Page 33 of In Honor’s Defense

Of course he had. What man didn’t dream of having a woman to share his bed at night, to cook his meals and darn his socks? A woman to believe in him when he didn’t believe in himself. To stand by his side in good times and bad. To love him even though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bunkhouse livin’. It comes with a roof over your head, food to eat, and enough wages to keep clothes on your back and a saddle on your horse. I’m content with that.”

Mostly.

“Yes, well, I was content playing companion to my great-aunt Bertha, too. Until I learned of Nathaniel’s need. Contentment isn’t chained to a certain set of circumstances, Luke. It’s portable. You can take it with you wherever you go.”

“Not everywhere.” The bitter words slipped from his mouth before he could call them back. His feet suddenly itched to escape, to walk out of the stall before the ugliness inside him seeped out and stained her pretty white apron. “Some places are so harsh that hanging on to survival is all a person can handle. Lofty ideals like contentment and peace wither on the vine.”

“Is that what it was like on the battlefield?” Her voice gently touched his ear, evidence of a soul too innocent even to imagine the truth.

“Nope.” He threw the word down like a gauntlet. “That’s what it was like at home.”

Then, before she could offer a kindhearted platitude—or worse, ask him to explain—he grabbed his crutch and hobbled out of the barn.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Damaris reached for the bed frame behind her, too shaken by what Luke had revealed to stand unaided. What kind of home life had he endured that he considered it more devastating than the horrors he’d encountered on the battlefield?

Her eyes misted at the thought of a little boy hiding from danger in his own home. Alone. Frightened. Maybe even bloodied and bruised. Home was supposed to be a place of safety. Security. Love. Who had stolen those things from him?

Growing up, she’d often felt overlooked and undervalued, but she’d never feared for her survival. How insensitive she must have sounded to him, advising him to carry contentment with him from place to place, as if it could be stored in a saddlebag or a pocket. She knew nothing about what it meant to walk in his shoes or live in his skin. How foolish to expect the wisdom she’d gleaned from her own experience to translate automatically to his. Especially when her motivation for mentioning it had stemmed from pure selfishness.

She’d wanted him to see more than a bachelor existence in his future. Not because she didn’t think he could be content living bunkhouse to bunkhouse, but because she wanted him to envision family life as a viable option. The same way she’d started to envision it. A future with Luke Davenport. His gaze seeking her out instead of looking through her. His hand covering hers. That teasing spark in his hazel eyes. His mentoring Nathaniel. Teaching him the things she couldn’t.

She’d allowed those daydreams to take root over the last few days, convincing herself she had something to offer a man like Luke. As if a warrior had need of a quiet mouse who felt more at home in fictional worlds than in the real one.

Perhaps he had needed her a little. At least as a nurse. He had nearly died, after all. But now she’d gone and run him out of his only sanctuary with her careless words. He’d no doubt come to the barn seeking respite, and here she was, lollygagging around in his private space, keeping him from the rest he needed. Josephine would be disappointed in her.

“Come on, Damaris,” she murmured under her breath as she pushed away from the bunk. “Do what you came to do, then get back where you belong.” Up at the house. Out of Luke’s hair.

Reaching into her apron pocket, she retrieved the length of heavy cording she’d brought and tied one end to the nail she’d hammered earlier into the left edge of the stall opening. She had to stretch up on tiptoe since the nail was a full arm’s length above her head. Luke Davenport was a tall man, and she didn’t want to knock the hat off his head every time he walked through the doorway. Pulling the cord as taut as possible, she stretched it across the top of the opening and tied it off on the nail on the opposite side. The line wasn’t perfectly level, but it would do.

Next, she grabbed the extra blanket she’d brought from the house and attached it to the line with clothespins. Finally, she took the curtain tie pilfered from the front parlor, looped it around the blanket, and hooked it over the last nail.

There. Now he had a door. Privacy and protection from nosy nurses who had no business inserting themselves into his life. She just had to find him to let him know it was safe to return.

It didn’t take long. He was too injured and sore to hobble more than a few dozen yards away. She found him leaning against the paddock fence, nose to nose with his horse.

Damaris approached the fence but left plenty of space between her and Luke. “I’m finished,” she said softly, not wanting to disturb him more than she already had. She kept her gaze on the horse, too embarrassed to look at his owner. “I’ll send Nathaniel to fetch you when dinner’s ready.”

She backed away.

“Damaris, wait.”

She halted. Turned to face him. But she couldn’t find the courage to look him in the eyes.

He heaved a sigh and ran thick fingers over his short-cropped hair. He’d been so eager to escape her that he hadn’t even paused to collect his hat.

“I’m sorry.” They both blurted the words at the same time.

Luke frowned. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

Now he sounded angry.

Damaris shook her head, her shame keeping her face pointed toward the ground. “I spoke out of turn. It was presumptuous of me to lecture you on contentment as if I were an expert. Which I’m most certainly not.” Her need for him to believe her sincerity overcame her embarrassment and dragged her gaze up to meet his. “I never meant to minimize your personal experiences and hardships, Luke. I’m very sorry.”