Page 40 of In Honor’s Defense

“Your brother knows the Horsemen?”

Grimes nodded. “Served under Captain Hanger in the 7th Cavalry. It took a good deal of wheedlin’ on my part to convince Wilson to write to his captain on my behalf. They’re supposed to be retired from this kind of work, but I was losin’ cattle right and left and too desperate to be deterred. I thought God had answered my prayers when Davenport showed up. Then the big fella went and got stabbed all to pieces, and I’m back where I started.”

Any sympathy she might have felt for her neighbor’s predicament vanished the instant he made it clear he cared more for his cows than for the man he’d hired to protect them.

“Have you lost more cattle, Mr. Grimes?”

“Not yet, but those criminals are still on the loose. They could come back at any time.”

She tapped her toe against the boardwalk, her agitation too high to contain. “I’d still say you are in a much better position now than you were prior to Mr. Davenport’s arrival. Not only do you know how many rustlers you are dealing with, but you have a physical description of the guilty parties. Information you’d be missing were it not for the Horseman you hired. It’s likely the rustlers have abandoned the area completely thanks to their encounter with Mr. Davenport, so you are most decidedly not back where you started.”

He looked stunned that she dared contradict him. She was rather stunned herself. Avoiding confrontation had always been her preferred path. She’d swallowed her pride so many times, all the edges had been worn smooth. Had his discontent been aimed at her, she would have dipped her chin and meekly accepted whatever criticism he dealt, letting it roll off her back as usual. But when he spoke of Luke with callous disregard, something stirred inside her. Something righteous and indignant that could not be ignored.

Mr. Grimes didn’t seem particularly impressed with her show of spirit, however. His shock quickly gave way to displeasure. “I might have more information now, but I still don’t have my beeves, do I? Davenport wasn’t just supposed to catch the rustlers, Miss Baxter. He was supposed to retrieve my cattle. And thanks to your brat of a nephew, he failed on both counts.”

Red-hot anger roared through Damaris like a forest fire as she fought the unladylike urge to kick Grimes in the shin with the pointed toe of her shoe. “I’ll thank you not to slur my nephew, sir.” She squeezed the words out through the crevices of her clenched teeth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have supplies to gather at the mercantile.”

Leaving him on the boardwalk, she swept down the steps into the street and strode away as fast as she could without actually running. However, it wasn’t merely anger that drove her. Fear propelled her as well.

Had Grimes shared his suspicions about Nathaniel with the sheriff? The lawman hadn’t spoken of it when she’d visited the jailhouse earlier. Was that because he didn’t deem the charge worthy of merit or because he didn’t want her cognizant of a secret investigation? And what about Grimes himself? Had he killed Douglas? Would he target Nathaniel next? Grimes certainly held no fondness for her nephew. Was that due to his certainty that Nathaniel was responsible for the recent rash of pranks on his property, or was a deeper animosity at work?

Her thoughts distracted her so thoroughly that she completed her shopping, had the wagon loaded, and sat perched on the bench with reins in hand before she recalled that she still needed to visit the mill. Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet learned her way around town well enough to know precisely where to find it. She recognized the businesses that made up the courthouse square, and she could find her way to the church on Price Street without Nathaniel’s direction now, but she hadn’t explored much beyond those two landmarks.

To be honest, she wasn’t even sure what a grist mill looked like. She’d always pictured something idyllic by a stream with a waterwheel, but she’d seen nothing like that in Madisonville. Nathaniel had mentioned that a steam engine powered the mill, not a waterwheel. For all she knew, she could have driven past it a dozen times without realizing it.

Letting out a sigh, she reset the wagon’s brake and climbed down from the driver’s seat. Too embarrassed to go back inside the mercantile to ask for directions, she chose instead to cross the street to the Feed & Seed that stood next door to the livery. Vanity, not practicality, dictated her choice. She hated giving people reason to doubt her intelligence. She could tolerate a poor opinion of her looks, her deportment, her cooking, even her singing voice, but she took pride in being a woman of learning. If taking a few extra steps allowed her to preserve a piece of that pride, she’d gladly stretch her legs.

“Miss Baxter!”

A jolt passed through Damaris at the sound of her name, so unaccustomed was she to being hailed. Her step slowed as she raised her head and turned, searching for the source of the call.

“Miss Baxter!”

A man in a light gray suit waved as he jogged toward her. She squinted until his face came into focus. Mr. Mullins? Why would her brother’s lawyer be flagging her down in such an urgent manner? She’d thought their business completed weeks ago with the creation of Nathaniel’s trust and the legal arrangement of her guardianship of her brother’s property and accounts. Had he found another paper for her to sign? She slowed in front of the Feed & Seed and awaited his arrival.

The lawyer was younger than she’d expected. She still recalled the surprise of finding him free of the gray hair and paunchy middle she’d always associated with men of his trade. Silly, really. Old lawyers had to have been young lawyers once upon a time, didn’t they? And where better to get one’s start than in a place offering little to no competition for legal services?

Mr. Mullins’s office had sported fine furnishings and a set of lovely matching walnut book cabinets that she’d instantly envied. Even knowing they were filled with uninteresting law tomes couldn’t dim her appreciation. He spoke with a cultured voice, wore tailored suits, and his blond mustache and beard boasted the craftsmanship of a skilled barber. Abundant proof that a young man of ambition could nurture a successful law practice even in a small Texas town.

He slowed his approach as he neared, then tipped his hat with a grin. “So glad I caught you, ma’am. It will save me from having to make a trip out to your place.” A sheepish look softened his features. “I should have paid a call before now to see how you were settling in. I worry about you living out there on your own so far from town. A delicate woman such as yourself must be unused to the wilds of Texas. Forgive my neglect.”

His intentions might be kindly meant, but his assumption that she wouldn’t be able to handle herself rankled. Nevertheless, Damaris pasted on a smile. “There’s nothing to forgive, Mr. Mullins. I’m managing quite well. And I’m not on my own. I have Nathaniel. He might be young, but he knows his way around the property.”

“Of course, he does.” The curled ends of the lawyer’s waxed mustache twitched slightly as his countenance brightened. “Do you have a few minutes, Miss Baxter? There is a matter of business I need to discuss with you. It won’t take long. I promise.”

Damaris hesitated. She’d been away from home long enough as it was and still had the mill to visit. Yet she didn’t particularly care for the idea of him dropping by unannounced to check on her. Especially not while Luke was there. Unflattering rumors often started with less. Mr. Mullins might not be one to jump to conclusions or to gossip about suppositions, but she didn’t know him well enough to be sure. It might be best to get whatever business he wished to discuss over and done with while she was in town. Besides, he could provide directions to the mill as easily as anyone else. And in a more private setting.

“I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”

“Excellent!” He sketched a shallow bow. “Let’s repair to my office, shall we?”

Turning back the way he had come, he led her down Trinity Street, then crossed the square to the redbrick courthouse that was still under construction. The building would be a beauty when finished. Most of it had been completed already in a lovely Romanesque Revival style that reminded her of some of the churches back in St. Louis. It was a grand sight, standing three stories tall, covered in stately brick with a plethora of arched windows. A clock tower stretched toward the sky from the center of the building and, when finished, was sure to be as grand as any church spire.

Mr. Mullins held the door open for her as they stepped inside, and then they climbed the stairs to the second story and his office located on the southeast corner. As Damaris followed him inside, light filtered through the many windows lining the exterior walls. The sunlight should have warmed her, but she found herself rubbing her arms.

This was the first place she’d come after arriving in Madisonville. The place where she’d learned the details about Douglas’s death and obtained directions for finding Nathaniel. The place she’d made a legal commitment to care for her nephew, putting on paper what she’d already vowed to do in her heart.

Instead of watching Mr. Mullins take his seat behind the desk and riffle through his papers, Damaris studied the walnut cabinets behind him, focusing on the rows and rows of books on display as if they were old friends waiting to comfort her. A silly bit of nonsense, to be sure, but it helped dispel the chill left by unpleasant memories.