Page 9 of In Honor’s Defense

Mr. Davenport released Damaris’s hand and turned slowly to face her nephew, keeping his hands away from his body. As he turned, he stepped sideways, drawing the aim of the gun away from her.

“Nathaniel,” Damaris said in the most soothing voice she could summon, “Mr. Davenport is no threat to me. We were just talking.”

Her nephew hid his emotions well, but she knew he must be terrified. Surely he’d never held a gun on another person before. Especially not a person of Mr. Davenport’s intimidating size. Why, the man looked like a dime novel hero come to life. His stature and musculature dwarfed the boy.

“Please, Nathaniel. Put the gun down.”

Her nephew didn’t even glance her way. His full attention centered on the stranger in their kitchen. And while it touched her heart that Nathaniel was trying to protect her, she couldn’t escape the feeling that he was the one in need of protection. She took a step toward him, but Mr. Davenport motioned with his hand for her to stay put. Instinct told her to obey. He seemed the type to know what to do in situations involving guns and boys eager to prove their masculinity. Since her knowledge and experience in those areas wouldn’t fill a thimble, she opted to follow his lead.

“Your aunt’s right, Nate.” The words oozed from Mr. Davenport like melted butter. Calm. Smooth. Completely unruffled. “I mean her no harm. You neither.”

Nathaniel shifted his feet. His eyes darted from Damaris back to their guest. The gun started to drop as if the weight was taking a toll on his arms, but he jerked it back up in an instant and pointed it straight at Mr. Davenport’s chest.

“Don’t move!”

Mr. Davenport halted his slow sideways slide. “I’m just tryin’ to make sure your aunt’s outta the line of fire. Wouldn’t want a stray bullet to find her on accident.”

“I hit what I aim at,” Nathaniel bragged even as his arms quivered. His gaze darted back toward her for a heartbeat, and in the moment their eyes met, something flickered in his gaze that she’d not seen since she arrived. Regret. And for the briefest of seconds, she swore she saw a little boy’s plea for help. He was in over his head and had no idea how to extricate himself.

Give him a way out.

Mr. Davenport couldn’t hear her thoughts, of course, but she aimed them at him anyway with as much mental force as she could muster.

“I respect you for protectin’ your womenfolk, Nate. But I don’t cotton to folks usin’ my rifle without permission.”

Lord have mercy. Nate had stolen Mr. Davenport’s rifle? Damaris bit back a groan.

“Yeah, well, I bet you’d use whatever weapon you could find to protect your family, permission or not.”

Heavens. Did the boy have to antagonize everyone?

“I would, at that,” the stranger admitted, surprising an exhale of relief out of Damaris.

Thank you for cool heads, Lord. Now, if you could just soften Nathaniel’s stubborn heart . . .

“Tell you what.” Mr. Davenport slowly lifted his hands and stretched his arms above his head. His fingers nearly touched the ceiling. “I’m going to turn around and place my palms against the wall. That way you know I won’t try to rush you or reach for my revolver. Your aunt can move to your side of the room, out of my reach, and you can set the rifle down on the table. Once I hear you set the gun down, I’ll turn, and we can all have a civilized conversation without the use of weapons. Sound good?”

It sounded perfect. At least to Damaris. Nathaniel, however, possessed a more suspicious nature.

“How do I know you won’t pull your revolver and shoot me the minute I set the rifle down?”

“You have my word.”

Nathaniel scowled. “I don’t know you, mister. Your word could be garbage.”

The first flicker of impatience tightened Mr. Davenport’s face.

Damaris’s heart rate doubled. Please, Lord.

“Boy, I served with the 7th Cavalry for more than a decade, then rode with Hanger’s Horsemen until we hung up our spurs a little over a year ago. If I wanted to shoot you, I would have drawn on you and lodged a bullet in your shoulder before you could figure out how to lever a cartridge into the chamber of that repeater.”

Nathaniel paled. “You’re a . . . a Horseman?”

“Yep. And I’m gettin’ real tired of holdin’ my hands in the air. We got a deal or not?”

Damaris had no idea what being a horseman had to do with anything, but a soldier with the 7th Cavalry—that she recognized. They’d been responsible for the massacre at Wounded Knee five years ago. Taken the lives of women. Children. Conscienceless atrocities that turned her stomach.

Yet the man standing before her didn’t exude the ruthlessness she’d expect from such a vicious warrior. Quite the opposite. He personified patience and calm, like a man going out of his way to avoid bloodshed. If his claim were true about what he could have done to her nephew the instant he’d been threatened—and judging by his size and experience, Damaris found the claim easy to believe—this confrontation would have been over in a matter of seconds. Yet he’d chosen the path of peace and wisdom.