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  Josephine nodded. “I’ll ride out to the ranch a couple times this week to check on him, but if he starts running a fever or if you notice unusual swelling or redness around the wound, come get me right away. Day or night.”

  “I will, Doc. Thanks.”

  Then he strode down the hall to the infirmary and disappeared from sight.

  Well, good. Now that he was tending to Mr. Wallace, she was free to return to her medical journal and the utterly fascinating article on tuberculous peritonitis she’d been reading. Yet not even laparotomy discussions kept her mind from wandering to the cavalryman keeping vigil in her infirmary.

  Thankfully, Mr. Albertson arrived with an ingrown toenail that proved an adequate distraction. By the time she had his toe cleaned, treated, and bundled back up into a loosened shoe, the remaining two Horsemen had arrived with the wagon.

  Demonstrating admirable military efficiency, the three healthy Horsemen had the horses retrieved from the livery, Mr. Wallace bundled into the back of the wagon, and all of that awful weaponry cleared out of her infirmary in mere minutes.

  Having seen Mr. Albertson on his way, Josephine strolled down to the street and leaned over the edge of the wagon bed to bid her patient good-bye. “Don’t go undoing all my fine needlework on that arm of yours, Mr. Wallace. Wear the sling whenever you’re up and about and get plenty of rest.”

  He gave her a two-fingered salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll follow your instructions to the letter.”

  “See that you do.” She wagged a finger at him in mock sternness. “I’ll be out to check on you, so I’ll know if you misbehave.”

  “That rogue always misbehaves,” Mr. Davenport said as he finished tying Wallace’s gray horse to the back of the wagon. He left Phineas tied to the hitching post, then moved past her to climb into the front of the wagon. “The captain will settle up our account, Doc,” he said with a tip of his hat.

  She stepped back from the wagon, then lifted a hand to wave as Mr. Brooks set the team in motion. “Keep the pace slow,” she called as they pulled away.

  “They will.” The captain’s voice rumbled close behind her.

  She pivoted sharply and came face-to-back with the man she’d been trying so valiantly to eradicate from her mind. His gun belt had returned to his hips, and as she watched, he slid a rifle into the scabbard on his saddle. Apparently not all of the weaponry was in the wagon. A good deal of it was on the captain.

  Josephine frowned. How had she forgotten the reality of who he was? He might be fiercely loyal to his men, patient and kind to young boys, and respectful to her, but he was still a man of war. Once again draped in the tools of his trade. Wasn’t that what he’d called them? These horrible contraptions of metal and gunpowder that were designed to maim and kill? Yes, they could also be used to defend the innocent and feed the hungry, as he’d claimed, but looking at them now, she couldn’t ignore the truth. He was a man of violence. A warrior who had undoubtedly taken lives on the battlefield. Perhaps he fought now to protect the weak and preserve justice, but the fact was, he still chose a path of violence, not one of peace. The very opposite of the oath she’d taken to first do no harm.

  Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving.

  “This should be enough to cover your fee,” Captain Hanger said as he slowly turned to face her, a couple folded banknotes in his hand.

  “Thank you.” She slipped the money into the pocket of her apron without looking at it. Without really looking at him either.

  He stood there for a moment, and she thought he might say something. But he didn’t. He just turned back to Phineas, swung up into the saddle, then tipped his hat to her.

  “See ya around, Doc.”

  “Good-bye, Captain.”

  Then, without a backward glance, Matthew Hanger rode out of her town and out of her life.

  “It’s for the best,” she mumbled as she watched him ride away. He belonged with his men. Just as she belonged in her clinic. Where things would finally revert back to normal now that Captain Hanger, with his intense hazel eyes, fierce loyalty, and impressive musculature, had removed himself.

  A week later, she was still waiting for the reversion to occur. Stubborn reminders lingered, like campfire smoke infused into clothing. It was as if someone had taken her perfectly ordinary rooms and nailed brass nameplates above each doorway to assign them new identities.

  The Parlor of the Carried Tea Tray. The Hall of Awkward Apologies. The Infirmary of Dedicated Vigils. The Examination Room of Averted Crisis. She even had a Kitchen of the Drying Vest, since she’d discovered his damp cavalry vest hanging on the back of one of her chairs the morning after he’d slept in her infirmary. Or not slept, if the cleanliness of her kitchen and his clothing was any indication.

  It had been eight days since the Horsemen left. Eight days. And still her gaze darted to the chair in question when she crossed the kitchen to fetch the kettle for some late-morning refreshment, hoping to see a familiar flash of blue.

  For pity’s sake. She couldn’t even fix herself a cup of tea without Matthew Hanger intruding. Josephine abandoned the kettle and marched out of the kitchen. Forget the tea, she needed some fresh air.

  Josephine left the clinic and strode down the street. In the opposite direction from the one the Horsemen had driven when returning to Dalton’s ranch. The sun shone in the sky. A gentle breeze cooled her nape. There were probably even wildflowers blooming down along the creek. Perfect conditions for a country stroll. And the perfect prescription for an ailing mind: Take in a healthy dose of God’s creation. Allow his spirit to soothe hers. Let go of what-if and focus on what was.

  “Josephine! Wait!” Lizzie bolted out of the post office, waving a piece of mail above her head. “There’s a letter for you.”

  Biting back a sigh, Josephine turned and pasted a grateful smile on her face. Hopefully the grin hid her irritation. After all, it wasn’t Lizzie’s fault that she suffered from a frustrating case of man-brain. The infection would clear eventually. In the meantime, she’d just have to think sterile thoughts when her friend brought up the Horsemen. Because she would. Lizzie had spoken of little else over the past week. Recounting their heroics in taking down the rustlers. Going on about how much her father respected them not only as hired guns, but as men. She even felt it necessary to relate the various singing styles of the four men, since they’d joined her father on the Dalton family pew in church on Sunday. Apparently Mr. Wallace sang a lilting tenor that had actually caused Mabel Yarbrough to swoon. Mr. Brooks rumbled a low bass almost too quiet to hear. Preach Davenport couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. And the captain? Well, his voice was as no-nonsense as the rest of him. He hit the notes he aimed for and left it at that.

  “You didn’t have to chase me down,” Josephine teased as she retraced her steps to meet her friend. “You could have just brought it when you delivered supper, like you usually do.”

  Lizzie, slightly out of breath, held an ivory envelope out to her. “I thought it might be important. It’s from Gringolet.”

  Her father?

  Josephine took the envelope. The penmanship didn’t match the slashing, powerful strokes she’d expected to see. The address had been scribed in a softer, more feminine hand. Darla? Why would Father’s housekeeper write to her? Josephine’s heart flip-flopped. Had something happened to him?

  Josephine tore open the letter and consumed the words as fast as her eyes would allow. Father was in good health, thank the Lord, but Charlie . . .

  She clasped Lizzie’s arm. “Have the Horsemen left yet?”

  Josephine had paid a call to the Dalton ranch yesterday, removed Mr. Wallace’s stitches, and given him permission to engage in mounted travel as long as he wore the sling for at least another week. Now she wished she hadn’t been so eager to rid herself of them.

  “They left early this morning,” Lizzie said, confirming Josephine’s fears. “They stopped by the mercantile to purchase supplies.”

  “Did they say where th
ey were going?” She had to know. Please, Lord. I need a direction.

  Lizzie scrunched her nose like she did when totaling a grocery bill. “North, I think. Paul put their order together. I was in the storeroom with Grant.”

  Listening at the door, thank heavens. Never had Josephine been more grateful for her friend’s penchant for information gathering.

  “I think they said something about a ranch.” Lizzie’s eyes brightened. “Burnet! A ranch outside of Burnet.”

  “Thank you.” Josephine gave her friend’s arm a squeeze, then dashed for the clinic.

  She was already two or three hours behind them. She’d have to rent a horse, and nothing at the local livery would compare to the cavalry mounts the Horsemen rode. Her only hope was that Captain Hanger would enforce a slow pace in deference to Mr. Wallace’s injury.

  In truth, their pace didn’t matter. She’d ride through the night if necessary. Her brother’s life depended on it. Matthew Hanger might be a bur in her brain that wouldn’t shake free, but right now he was her best hope to save Charlie.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  Josephine pounded up the clinic steps to her bedroom and stripped out of her skirt and petticoats. Rolling them into a ball, she shoved them into a carpetbag and dug through her bureau drawer for the trousers she kept for emergencies. One couldn’t grow up at Gringolet with a former cavalry officer as a father and not know how to ride. Not only ride, but ride like a soldier. Astride. And ready for anything.

  Which meant donning the black pantaloons she hadn’t worn since graduating from medical school. But if Dr. Mary Edwards Walker, renowned war surgeon and recipient of the Medal of Honor, could don men’s clothing for ease of work, Dr. Josephine Burkett could don trousers to save her brother.

  After pulling on the trousers, she grabbed the longer of her two jackets, the one that fell past her hips, and shoved her arms inside. She tossed a hairbrush, pins, a clean shirtwaist, and clean stockings into her bag, then ran downstairs to grab foodstuffs. Not knowing how long she would be on horseback, and not wanting to be a burden to Captain Hanger and his men when she caught up to them, she scraped all the tins from her kitchen shelves into the top of her carpetbag, remembering at the last minute to pull a can opener out of the drawer and add it to her supplies. Crackers, tinned salmon, kidney beans, peaches, condensed milk. If it was edible, she grabbed it. For once in her life, her inability to cook was an asset instead of a liability.

  With her carpetbag stuffed and heavy enough to make her waddle, Josephine headed to the examination room and collected her doctor’s bag. She never traveled without it. And while she prayed she could reach Charlie before he needed her professional skills, she planned to be prepared for whatever she might encounter once she found him.

  Mr. Radisson at the livery gave her an odd look when she showed up in trousers. His eyebrows climbed clear into his hairline when she propositioned to purchase his hat.

  “My hat?” He pulled the black slouch hat from his head and looked at it as if he’d never seen it before. “I just bought it a couple days ago. Ain’t even got it properly broke in yet.”

  “Then you won’t mind breaking in another one, will you?” Josephine smiled and handed him five dollars, which was likely twice what he’d paid. “I’d buy one myself, but I’m in a terrible hurry. I need your fastest horse with saddle and tack. And your hat.”

  The wider brims of men’s hats offered much better protection against sun and rain than the stylish bonnets she owned, and right now fashion held no place on her list of priorities. The only things she cared about were items that would help her get to the Horsemen and then to Charlie. In fact, she hadn’t given headgear a second thought until Mr. Radisson sauntered out of his office to assist her and the newness of his chapeau caught her attention.

  His gaze zeroed in on the money she offered, and he slowly handed over the hat. “Well, if it means that much to ya, I ’spose I can let ya have it.”

  “Wonderful.” Josephine snatched it from his slow-moving hand and flopped it onto her head, trying to emphasize her need for haste. “Now, if you’d fetch your best horse, please? I really must be on my way.”

  “I got a nice, gentle mare that’d be a good mount for a lady such as yourself,” he said as he turned.

  “You’re not speaking of that swayback nag with the spotted flanks, are you?” Good heavens. That horse had to be at least twenty years old and probably wouldn’t even survive the trip.

  Radisson stopped. “Myrtle is a sweet little lady with an easy gait. She’ll suit you just fine, Dr. Jo.”

  “I’m not paying a social call, Mr. Radisson. I’m riding cross-country and need a mount with speed and stamina. A sturdy quarter horse with a deep chest or a mount with some mustang blood in him. Do you still have that palomino I saw in your corral last week? That one would suit my needs.”

  The livery owner stared at her as if she’d just spoken in a foreign tongue. “Sandy’s a cow pony, ma’am. He won’t take to a sidesaddle.”

  “Well, I don’t take to them much, myself. I’ll be riding astride, hence my unconventional clothing, in case you were wondering.”

  He kicked at the dirt. “Well, I didn’t want to say nothin’ . . .”

  Josephine shoved twenty dollars at him, enough to cover a multiday rental plus a generous bonus to help him find a sense of urgency. “Just have Sandy saddled and ready to go in five minutes. I need to leave immediately.”

  Radisson’s eyes lit up. He took the money and stuffed it in the pocket on the bib of his overalls. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll have him ready.”

  Josephine nodded, then rushed over to the mercantile. Lizzie was assisting a customer with a length of fabric, but as soon as she spotted Josephine, she excused herself and hurried over to her friend.

  Lizzie’s gaze skittered to a halt on Josephine’s legs, but she recovered quickly and made no mention of the trousers. “You’re going after them, aren’t you?”

  Josephine nodded. “I have to. My brother’s in trouble, and my father refuses to help. The Horsemen are my only option.”

  Lizzie gave her a serious look. “They don’t work for free, Jo. Daddy had to pool money with the other ranchers in the area to afford them. They might help out in gratitude for what you did for Mr. Wallace, but this is their livelihood, so . . .”

  It didn’t matter that she left the sentence hanging. Josephine heard the unspoken words anyway. Don’t get your hopes up. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a choice. Captain Hanger and his men were all the hope she had at the moment.

  “I’ll think of something.” She had several hours on horseback to come up with a plan to pay them. “If you could help spread the word that I’ll be gone for a few days, I would appreciate it.”

  Lizzie grinned. “Spreading words is my specialty.”

  “I know.” Jo smiled, her first moment of lightness since Darla’s letter arrived. “If there are any medical emergencies, you can send for Dr. Carlton in San Marcos.” She hated leaving her community without medical support. What if something happened to little Grant or old Mrs. Peabody while she was gone?

  Lizzie touched her arm. “We survived without a doctor in Purgatory Springs for years before you came, Jo. We’ll make do until you get back.” She wrapped Josephine in a quick embrace. “Go after your brother. He needs you more than we do at the moment.”

  Josephine hugged her friend, then stepped back. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  “Godspeed.”

  Yes, Lord, Josephine prayed as she hurried back to the livery. I’m going to need all the speed you can give me.

  Matt’s eyes scanned the landscape in front of him out of habit, but his mind only half processed what he saw.

  He should have stopped by the clinic before he left. After she’d done her best to avoid him at Dalton’s ranch yesterday when she checked on Wallace a final time, he’d decided that avoiding her in return would make things easier for them both. But now he feared that choice had only ma
de him appear rude. Ungrateful. She’d likely saved Wallace’s life, after all, and he couldn’t be bothered to bid her a decent farewell.

  He probably should’ve warned her about Kendall too. Preach had wired the reporter while he and Jonah were in San Marcos, letting him know they’d finished the job and giving him the names of key people he’d want to interview. Dr. Jo was sure to have made that list.

  That was one of the things Matt liked best about their arrangement with Francis Kendall. He never insisted on interviewing them directly. He was content to interview those who hired the Horsemen and any other locals who witnessed their efforts. Of course, that led to some inflating of the truth from time to time, but Kendall made sure not to let the facts get lost in the storytelling.

  Josephine would be one to stick to the facts. If anything, she’d downplay her role. Probably shrug Kendall off with some statement about just doing what she’d been trained to do. Maybe he should wire Kendall himself, make sure he knew exactly how vital she’d been to Wallace’s recovery. Emphasize her skill and compassion. Matt frowned as he squinted into the western sun. Nah. She struck him as being as unappreciative of the limelight as he was. She deserved respect, but she wouldn’t want it handed out for free through a newspaper article. She’d want to earn it face to face. The way she’d earned his.

  The sound of hooves approaching from the rear of their small party drew Matt from his musings and sharpened his focus. He brought Phineas’s head around and kicked him into a trot to meet Jonah, who’d been scouting their back trail while Matt attended to what lay ahead. Preach and Wallace reined in their mounts as Matt rode by. They’d watch for any encroachers from the north. Not that this was particularly hostile country, but if trouble was coming, it was better to have time to prepare before meeting it.

  Jonah slowed his cantering horse to a walk as he met up with Matt.

  “Something to report, Sergeant?” Matt scanned the area behind them, the dip of the terrain preventing him from seeing much of what fell to the south. “You rode in at a faster clip than usual.”