Page 48 of In Honor’s Defense

TWENTY-TWO

An entire garden filled with enchanted fairies sprang to life in Damaris’s belly the moment Luke’s lips touched hers. Desires and delights unfurled, blossomed, and climbed to extraordinary heights.

For a self-proclaimed rough man, Luke’s kiss was amazingly gentle. His lips smooth. His touch tender and tentative. There was nothing rough about it.

Damaris stretched forward and did her best to kiss him back, though she had no idea if she was doing it correctly. Her only experience in the realm of kissing entailed bussing family members on the cheek, and this was as different from that as a thunderstorm was from a light sprinkle.

Perhaps cooperation counted more than skill, however, for once she leaned into him, Luke’s intensity shifted. Some of the gentleness retreated, exposing a hunger that shocked her. Not because of his boldness, but because she—invisible, shy, plain-faced Damaris Baxter—had inspired such intensity.

Feeling emboldened herself, she touched his face, wanting him to know he wasn’t alone. She felt it, too. Something more than mere attraction. Something deeper. Something that could grow into love.

His arm wrapped around her waist and clutched her to him with such strength, she felt herself lift from her chair.

But then he stopped. Relaxed his hold. Ended the kiss.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” A groan cut off his words, reminding Damaris of his injuries.

“Did we aggravate your wounds?” As much as she enjoyed his kiss, she didn’t want to cause him pain. She ran a hand down his side and tested for any dampness that might indicate bleeding through damaged stitches.

His hand covered hers and gently, almost reluctantly, pulled her palm away from his waist. “My wounds aren’t the problem.” A self-conscious chuckle echoed between them. “My lack of control is. I got carried away, I’m afraid. A gentleman would have done a better job curbing his ardor.”

Heat rose to Damaris’s face, but she refused to let him believe he’d offended her in some way. “I rather liked your uncurbed ardor.”

His eyes turned the deep blue-green of a fathomless sea, stirring a longing within her to plunge back in, but she wouldn’t abandon all propriety. Unchaperoned, unmarried ladies did not linger in the company of bachelor cowboys for precisely this reason. When a legend of a man like Luke Davenport looked at a woman with heat in his eyes and said things that led that lady to believe she actually inspired ardency, morals that had been easy to adhere to all her life suddenly grew slippery.

Recognizing the danger, Damaris got to her feet and walked on trembling legs to the dry sink. Behind her, she heard Luke’s chair scrape backward, heard his boots scuff the floorboards, and imagined she even heard his breathing, so fully had he consumed her senses. She turned and smiled, but she kept her hands behind her, gripping the edge of the sink as if it were the anchor that would keep her from being swept away.

“Can I offer you more coffee?” It seemed an inane question after what they’d shared, but perhaps they needed a little inanity to reestablish the necessary boundaries.

Luke limped toward the doorway and reached for his hat. “Better not.” He fiddled with the hat’s brim, but when his attention returned to her face, there was nothing sheepish about his gaze. It pierced her, warmed her, and left her slightly breathless. “As much as I’d like to stay, I’m gonna bid you good evening, Miss Baxter. I think I’ll do some reading. I feel a hankerin’ for Second Timothy. I’ll likely start with chapter two, verse twenty-two, and see where the Good Lord leads from there.”

Damaris couldn’t recall the scripture he referenced from memory, but with the heat building between them, she could guess its contents. Something about avoiding temptation and holding fast to purity, no doubt. “I think I might do some reading myself.” And she knew precisely where to start—Second Timothy. It might be unwise to share his company any further tonight, but she could share a bit of his spirit. “Good night, Luke.”

He dipped his chin. “’Night, Damaris.”

Fitting his hat to his head, he strode out of her kitchen, but the memory of what had transpired between them lingered behind, swirling through her mind and tingling upon her lips.

She released her hold on the dry sink and lifted her fingers to press against her mouth to hold the memory captive. Luke Davenport had kissed her. Her. And all evidence indicated it hadn’t been a mistake.

A grin, wide and no doubt excessively bemused, stretched beneath her fingertips.

For the next three days, Luke pushed his physical limitations harder and further than he had since his early army days. He and Nate sparred with their fists and with wooden “swords” made from sturdy branches, though they focused more on defensive instruction than offensive action. At least when the kid was around. When alone, Luke turned himself loose on a feed bag filled with sawdust and sand.

He tired quickly the first day, but he kept at it. Punch the bag. Rest. Spar with Nate. Rest. Muck stalls. Rest. Then repeat. When he couldn’t lift his arms, he’d walk. Lead Titan around the paddock. Stroll down to the creek. When his legs gave out, he’d sit in the chair Damaris had placed in his barn room and oil harness leather. Anything to gain strength and occupy his mind.

He still replayed that kiss about a hundred times a day, but at least when he collapsed into bed each night, he was too exhausted to dwell on it for long before sleep claimed him.

Seeing Damaris around the property was a kind of sweet torture. He’d made a point to avoid the house when it wasn’t mealtime, but she still managed to cross his path several times a day. Hanging laundry. Feeding chickens. Sometimes even just carrying a book out to the pretty little spot beneath the hickory tree on the far side of the paddock. She liked to spread a blanket beneath the branches and lean against a fence post while she read.

So pretty and serene. He had the hardest time tearing his gaze away from her and found excuses to linger in the paddock. It was a miracle Titan didn’t get dizzy from all the circles Luke led him in when Damaris was around.

Today was different, though. Today he was going to attempt to mount. His wounds still ached like an old woman’s rheumatism, but they were healing. Enough that he figured it was time to pay the doc in Huntsville a visit to get the stitches removed. Dr. Jo had instructed him to wait ten to fourteen days. Today marked day ten. That meant he should be able to sit a horse without fear of popping a stitch. ’Course, he’d have to build up his stamina before attempting a full day in the saddle.

Damaris kept fretting over him, telling him he was pushing himself too hard. But he couldn’t escape the feeling that he needed to be ready for battle. Whether it was his military training, the Holy Spirit, or just his gut talking to him, he’d learned the value of listening. That inner voice had saved his life more than once through the years. How much more vital to listen to it now that Damaris and Nate were depending on him. If pushing himself harder than was comfortable meant he was ready to defend them when the time came, he’d gladly accept the aches and exhaustion.

Besides, he needed to get away from Damaris before he did something stupid. Like kiss her again. He’d made a point not to be alone with her in the house or even the barn after that night at the table, but like a pair of stray calves, the two of them kept gravitating toward each other. He might make a point to keep the paddock fence between them while she read beneath the tree, but the moment she closed her book and stood, his arm was draped over the fence slat nearest her with him having no recollection of crossing the paddock to get there.

They chatted every day. She regaled him with tales of her vast collection of siblings and the fearsome Great-Aunt Bertha. He told stories about the Horsemen’s adventures. About the time they were stripped of weapons, boots, and horses and left to die on the prairie. And the time they had to dig the youngest Horseman out of a collapsed mine. The widow they’d saved from a scheming foreman, and the prodigal brother they’d rescued twice from the same band of outlaws.