Page 21 of At Love’s Command

Unfortunately, Mr. Hanger and his muscles decided to follow, and as soon as she stepped into the hall, he opened his mouth and made it impossible for her to continue pretending he wasn’t there. Etiquette dictated that one look at a person when being spoken to, after all.

“Thank you for the tea.” The captain’s weight shifted from one foot to the other, his usual aura of confidence strangely absent. “I, uh, want to apologize . . . for earlier.”

“Earlier?” Were the tips of his ears turning red?

“In the . . . infirmary.” The ruddiness spread to his neck and made a steady climb toward his jaw. “I never should have . . . disrobed with the door standing open.”

Oh, good heavens. He was apologizing for that? The image she’d fought so hard to banish jumped right back into her cerebrum and posed for her appreciation. Josephine ducked her head. She’d been doing so well focusing on his discomfort that she’d successfully forgotten her own. Now her cheeks rivaled his neck.

“Too many years surrounded by military men, I suppose.” He grabbed his nape, his gaze skittering away from hers. “I didn’t even consider a woman . . . walking in.”

“I took no offense.” What she had taken was a nice long look, one that lasted far longer than it should have. “I’m a physician,” she said with a wave of her hand, as if the vision of him half-dressed hadn’t seared itself on her brain. “I’m accustomed to viewing human anatomy.” Which was true. It was also why the lingering effect was so disturbing. She should have gotten over it by now.

His eyes finally met hers, and her stomach flared. She pressed her palm against the out-of-line organ, warning it to behave. Not that it listened.

“Still,” he said. “I’m sor—”

The clinic door flew open. “Dr. Jo!”

Douglas Flanders burst into the front hall, and Josephine nearly jumped out of her skin.

The captain had her shoved halfway behind him before he realized the threat was only a twelve-year-old boy.

“Oh, there you are.” Doug peered around Mr. Hanger as if a cavalryman standing guard over the local doctor was business as usual. “Good.”

Josephine stepped around the captain, her healer instincts on full alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Ma’s got one of those spots on her back again. Says it’s really sore. Wants you to come take a look.”

Josephine nodded. “I’ll get my bag.”

She strode off to her examination room without a glance at Matthew Hanger. Hoping he’d be back in the parlor by the time she returned, she took an extra minute gathering her supplies. The delay didn’t help. He stood in the hall, patiently answering Doug’s multitude of questions.

Mrs. Flanders was prone to carbuncles, but she hadn’t mentioned anything to Josephine two days ago when they ran into each other at the mercantile. Most likely she had decided she needed a doctor today after rumors of the Horsemen spread. Which explained why Douglas came to fetch her instead of his older sister, Dorothea.

“I won’t be gone long,” she informed the captain while trying not to look at him. She caught his nod from the corner of her eye, then turned her full attention on Douglas. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

Douglas was as reluctant to leave as she was eager. Taking the boy’s arm, she steered him down the clinic’s front steps and closed the door behind them.

Never had she actually looked forward to the unpleasant business of lancing and draining a boil, but given the choice of Mrs. Flanders’s carbuncle and continued awkward conversation with Captain Hanger about his state of undress, she was opting for the carbuncle.

By the time Josephine returned to the clinic, three of the four Horsemen had disappeared. Mr. Wallace napped quietly in the infirmary, and a note lying atop her vacant examination table explained that the captain had gone to the livery to see to the horses.

Telling herself that the slight deflation in her midsection was a symptom of relief, not disappointment, she set about cleaning the instruments she’d used with Mrs. Flanders and replenished the medicinal supplies in her doctor’s bag.

Twenty minutes later, the bell on her door jangled. Josephine looked up from the medical journal she’d been reading at her desk and spied Captain Hanger’s distinctive hat. Stashing the cookie she’d been nibbling under the magazine’s pages as if it were illegal contraband, she pushed to her feet and brushed a hand over her skirt to ensure a crumb-free ensemble, then hurried to the doorway.

“Mr. Wallace is still resting,” she called softly after the man walking down her hall.

The captain turned and tugged the hat from his head. “I thought I’d sit with him a bit. The others are fetching a wagon from Terrance Dalton, so we should be out of your hair by early afternoon.”

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.