Page 11 of In Honor’s Defense

“Nope. Just me. Captain Hanger’s retired. Runs a horse breeding farm down near San Antonio now. The others settled over in Llano County.”

The kid looked far too relieved at that news. Luke couldn’t resist an extra little jab.

“They’re like brothers, though. One telegram is all it’d take to bring them here in force.”

Nate’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

Luke hid a smile. “But I don’t think I’ll need them. I’m pretty good at sniffin’ out troublemakers on my own.”

Another hard bob of the Adam’s apple. The boy was definitely nervous.

“In fact,” Luke pressed, pushing away from the hutch and closing a few steps of distance between him and his quarry, “I was hoping to ask you a few questions about it. Thought you might have some insight that would—”

“I don’t know nothin’ about any rustling.” The boy’s hands dropped to his sides, balling into fists. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t do anything to help your boss.” His face reddened, and rage visibly vibrated his arms. “Oliver Grimes killed my father!”

CHAPTER

FIVE

Luke steeled his expression to hide his shock. Miss Baxter, on the other hand, hid nothing. Her nephew’s angry accusation nearly felled her. She grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it.

Luke raised a brow as he regarded Nate. “Those are strong words. You got any proof to back ’em up?”

The kid scowled and sliced his arm through the air as if it were a weapon seeking a target. “Of course I don’t have proof. If I did, Oliver Grimes would be behind bars or swingin’ from the end of a rope.”

A tiny guttural sound that reminded Luke of a kicked puppy echoed from Miss Baxter’s location. His attention shifted off the boy and onto the delicate woman who had wrapped an arm around her midsection and was rocking slightly. Her complexion had paled, and her shoulders rounded in on themselves like a shield.

“Why don’t you tell me about it outside?” Luke suggested. Talk of hangings and murder wasn’t exactly fit for female consumption, especially a female who’d been raised to a more genteel existence. He didn’t know much about Damaris Baxter, but her clothes were well-made and more suited to a ladies’ drawing room than a cabin in the middle of Texas cattle country.

Nate obviously agreed, for he gave one sharp nod, then strode for the back door. Luke crossed to the table to collect his guns. He’d barely slipped his revolver into its holster before Miss Baxter’s chair scraped against the floorboards.

She jerked to her feet. “Stop!”

The word carried all the weight of a command. Luke’s hand froze above his rifle, and his gaze sought hers. The pleading in her eyes arrested him, but her attention didn’t linger. It shot over to her nephew, who stood with his back turned to her and his hand on the door handle. He’d halted, but he made no move to face her.

“I will not be excluded from this conversation.” She gripped the table edge, her knuckles as white as her ashen face. As Luke watched, however, she released the support and straightened to her full height. It was a rather remarkable sight, like a butterfly stretching its wings for the first time after emerging from a cocoon. “I want to hear your reasons for thinking Mr. Grimes is responsible for your father’s death, even if you don’t have proof.” She paused, nibbled on her bottom lip, then worked her way around the side of the table, her gaze rooted to her nephew’s back. “I loved your father too, you know. He was my big brother. If his death wasn’t the accident I was led to believe, I need to know.”

She took a step. Then another. And a third. Halting less than a yard from Nate, she stretched out an arm. Her hand hovered behind the boy’s shoulder, poised for contact yet hesitating. A heartbeat passed. Then her elbow folded, and her fingers retracted. “Please, Nathaniel. Let me help.”

Nate spun to face her at last, belligerence etched into his features even as moisture glistened in his eyes. “How do you think you can help, Aunt Maris? Read me stories like you did after my ma died? I ain’t a kid anymore. Lullabies and fairy tales ain’t gonna cut it.”

She flinched, yet she didn’t back away. She stood fast, caring more about tending her nephew’s hurt than her own.

“You can tell me your story this time.” Her soft voice soothed. Beckoned. Pleaded. “About Mr. Grimes. About your father. About where you go at night.”

He’d been softening until she mentioned his nocturnal excursions. His expression turned stony after that, his chin jutting forward in defiance. “Where I go is my business. No one else’s. Quit tryin’ to mother me, Aunt Maris. It ain’t your place.”

The boy yanked the back door open and shot out of the kitchen like a jackrabbit chased by a coyote. Grief couldn’t be outrun, though. It would catch him eventually, and when it did, he’d need the very thing he swore he didn’t want—his aunt.

“Nathaniel, wait!” Miss Baxter charged after him, but the boy ignored her call. She ran as far as the clothesline before stuttering to a stop. She braced a hand against the wooden post. Tears trailed down her cheeks. The sight gut-punched Luke.

“You all right?” He drew up beside her, having grabbed his rifle and raced after them both.

She shook her head. “I pushed him too hard. Asked too many questions.”

Luke touched her shoulder, just as she’d touched his earlier, hoping to dispense some measure of comfort. “He didn’t run because you asked questions. He ran ’cause he’s hidin’ something. You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, from what I can see, you’re doin’ a whole lot right. The kid’s lucky to have you.”

The woundedness in her brown eyes made his chest ache, but it hurt worse when she tore her gaze away from him to stare forlornly after the ungrateful boy sprinting over the low hill just beyond the barn.