Page 29 of In Honor’s Defense

“Just don’t let her fix you anything else,” Mr. Hanger said with a chuckle.

His wife slapped at his arm. “That’s enough out of you, Matthew Hanger. I’d never repay Miss Baxter’s kindness to Preach by subjecting her to my cooking, and well you know it.” She linked arms with Damaris and leaned close. “Don’t worry, tea is my one specialty. Though we might need the kettle.”

She led Damaris to the door by way of the washstand, picking up the empty kettle as she went. Her playful diversion as they wove through the room on a ridiculously circuitous path lightened Damaris’s spirit.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook, either,” she confided in a whisper. “My specialty is sausage gravy on toast. I don’t do too badly with pots and skillets, but I can’t seem to master the oven.”

Dr. Hanger’s face lit up in a broad grin. “Oh, Miss Baxter. We are going to be great friends.”

“Then you must call me Damaris.”

“And you must call me Josephine.” She leaned close as they meandered past her husband and approached the door. “And you must tell me absolutely everything about how you and Preach met.”

Damaris’s cheeks warmed, but so did her heart. Shared confidences with a woman near her own age? No judgment over her lack of culinary expertise in the kitchen? Compliments instead of criticism? She hadn’t enjoyed many friendships as a child and even fewer as an adult. Her shyness and the shadow of Great-Aunt Bertha prevented most such doors from opening. But nothing barred her way today.

Damaris leaned her head close to Josephine’s. “It all started when I found myself locked in the root cellar. . . .”

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

The Hangers stayed four days, and Damaris could not remember enjoying a visit more. A rather odd happenstance, since a man nearly had to die to bring the captain and his wife to her door. Thankfully, Luke no longer perched precariously outside heaven’s gate. Except for a slight fever that plagued him the first two days, he’d been improving steadily. He stayed awake hours at a time now instead of mere minutes, though he still napped a couple of times a day. His appetite was improving, and Josephine had allowed him to start incorporating solid foods into the broth-heavy invalid diet she’d insisted upon initially.

Mr. Hanger had gotten Luke out of bed the last two days for short walks around the house. This morning, Luke had managed the feat more or less on his own after Nathaniel found him a V-shaped branch to use as a crutch so he could take some of the weight off his injured leg.

A noticeable change had come over her nephew since the incident with Luke and the rustlers. Nathaniel seemed more subdued, more helpful around the house, and significantly less angry. Remorse surely played a role, but Damaris believed other factors were at play as well. Two factors in particular: Luke Davenport and Matthew Hanger. Nathaniel lapped up the male attention like desert sand absorbed water. He hounded Mr. Hanger’s heels whenever the head Horseman traipsed to the barn to tend the stock. Josephine’s husband had fetched Titan from Mr. Grimes’s ranch the first morning of his visit, determined to see to Luke’s horse himself. He allowed Nathaniel to tag along and watch him work, and even enlisted his help from time to time.

Not only that, but the two of them rode for an hour every afternoon after school, apparently at Luke’s suggestion. The men claimed Titan needed the exercise, but Damaris was pretty sure it was bribery, pure and simple, for Nathaniel wasn’t allowed to ride unless he’d completed all his chores and schoolwork the previous day. The boy had actually opened a book at the kitchen table the last two nights after supper. Damaris had nearly dropped the dish she’d been washing the first time it happened. Never again would she question whether or not miracles happened in the modern age.

While her nephew bonded with the Horsemen, Damaris enjoyed a growing sense of sisterhood with Josephine. Damaris usually found herself uneasy around guests, but Josephine had a no-nonsense way about her that removed all societal expectations and pressures. They shared many a cup of tea, discussing Luke’s progress and all the things Damaris should watch for after the Hangers left. Doctoring did not dominate their conversations, however. They shared stories of kitchen disasters, secret worries about raising children—both infants and teenage boys—and Damaris’s favorite topic: Luke.

“Preach must have known he’d need my services one day,” Josephine reminisced as Damaris helped her pack her traveling bag. “When I tried to hire the Horsemen to rescue my brother, all I had to offer was one of my father’s mounts and my medical services. Matthew was quick to point out that one horse couldn’t be split between four men, but Preach liked the idea of having a doctor at his beck and call. Especially since I’d proven capable of keeping a man alive after a rustler’s bullet nearly did in one of their own. I’d hoped, for their sakes, that after Matthew retired the Horsemen there’d be less need for my skills, but I love those men like brothers, and I’ll come running whenever any of them call.”

Even when she was nine months pregnant. And experiencing pre-birthing pains, if the creases that had just appeared across her forehead were any indication.

“Come. Let’s wait for your husband in the parlor.” Damaris took charge of Josephine’s carpetbag and steered her new friend into the front room, urging her onto the sofa.

Josephine didn’t protest the assistance, which was unusual for the take-charge doctor. She lowered herself somewhat awkwardly onto the cushion, then rubbed her belly in a circular motion, her mouth tight. After a moment, her face relaxed, and she let out a sigh.

“Are you sure it’s safe to travel?” Damaris dropped her voice in case Mr. Hanger appeared sooner than expected. Josephine had declared earlier that he worried far too much as it was, and she didn’t like to upset him with conversation best left to women. “What if the baby comes early?”

Josephine waved away Damaris’s concern with a smile, but she couldn’t quite mask the uncertainty in her eyes. “These are just preparation contractions, the ones Dr. John Braxton Hicks described in 1871 in his article in the Transactions of the Obstetrical Society of London.” Her hand rested lightly on her protruding stomach. “Believe me,” she said with a wry grin, “I made a very thorough study of the literature after I started experiencing the sensations early in my third trimester. They tend to worsen when I’m particularly active, so it’s not surprising they’ve been more frequent of late, but now that Preach is out of danger, Matthew is anxious to get me home. He probably wants to wrap me in cotton wool and keep me from engaging in anything more exerting than turning pages in my medical journals.”

“Well, after rushing all this way and expending so much energy looking after Mr. Davenport, you’re due a rest.” Damaris would be sad to see her new friend leave, yet she wanted Josephine safely home in case those preparation contractions turned into the real thing. “Besides,” she said, taking out the small tablet she’d stashed in her skirt pocket, “I’ve taken notes on all of your instructions. I promise to take exceptional care of your patient.”

Josephine smiled and touched Damaris’s arm. “That’s the only reason I let Matthew talk me into leaving before Preach was stronger. He told me that Oliver Grimes offered to put Preach up at his ranch, but I don’t know anyone in that household and don’t feel comfortable trusting strangers with his care. You, on the other hand, I trust completely.”

Heat rushed to Damaris’s face. She couldn’t recall ever receiving a finer compliment. She prayed she wouldn’t prove a disappointment.

“You care for him.” Josephine made the statement without the smallest tinge of doubt in her voice.

Damaris’s head shot up. “He saved Nathaniel’s life. I owe him a great debt.”

Her friend’s green eyes twinkled. “It’s more than gratitude that keeps you by his bedside.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Josephine’s brows arched. “Don’t you?”