Page 31 of In Honor’s Defense

“I know that, Cap. We all do.” Though the small, raw place inside Luke’s heart that had never quite healed from his mother’s abandonment or his father’s abuse lapped up the reassurance like an affection-starved pup. “Brothers to the end. That will never change.”

“You better believe it.”

“But your commitment to your wife comes first.” Luke scratched at an itchy spot on his jaw where a half-grown beard stubbled his face. “Had I been thinking more clearly, I never would’ve asked Damaris to send for her. I should’ve just used the doc from Huntsville.”

Matt set a firm yet gentle hand on Luke’s shoulder. “No, you did right. You know how possessive Josie is about you boys.” He cocked a grin. “She never would’ve let me hear the end of it if some other doctor tended you.”

Luke chuckled.

“Seriously, though, Preach.” Matt tightened his grip on Luke’s shoulder and waited for Luke to meet his gaze. “If trouble comes calling, pack up the Baxters and head to Gringolet. You’re not in this alone. Remember that. Horsemen stand together.”

Luke held his captain’s gaze, knowing the words were not idle. Matthew Hanger and the others had his back no matter what.

He gave a jerky nod, acknowledging the kinship that ran deeper than blood. “Horsemen stand together.”

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Later that afternoon, Luke hobbled back to the barn after spending an hour showing Nate the best way to build a small game snare. Nate’s daddy had taught him the fundamentals of shooting, but Douglas Baxter had grown up in town, just like his sister, and relied on butchers and store owners to keep him in meat. Luke wasn’t sure how Damaris planned to provide for her nephew without a regular income, so he figured passing on what he knew about foraging and hunting might make at least small inroads to paying her back for nursing and feeding him for the duration of his recovery.

Nate had seemed interested and engaged in the lessons. Eager to try out a new skill. After Luke showed him how to form a wire noose and explained the proper technique for crafting a trigger, he’d sent Nate off to scout game trails and burrows so he could set up a few practice traps. If the boy actually managed to catch something, Luke would teach him how to skin and dress whatever he caught—rabbit, squirrel, opossum.

He couldn’t wait to see Damaris’s reaction. He could picture her horrified but desperately trying to hide her disgust in the face of her nephew’s pride in his prowess. Maybe he should warn her of what might be coming. Give her time to prepare and scour that recipe book of hers. Surely if it contained recipes for onion poultices for stab wounds, it would have something for a squirrel stew or braised rabbit. Shoot, maybe Luke would just teach Nate how to roast his catch on a spit over a campfire. The kid would probably enjoy that more anyhow.

Nate craved the outdoors like a fish craved water. It was his natural habitat. Unlike his aunt, who preferred a cozy nest indoors. The two couldn’t be more opposite, yet when push came to shove, their differences melted away, leaving the bond of family to stand firm.

Damaris had earned Nate’s respect the night the two of them rescued Luke. He saw it in the way the boy looked at her, heard it in his tone of voice. He was still an ornery little cuss with a mischievous streak a mile wide, but Luke would bet a month’s salary there’d be no repeat of the cellar incident. Nearly getting himself killed when he’d stumbled into those rustlers had given the boy a shift in perspective. Maybe Luke could help him get a little farther down the path to manhood before he left.

Having reached the barn, Luke braced his hand against the corner post to catch his breath, surprised at the ache that had developed in his chest—not from the short walk across the yard, but from the idea of leaving. He turned his gaze toward the house and pictured Damaris sitting near the window in the parlor, working on a piece of embroidery. She tended to stitch in the afternoons.

Strange how he’d learned her routines even though he’d been unconscious more often than not the last few days. Yet almost every time he woke, he found her by his bedside, occupied with something. A book or some needlework. Usually with a cup of tea at hand. She’d always been ready with a smile, a helping hand, and distracting conversation.

He was going to miss waking up to find her near now that he’d moved to the barn. Propriety had to be respected, though. And really, separation was in his own best interest as well.

He had no business imagining a life that included a woman. Especially one as refined and proper as Damaris Baxter. All Luke knew of family life was brokenness. A mother who ran away from her problems. A father who solved his with fists and a bottle of whiskey. Not exactly a promising pedigree. Better for everyone if he kept his focus on horses and outlaws. That way any mistakes he made wouldn’t damage the people he cared about.

Because as much as he hated to admit it, he was coming to care for the Baxters. A lot.

Having rested a moment, Luke pushed away from the corner of the barn and crutched the rest of the way inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior, but the smells were immediately familiar. Horses. Cows. Manure. Leather. Straw.

Yep. This was where he belonged. Barns, bunkhouses, maybe a small one-room cabin someday when he got tired of wanderin’ from job to job. That was what he was made for. A simple, masculine existence. No furbelows or feminine trappings. Just plain old practical living. That was the life for—

His thoughts broke off when he turned the corner into the first stall. Every muscle in his body seemed to have forgotten how to move. Except the ones in charge of his eyelids. He blinked once. Then again, trying to clear away the hallucination, but the stubborn vision refused to be banished. His throat tightened. An odd pressure pushed against his chest.

What had she done?

Leaning a hip against the jamb, Luke slowly reached up and removed his hat. It seemed the right thing to do when entering a home. For that was what she’d created—a home. An honest-to-goodness home. In a horse stall. For him.

A blue-and-red quilt topped the straw tick mattress on his bunk, the edges hanging over the side to hide the unfinished lumber. The rag rug from the room where he’d convalesced—her room—now adorned his floor. A set of nails protruded from the wall to his right, one of which held his overcoat. Luke hung his hat on the peg closest to him, his hand trembling slightly. He took one step past the threshold, propping his crutch in the corner by his hat, and used the edge of the bed to work deeper into the room.

A pillow lay at the head of his bed. Beneath the bunk sat a bootjack and a chamber pot. His face warmed at the thought of her considering that particular need even as he appreciated the independence it would allow him.

A pair of crates stacked one atop the other formed a washstand in the corner behind his bunk. A basin sat on top of the stack, with a small bar of soap on a saucer in the right corner. A shaving mug and brush that must have belonged to her brother sat in the left corner. An ewer filled with water perched on the shelf made by the open, sideways crate. A folded towel had been tucked onto the shelf next to the ewer, and a small shaving mirror hung from a nail centered over the basin. He touched the towel, not surprised to find it soft. Luke was used to coarse, worn-out scraps, but no such thing existed in this magical place.

Having saved the best for last, Luke braced himself by flattening his palm against the back wall as he pivoted to face his sitting room. What else could he call it? There was a chair, one of the wooden ones from the kitchen, though it sported a bright red cushion he didn’t recognize. Beside it stood a small table, one he thought he recalled seeing across from the hearth in the parlor. And on top of the table stood an oil lamp. Not a sensible lantern like one would expect in a barn, but a glass parlor lamp, one that transformed an ugly barn stall into a place of beauty and light.

Not only was there a lamp, but she’d left him a pair of books.