Mail Order Cowboy (Love Inspired Historical) Read Online Free PDF Page A

whip them into a gallop. What would they do, with only a boy not old enough to shave to help them run the ranch? “And the sooner we find out what that is, the better. Here, Mr. Brookfield,” she said, reaching around the slatted seat for the shotgun. “Perhaps you’d better have this at the ready.”
    His eyes were full of encouraging sympathy as he leaned over to accept the firearm from her. “Steady on, Miss Matthews,” he murmured. “I’ll be with you.”
    It was ridiculous to take heart from the words of a stranger, a dandified-looking Englishman who claimed to have been a soldier, but there was something very capable in his manner and comforting in his words.
    â€œI’ll go ahead, shall I, and scout out the situation?” he suggested. “See if it’s safe for you ladies to come ahead?”
    â€œAnd leave us here to be picked off? No, thank you,” she responded tartly, gesturing toward the rocky, brush-studded hills. She could picture a Comanche brave hiding behind every boulder and bush. “We’ll go together.” She clucked to the horses and the buckboard lurched forward.
    She couldn’t stifle a groan of pure anguish when she rounded the curve and spotted the smoldering ruin that was the barn. Just then the wind shifted and blew toward the wagon, temporarily blinding her with smoke and stinging her eyes. Had the house been burned to ashes like the barn? Where was Josh? Or rather, Josh’s body, she corrected herself, knuckling tears away from her cheeks.
    Then the wind shifted capriciously again and shesaw what she hadn’t dared hope for—the house was still standing. So was the bunkhouse, which stood across from it and next to the barn. Why hadn’t they been burned, too? But the pasture beyond, in which some fifty head of cattle and a dozen horses had been grazing when they’d left for the meeting, was empty. There was no sign of the Comanche raiders except for a hawk’s feather that must have fallen from one of the braves’ hair, sticking incongruously in a rosebush by the house.
    â€œThey left Josh on t’other side a’ the barn,” Bobby whispered, as if fearing that speaking aloud would bring the Comanches back.
    She couldn’t worry about the loss of the cattle right now or how they would survive. She had to see Josh.
    â€œCaroline, stay with Sarah, please,” she said to the woman, who still crouched protectively in the bed of the buckboard by her sister.
    â€œI say, Miss Matthews,” Nicholas Brookfield said be side her, “please allow me to go first. There’s no need to subject yourself to this if there’s nothing to be done for the chap.”
    It was so tempting to accept his offer, to spare herself the sight of the old man perhaps scalped or otherwise mutilated, lying in his blood. But old Josh had been their rock ever since their father had died, and she owed him this much at least.
    â€œNo,” she said, letting her eyes speak her gratitude for his offer. “But please, come with me.”
    Still holding the shotgun at the ready, he led the way around the barn.
    At first, she thought the old man was dead, sprawledthere in the dirt between the side of the barn and the empty corral. He was pallid as a corpse, his shirt saturated with dark dried blood. A deep gash bisected his upper forehead, dyeing his gray hair a dark crimson. A feathered shaft was embedded in each shoulder, pinning his torso to the ground, and his left pants leg was slashed midthigh. She caught a glimpse of a long, deep laceration beneath. Not far away, a corner of the barn still burned with crackling intensity. It was a miracle flying sparks hadn’t set Josh’s clothes alight.
    And then she saw that Josh’s chest was rising and falling.
    â€œJosh?” she called, softly at first, afraid to trust her eyes, then louder, “Josh?”
    His answer was a groan.
    She rushed past