying to capture the various sensations, analyzing and cataloging them for future reference. The tickle of his mustache brushing the top of her lip, the bristles of his four-day-old beard abrading her chin, and the sweet pressure of his mouth melding against hers with a passion so fierce, her breath still stuttered.

She told herself she was savoring the feel of Matthew’s lips on hers because the intimacy had tasted so strongly of love. But in truth, her desire to cling to the kiss stemmed from the fear that it might have been their last.

Bring him back to me, Lord. Please.

“Can you ride, Burkett?” Preach’s brusque voice cut through her prayer and brought Josephine’s head around.

Her brother stood before the Horseman, his face a mangled mess. One eye had already swollen shut. The other sported a congealed cut atop its brow. Abrasions lined his cheeks, and who knew how many bruises riddled his body, thanks to Carver’s fists. The way he cradled his right side told her he probably had a couple cracked ribs, if not downright broken ones. The last thing he needed was to bounce around on the back of a horse.

“No, he needs to—”

“Yes.” Charlie interrupted her, his gaze never leaving the big man before him. He straightened his posture and lifted his chin. “What do you need me to do?”

Josephine bit her tongue and blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes. The earnestness of his gaze pierced her heart. Of all the times for her brother to opt for maturity and self-sacrifice. He could puncture a lung or be hit by a stray bullet or . . . or he could regain some of the honor he’d lost.

“Ride to the exchange location,” Preach said. “Fetch your father and his men. We’ll need their help to finish cleaning out these outlaws and to deliver the survivors to the closest law.”

“Probably down in Hondo,” Charlie offered. Then a thought seemed to sober his helpfulness. “Will, uh, will you be turning me in as well?”

Preach, still mounted, glared down at her brother, his expression unreadable. Charlie shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he awaited judgment.

“You chose the right side in the end. I suppose that oughta count for something.”

Josephine didn’t realize how stiff she’d become until her spine relaxed at his words.

“But if any of us finds you on the wrong side of the law again,” Preach warned, his voice so hard it could chip granite, “not even being the doc’s brother will save your hide. Got it?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Her brother strode toward Percival, his steps filled with purpose. But Josephine couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

She intercepted him. “Wait.”

Charlie turned, his mouth set in a firm line. “I’m going, Jo.”

“I know.”

As much as she wanted to protect him from possible physical harm, she knew this was something he needed to do. She even admired him for it. Not only was he willing to risk his own safety to fetch reinforcements, but he was voluntarily facing their father. Alone. After betraying the family. That took more courage than riding through a yard of gunslinging outlaws.

“I’m not stopping you,” she said, staunchly eradicating all sisterly compassion from her tone just as she would dirt from a wound. “I just want to wrap your ribs before you go. If you puncture a lung, you’ll do no one any good.”

“Hurry up,” Preach grumbled as he turned away from the siblings and focused on the gunfire still echoing from the far side of the trees.

Josephine lifted her skirt, grabbed a handful of petticoat from beneath, and tore off the entire bottom flounce. “Lift your shirt,” she ordered. Steeling herself not to react to the damage he revealed, she gave him a cursory examination and gently probed his ribs. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

“Some,” he mumbled softly, as if not wanting Preach to overhear the admission, “but no more than it hurts to do anything else.”

A rather weak endorsement of health, but considering his current state, it would suffice. She reached for the wide cotton strip she’d slung over her shoulder. “All right, then. Arms up.”

He complied, his one visible eye rolling at her big-sister tone.

She wrapped his ribs tightly enough to provide protection and support but not so tight as to impair his breathing. As she tied off the bandage, she looked him in the eye.

“Be careful out there, Charlie. And remember . . .” She squeezed his hand. “No matter how angry Father may be, he loves you.”

Charlie gave no response, just pulled his hand from hers, turned his back, and mounted. A moment later he disappeared from sight.

“Mount up behind me, Doc.” Preach waved her forward. “We still gotta be ready to ride if things go south.” He pulled his left foot from the stirrup.

Josephine fit her foot into the vacated stirrup, though she needn’t have bothered. As soon as the big man’s hand clamped over her forearm, she soared through the air like a sack of flour being tossed into a wagon bed. Or onto a horse’s rump, in this case.

She held Preach’s shoulders for balance as she situated herself, then placed an arm loosely at his waist. He seemed the sort of man to take off at a gallop should he suddenly be called to action, and she doubted he’d provide sufficient warning. Best to have a handhold ready.

Despite the lightness of her touch, she could feel the tension coiled within him. That tension proved contagious, for the longer she sat there listening to the battle, the more her trepidation built. Soon she flinched at every gunshot, worrying over where that bullet might have lodged.

She tried to peer around Preach’s broad shoulders, but she saw nothing but trees. “Can you see anything?”

A growled order to be quiet was the only answer she got.

Josephine pressed her lips together. Maybe he could sense what was happening by the sounds filtering through the trees. He had served in countless battles, after all. Surely if he believed Matthew or one of the others was in trouble, he’d do something. Wouldn’t he?

She recalled the look on his face when he’d called her his mission, the unbending set of his jaw, the cold steel of his eyes. No. He’d be just stubborn enough to follow orders even at the expense of the man who’d given them.

Time crawled by. Minute after excruciating minute.

How could he just sit there? Not knowing Matthew’s fate was killing her. Every shot that echoed off the trees slammed into her chest. She needed to see what was happening. Gather data. Assess. Analyze. Find a way to help.

Be still.

She didn’t want to be still. She wanted to help. To heal. To—

Be still, and know that I am God.

Her left hand fisted in the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes squeezed shut. A tear slid down her cheek. I’m afraid, Lord. Afraid to completely surrender. Afraid that if I have no control over the outcome, it won’t end the way I desire. Afraid you’ll take Matthew from me.

Lean not unto thine own understanding.

Josephine’s heart pricked. That was it, wasn’t it? She trusted her own understanding more than she trusted God’s unfathomable wisdom.

Another tear leaked between her lashes. Forgive me. Slowly, her fingers unfurled, releasing their grip on her skirt. I surrender.

Her mind went quiet after that. Or was it the actual air? Josephine’s eyes opened. Had the shooting stopped?

The sound of horses approaching stiffened her spine. In a flash, Preach had his rifle aimed and ready.

“It’s me!”

Josephine recognized Mark Wallace’s voice a heartbeat before his horse cantered between the oaks shielding them from the battle.

Preach dropped his weapon and nudged his mount forward to meet his compatriot. Josephine’s right arm tightened about his waist.

“Taggart’s on the run,” Wallace announced as he reined his horse to a halt. “Over half the outlaws are down. Jonah is working his way through the camp, taking stock of injuries and disarming all enemy combatants.”

“And the captain?”

Josephine held her breath, her spirit crying out to God for mercy.

Wallace flicked a glance at her before focusing again on Preach. “He went after Taggart.”

“Alone?” The cry tore from Josephine’s chest. She grabbed Preach’s left arm and made to dismount. “Go after him.” She accented her order with a thump to his back as she slid off the horse. “The fight is done here. I’m safe. Mr. Wallace and Mr. Brooks can protect your precious mission while I tend the wounded.”

Preach hesitated, his gaze searching Wallace’s face. She could feel his longing to do exactly as she suggested. Knew he was champing at the bit to get into the fight, to watch his captain’s back.

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.