Page 28 of In Honor’s Defense

He tried to open his eyes, to look for her, but his lids wouldn’t cooperate. He clutched at her hand. Still there. Yet he could barely feel it. Was she slipping away?

“Damaris?”

“I’m here.”

Her grip tightened on his hand. He could feel it now. His chest relaxed.

“It’s all right to rest, Luke. You’re in good hands.”

Yes, he was. Her hands. He started to drift and this time made no effort to fight the current. Damaris was watching over him.

As he surrendered to unconsciousness, he released all thoughts save one. She’d called him Luke. Not Preach or Corporal or Davenport. But Luke. The man beneath the warrior.

Damaris felt Luke’s hand go lax and silently thanked the Lord for sparing him the hurt to come.

“He’s passed out, I think,” she said, lifting her head as she wiped moisture from her eye with the back of a finger. “You can work freely now. . . .”

Her words died away as she realized that both Hangers were staring at her as if she were a carnival curiosity.

Tugging her hand away from Luke’s relaxed grip, she quickly moved from the edge of the bed and stood against the wall. She wrapped her arms around herself, unsure of what she’d done to cause notice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere.”

For the first time since she’d arrived, Dr. Hanger smiled. “You have nothing to apologize for, Miss Baxter. You’re a comfort to him. That’s a good thing. The calmer he stays, the less likely he is to pull stitches or worsen his injuries. I’m glad you’re here.”

Damaris smiled shyly in return, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “What can I do to help?”

“Why don’t you unwrap that bandage on his forearm?” Dr. Hanger nodded toward the arm folded across Luke’s chest, the one attached to the hand she’d been holding. “I’ll disinfect and suture that area next.”

A blush warmed Damaris’s face, but she nodded and followed instructions.

She worked with the Hangers for the next hour as the doctor inspected every wound, bruise, and bump. The only difficulty arose when it came time to tend the injury he’d sustained to the back of his right thigh. Male limbs were not precisely proper viewing material for unmarried ladies, even ones who’d previously dressed wounds on said limbs. Thankfully, Dr. Hanger put Damaris in charge of protecting the patient’s wounded forearm while Mr. Hanger rolled Luke onto his belly.

Careful to keep Luke’s arm away from his body so it wouldn’t be pinned beneath him, Damaris raised it above his head and guarded it while he rolled. And when the doctor took up a pair of scissors and started cutting his trousers clean away, Damaris tied her gaze to that forearm bandage with such a tight string that there was no available slack for looking anywhere else.

Luke wore a pair of short drawers beneath his denims—a fact she’d discovered most gratefully after Nate cut away the leg of his trousers—but he still deserved his privacy. Keeping herself at his head while the others worked on his injured leg, Damaris talked to him in low murmurs. Telling him what a magnificent job Dr. Hanger was doing. Assuring him that he would feel much better the next time he woke. Promising to bring him a cold compress for his poor, swollen eye. Anything to distract her and encourage him. By the time the Hangers were ready to roll Luke back over, she’d resorted to quoting some of her favorite Bible verses, having run out of other things to say.

“That’s how he got his nickname, you know.” Matthew Hanger came around to the side of the bed where she knelt by Luke’s head and offered her a hand up. “Quotin’ verses.”

She was thankful to find a sheet covering Luke’s form. Dr. Hanger stood at the washstand, cleaning her instruments with the last of the hot water from the kettle. She must have finished her treatments. Thank you, God. Damaris had done her best to remain outwardly positive and encouraging, but the longer the doctor worked, the more the worry had built up between Damaris’s shoulder blades and through her neck. Perhaps now that the examinations, cleaning, and suturing were complete, she and Luke could both rest.

Releasing her hold on the mattress, Damaris allowed Mr. Hanger to pull her to her feet.

“Luke has a memory like a steel trap.” Mr. Hanger grinned slightly, his gaze drifting over to his friend on the bed. “He knows more scripture by heart than most parsons I’ve met. That’s why the boys in the 7th took to calling him Preach. He got a kick out of it. Said he was about as unsaintly as they came. Wild to the bone and born for trouble. But it wasn’t true.” He turned the force of his gaze on Damaris, and it cut straight through to the barren parts of her heart. “Preach might have a wild past, but no man on earth is more loyal or dependable. Or fiercer when it comes to protecting his own. If I had to choose only one man to go into battle with, I’d choose Preach every time.”

Damaris had no response. Polite niceties would only cheapen the moment. These two men shared a powerful bond. A bond the likes of which she’d never shared with anyone. A bond she envied. What would it be like to have someone in her life who could be counted on always to be there, always to take her side? One who saw her even when she was at her most invisible?

“Thank you for being there for him.” A touch of emotion clogged Matthew Hanger’s voice. “For nursing his wounds. For bringing us here.” His focus returned to the man on the bed. “Preach is as tough as they come, but if it hadn’t been for you, he might be quotin’ verses from inside heaven’s throne room right about now.”

“My husband’s right,” Dr. Hanger said, slipping up beside him and sliding her hand through the bend in his elbow. “You saved his life, Miss Baxter, and we are in your debt.”

Damaris searched the doctor’s face. “So you expect him to recover, then?”

Please, Lord!

Dr. Hanger nodded. “As long as nothing turns septic and we manage to keep any fever at bay, yes. He’s weak from blood loss, but with a restorative diet and plenty of rest, I expect he’ll be back to his ornery, stubborn self soon enough.” She made the last comment with the kind of fond smile that spoke of true affection.

Damaris smiled in return as relief nearly floated her feet off the ground. “Just let me know what needs to be done, and I’ll do it.”

The doctor straightened and patted her husband’s arm as if communicating something to him without words, then faced Damaris. “Right now, what he needs is rest. As do you.” She laid a hand on Damaris’s arm. “Let me fix you a cup of tea.”