Page 8 of In Honor’s Defense

“No!” Her outrage had more bristles than a washerwoman’s scrub brush. “Nathaniel has never done anything like this . . .” She pressed her lips together.

Before.

The word hung unspoken in the air between them. She, not wanting to admit that her nephew had actually perpetrated the deed, and he, hearing the admission anyway.

Luke appreciated a good prank as much as the next fella—had pulled more than his share in his youth—but this crossed a line. Trappin’ a woman. Leaving her helpless. Even if the only danger she faced was from imaginary bugs crawling on her, that didn’t mean something worse couldn’t have happened. Snakebite. A fall from the ladder. Or, God forbid, fire. She would have suffocated in there.

“It weren’t right, trappin’ you in there.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She crossed the room and positioned herself in front of a worktable with a lumpy brown mass in the center that had to be the ugliest loaf of bread he’d ever seen. “But no harm was done. I’ll deal with my nephew as I see fit. He’s really none of your concern, Mister . . . ?”

“Davenport. Luke Davenport. And actually, he is my concern.” Luke uncrossed his arms and relaxed his stance, making an effort to appear harmless. She didn’t look convinced. Luke bit back a sigh. “Is Nate around?”

Any remaining gratitude in her gaze faded behind an increasing wariness. “You know my nephew?”

Luke shook his head. “My new employer, Oliver Grimes, mentioned him. Said he might have some information that could be helpful to my investigation.”

“Investigation?” She reached for the table behind her. “Are you some kind of lawman? Because Nathaniel has done nothing wrong.”

Interesting that her mind immediately jumped to wrongdoing.

“No, ma’am. I’ve been hired by Mr. Grimes to look into some cattle rustling at the Triple G.” He smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease. It worked for Wallace, but he must be doing it wrong, ’cause the filly in front of him looked anything but easy. Her gaze kept dodgin’ to the window and the back door. Thinking about makin’ a run for it? Or worried good ol’ Nate might return and have to face up to his misdeeds?

Luke didn’t know much about women, but he was pretty sure throwin’ accusations around about their young’uns bein’ involved in unsavory activities wasn’t the best way to secure their cooperation. It’d be best if he downplayed his suspicions.

“Since the two of you are neighbors,” Luke said, keeping his voice nonchalant, “Grimes thought Nate might have seen something to give us a clue about who the guilty party might be or how they’re getting onto the property unseen. That’s what brought me to your door today. I was hoping to ask the boy a few questions.”

Her grip on the table let up a bit. “I see. I doubt Nathaniel will be much help, though. He’s only a boy.”

Luke shrugged. “Boys still got eyes. And something tells me Nate’s not the type to sit at home in his room. He’s more of an explorer. Am I right?”

She didn’t answer, but the truth radiated from her eyes. Nate was a wild one.

“Miss Baxter . . .” Luke frowned. “It is Miss Baxter, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Damaris Baxter. I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier.”

Luke grinned. “When, exactly? During your escape from the cellar or in the middle of defendin’ your nephew?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor, but a shy smile winked at him. “I suppose these aren’t exactly ordinary circumstances, are they?”

“No, ma’am. But it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Baxter.” Luke fingered his hat brim. He probably should’ve taken it off entirely at some point, but it seemed silly to do it now when their visit was nearing an end.

“Likewise, Mr. Davenport.” She pushed away from the table and extended her hand. “And I really do appreciate you coming to my rescue. Thank you.”

He clasped her hand, her fingers slender inside his oversized mitt. He lingered an extra heartbeat, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched a wo—

“Let go of my aunt, mister, or I’ll blow ya to bits!”

CHAPTER

FOUR

Nathaniel!” Damaris couldn’t believe her eyes. Where had he gotten a rifle?

When she’d moved into the house, she’d found her brother’s shotgun and pistol along with a stash of ammunition in a gun cabinet in the master bedroom, but she had locked that up tight and hidden the key in her jewelry box on her first night. Guns might be normal in Texas, and she supposed they even had their uses when it came to snakes and coyotes and other uninvited creatures, but having them in the house made her uncomfortable. So she’d draped an embroidered dresser runner over the glass front of the cabinet and pretended it was a thin armoire.

She hadn’t told her nephew about the key. But then, Nathaniel wasn’t holding his father’s shotgun. He was holding a rifle. One she didn’t recognize.