Page 36 of In Honor’s Defense

Embarrassed at her own ineptitude, she tried to wave him off. “It’s fine.” In truth, it stung mightily, but she could tell it wasn’t serious.

“Damaris.” The authority and concern in his tone snatched her attention and stilled her fluttering about the stove. “Give me your hand.”

Slowly, she unfurled her arm. His fingers, thick and callused, gently cupped the back of her hand as he bent over to examine the red marks on her fingertips.

“Let’s get some water on this.”

He didn’t release her hand, just led her to the sink pump and worked the handle until water flowed. He held her fingers under the cool stream, his hand still cupping hers as he pumped the handle with the other to keep the water coming.

How could something so practical feel so . . . intimate? Was it his nearness? The tenderness of his touch? The way their heads bent together over the sink?

Invisible fairies danced over her arms, sending shivers directly into her belly.

It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being kind. Taking his turn playing nurse.

Damaris tried to react with practical stoicism. Tried not to infer things he likely didn’t mean. But her heart was raw from Nathaniel’s ire and the knowledge that he’d been justified in his anger. And no matter how much rose tint she scrubbed from her proverbial glasses, she couldn’t imagine Luke taking this kind of care with one of his Horsemen friends or even Nathaniel. It made her feel special. Almost . . . desirable.

So much better than feeling like a failure.

And so much more dangerous.

She tugged her hand away from his and blotted it dry on a towel hanging by the sink. “Thank you.” Her voice came out in an embarrassingly breathy whisper. She stiffened her spine along with her resolve. “I’ll dab some salve on it after I clean up the breakfast dishes.”

“Doesn’t look like you ate much yet. Why don’t you join me at the table?” He pulled out her chair and leaned a bit on the ladder back.

Where was his crutch? Had he walked all the way from the barn without it? Damaris pressed her lips together, concern welling in her breast. He was pushing himself too hard.

She lowered herself onto the seat, then surveyed his movement as he rounded the table to sit across from her. He moved gingerly, his limp pronounced. But he didn’t look unsteady. On the contrary, he looked quite capable as he grabbed the coffeepot on his way past the stove and hooked a finger through the ear of the mug she’d set on the tray she’d planned to bring to the barn. He snagged the fork and knife from the tray as well, storing them in the front pocket of his shirt, then rounded the table edge and reached his place. Once seated, he poured his coffee, then scooted the entire platter of remaining flapjacks from the center of the table to the spot in front of him. He retrieved the utensils from his pocket, but instead of tucking into the quickly cooling food, he bent his head and closed his eyes.

Catching the action, Damaris quickly did the same.

“Thank you, Lord, for this food, for the hands that prepared it, and for the chance to be alive another day to eat it. I’m mighty grateful for all three. Amen.”

Damaris opened her eyes to find his peering directly into hers.

“Now,” he said as he reached for the honey and started drizzling it over his massive stack of flapjacks, “why don’t you tell me what’s got you rattled?” He pointed his fork in her direction. “I’m guessing it has something to do with Nate, since he nearly ran me down on my way in.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m afraid so.”

“Did you have to scold him for something?” Luke jabbed a three-layer bite and stuffed it into his mouth. Apparently oversized bites were a point of masculine pride in Texas.

Damaris cut her own tiny bite, but she didn’t lift it to her lips. Her appetite had left with Nathaniel. “No. He scolded me. And I deserved it.”

Luke raised a brow. “I find that hard to believe.”

She briefly considered eating the bite poised on her fork, if for no other reason than to give herself an excuse to avoid the unpleasant admission of being in the wrong. But she’d never admired characters displaying cowardice or dishonesty in the books she read, and she’d promised herself when she left Missouri that she’d become an admirable heroine like Jane Eyre, Elinor Dashwood, or Jo March while adventuring in Texas. A woman who didn’t shrink from challenges but met them with grace and determination. And with honesty.

Her fork returned to her plate untouched.

“I made a promise, then allowed it to slip my mind as if it were nothing of importance. But it is important. Very important. Especially to Nathaniel.”

Luke didn’t seem shocked or horrified, just interested. He fed himself another bite and looked at her with questions in his eyes, waiting for her to explain.

She took a sip of lukewarm tea to fortify herself, then held his gaze and continued. “Do you recall Nathaniel’s accusation against Oliver Grimes?”

He gave a short nod as he swallowed. “Hard to forget.”

Apparently it wasn’t. At least not for her.