Page 24 of In Honor’s Defense

Luke surrendered the battle with his eyelids and let them fall as Grimes ranted. Too many words. They made his head pound. Especially since he knew he couldn’t give Grimes what he wanted. Not completely. Yes, he’d seen their faces. Mostly. Covered in nighttime shadows. No, he didn’t recognize any of them, but he’d only been in the area a few days. He’d probably recognize them if he saw them again. Particularly the leader. But he was in no condition to start a manhunt and might not be for weeks. The worst of it was, he hadn’t caught them in the act of rustling, so he had no direct proof to convict them.

He could testify against them for attacking him, but that would mean dragging Nate into this mess, and that could create danger for the boy if the perpetrators decided to search out their witnesses. Luke was hoping that if he and Nate lay low for a bit, the gang would decide they weren’t threats and leave them alone. Laying low was all Luke was good for at the moment anyway. But he needed to talk to Nate. Damaris too. She needed to know . . .

“Davenport? Can you hear me?”

“We need to let him rest, Mr. Grimes.” Damaris. His angel of mercy. Saving him once again.

“But I need him to—”

“Heal,” she interrupted. “We need him to heal. There will be plenty of time for him to answer your questions after he’s recovered. I’ll be sure to send for you when the doctor says he’s strong enough for visitors.”

Grimes grumbled but complied. The last thing Luke heard before sleep overtook him was the man’s boots clomping down the hall.

Damaris herded Mr. Grimes toward the door, anxious to have him gone. The rancher could very well be responsible for her brother’s death. Not to mention the threat he posed to her nephew—even if Nathaniel had brought that particular trouble on himself with his midnight forays onto their neighbor’s property. There was no telling what kind of mischief the boy had been getting up to over there. Thankfully, Nathaniel had made himself scarce when Mr. Grimes insisted on returning with her. Had she known Grimes intended to interrogate Mr. Davenport about the rustlers, though, she never would have let him come.

Could he not see how much pain Mr. Davenport was in? How weak he’d become? He could barely lift his head an inch off the pillow, for pity’s sake.

Damaris opened the front door and did her best to work up a smile for their unwanted guest.

“His doctor should arrive later today,” she said as Grimes passed through the doorway. “I’ll be sure to let you know when Mr. Davenport feels up to answering your questions.”

Mr. Grimes scowled as he slapped on his hat. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Damaris bristled. “You can come if you like, but you will not be allowed inside. Not until the doctor agrees that Mr. Davenport is strong enough for visitors.”

“He’s bruised and battered, but I’ve seen fellas look worse after a bar fight.”

“Do those bar fight fellows have three gaping stab wounds on their person?” Damaris challenged, her voice raising. “One of those wounds exposed bone, and the other two cut so deep they nearly emptied him of blood!”

Hearing herself shout, she took a moment to breathe and steady her nerves. Her indignation had erupted so forcefully, she now physically trembled from the effort it took to contain it. Heavens, what had come over her? She never raised her voice. But then, things didn’t usually stir her passions to this extent.

Stepping onto the porch, Damaris pulled the door closed behind her. If her patient did happen to wake, she didn’t want him to hear what she was about to say.

“That man nearly died last night.” She lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by Mr. Grimes’s overbearing manner. “He still could, if he takes a fever. You and your cows will just have to wait.”

“Those cows are my livelihood, and that man is in my employ. By all rights, he should be in my home, being tended by me and my staff.” He narrowed his gaze. “Why isn’t he?” He took a step toward her. Damaris backed up, her boldness fading as her rear bumped against the closed door. “How did he end up here, Miss Baxter? You never did say.”

And she couldn’t. Not without implicating Nathaniel. But neither could she meekly roll over and let Oliver Grimes run roughshod over her. Not when she had a nephew to protect and a heroic Horseman to nurse. God had brought her to Texas for a reason, and she wouldn’t surrender either of the duties assigned to her just because some man failed to approve of her methods.

Imagining herself as Great-Aunt Bertha delivering one of her infamous reprimands, Damaris stiffened her spine and looked down her nose. “When Mr. Davenport is recovered, he can explain the circumstances to you himself. Until that time, I must ask you to leave.”

“It was that nephew of yours, wasn’t it?”

Just her luck. Oliver Grimes was impervious to the Aunt Bertha setdown. Or more likely, Damaris had simply done it wrong. Haughty condescension, like most things, probably needed practice to perfect.

“He’s working with the rustlers, ain’t he?” the rancher pressed.

“Don’t be absurd! He’s just a boy.”

Mr. Grimes advanced another step. Damaris fumbled behind her for the door latch.

“Boy or not, if he’s working with the rustlers, he’ll pay. Just like the rest of ’em. A crime’s a crime. Age don’t matter.”

“My nephew might be a bit wild around the edges, Mr. Grimes, but he is no thief. And I refuse to stand here and listen to you disparage him in such a manner.” Her hand finally found the latch. “Good day to you, sir.”

Damaris unlatched the door, slid inside, and closed it directly in her neighbor’s face. She turned the lock and waited for the sound of retreating footsteps to tell her he was leaving. Silence was all she heard, though, unnerving her as it stretched from one heartbeat to the next. Finally, heels clicked against the porch floorboards and down the steps. Then the tone changed to the dull thud of boots on dirt.

Thank you, God. He was leaving.