Page 6 of In Honor’s Defense

Slapping his palms against his legs, Luke pushed up from his seat.

Grimes rose with him. “That mean you’re takin’ the job?”

Luke fit his hat to his head and nodded. “Yep.”

“Glad to hear it.” Grimes slipped a key from his pocket, unlocked one of the desk drawers, then reached inside. “I understand you take half your fee up front. I can write you a bank draft—”

Luke waved his hand and cut off the rancher’s words. “We can see to that later this evening. I want to get started while there’s still a few hours of daylight left.”

Respect lit Grimes’s gaze as he straightened away from the desk. “I’ll have Quincy ready your horse. You’ll want to start with the eastern fence line. The cattle have been grazing in the southeast pasture the last couple of weeks.”

Luke appreciated the information, but he wouldn’t be riding the fence line today. “I’ll check the fence first thing in the morning,” he said. “I think I’ll pay a call on your neighbor first.”

He intended to take Nate Baxter’s measure. The boy might be young, but right now he was Luke’s only suspect. And if Luke knew anything from his own tarnished youth, it was that angry boys were capable of inflicting man-sized damage when they put their minds to it. And unfortunately, the more they inflicted on others, the more harm they did to themselves in the process. A harm they tended not to recognize until it was too late.

CHAPTER

THREE

Luke held Titan to a walk as he turned up the Baxter drive. A small, white clapboard house waited for him at the end of the rutted road, but Luke was in no hurry to get there. He scanned the yard, counting three small outbuildings and a windmill. Outbuildings might be a tad generous. There was really just the barn. The other two structures consisted of a chicken coop and an outhouse. Necessary, but not exactly impressive. No evidence of crops or herds, as far as he could see. Baxter obviously hadn’t made his living off the land. He must have worked in town. He might have cattle or goats grazing somewhere distant, but with no bunkhouse, smokehouse, or sizeable stock pen in evidence, it wasn’t likely.

Unlike at the Triple G, no greeting party came out to meet him. Not even a dog. It could be no one was home. According to Grimes, Nate still lived here. An aunt had come to stay with the boy after his father died. Grimes didn’t recall much about the woman beyond the fact that she existed and she refused to sell the Baxter land to him.

Since no uncle had been mentioned, Luke figured she was probably either a widow or a maiden aunt, most likely in her forties, judging by her nephew’s age. An image of Miss Prucilla Andicott rose in his mind, bringing on an involuntary shudder. She was a pinched-lipped shrew who had dressed in black from head to toe. She believed her mission in life was to point out the shortcomings of the people around her and report them to those best able to correct the problem. And since Luke had excelled in shortcomings as a boy, he had drawn the wasp’s attention on a regular basis. He’d felt the sting of his father’s strap after every encounter with the old biddy. If Nate’s aunt was anything like Miss Andicott, Luke could understand why the boy might want to lash out with vandalism. Perhaps the Triple G simply had the misfortune of being the nearest available target.

That was if the boy was the one responsible for the pranks. Luke wouldn’t presume. Once a kid garnered a reputation as a troublemaker, it often didn’t matter if he’d done a deed or not. He still bore the blame. By the time Luke had reached Nate’s age, he’d long given up on protesting his innocence for offenses he hadn’t committed and instead collected blame like badges of honor. If no one was going to believe he hadn’t done something, he might as well get what he could out of the situation and pad his reputation.

When his inspection of the house provided no proof of current occupancy, Luke began plotting alternative methods for intelligence gathering. If his conversation with Nate had to be delayed, he’d see that the trip wasn’t wasted. A fellow could learn a lot about a man—or a boy—by snooping around in his barn and peering through windows.

He’d best make sure he truly was alone first, though.

Luke dismounted and patted Titan’s neck. “Keep watch for me, boy.” The animal had keen hearing and a sensitive nature. Luke had learned to trust his horse more than himself when it came to detecting unseen trouble.

He took a few steps toward the house and called out in a loud voice. “Anyone home?” He strolled a few paces to the right so he could see down the east side of the dwelling. “Hello?”

Titan stomped his front hoof. Luke turned at the sound and caught the twitch of the sorrel’s ears.

Luke’s right hand moved to his holster and hovered in readiness as he approached the house more directly. “Nate? Miss Baxter? Anyone home?”

“Help!”

The cry was muffled. Barely audible. But he heard it.

Luke drew his revolver and climbed the porch steps. The wood creaked beneath his weight. “Do you need assistance?”

Before reaching for the front door, he took a moment to peer through the two windows on either side. Faded curtains hung in each, but enough of a gap existed between the panels to allow him a partial view of what appeared to be a parlor on the right and a bedroom on the left. No evidence of movement in either.

“I’m coming in!”

He fit his hand to the knob and eased the door open, keeping his body behind it as much as possible as he crossed the threshold gun-first.

“In here!” The voice sounded louder but still muffled.

Then something banged deeper inside the house.

“Please. Hurry!”

More banging. Or pounding. Like fists on a wall.