Page 42 of In Honor’s Defense

Luke turned away from the stove to face Nate straight on. “Why do you not?”

Nate blinked a few times, then dropped his chin to stare at the floor.

“Life has dealt you some serious blows, Nate. I ain’t dismissin’ your wounds. They’re as real as the gashes those rustlers stabbed into my hide. They hurt and will take time to heal. But you can’t let that pain blind you to your blessings.”

“Right.” The sarcasm dripping from that word was so thick, Luke wouldn’t have been surprised to see a puddle forming at the kid’s feet.

Making a grab for the patience that was quickly slipping through his fingers, Luke took a second to breathe, then came at the issue from a different angle.

“All right,” he challenged, “let’s look at the night of my stabbing.”

The kid’s face hardened, but he met Luke’s gaze.

Deciding to take that as permission to continue, Luke dove in. “Was I lucky to be cut up by a gang of rustlers and left for dead? No. But I was lucky that the kid I rescued had enough honor to go for help. Lucky that the boy’s aunt was willing to leave her bed in the middle of the night to fetch me and tend my wounds. Lucky to have a Horseman brother with a doc for a wife who traveled over two hundred miles to ensure I’d recover. Even in the middle of the worst pain I ever experienced, God was raining blessings down all around me. But I woulda missed ’em if I’d been too consumed with my own hurt to look around.”

Speaking of hurt, Luke’s leg had started throbbing. Standing still seemed to hurt more than moving, for some reason. He shifted his weight to find some level of relief but held his position. Nate needed to hear him. He’d stand here all day if he had to.

“I know what it’s like to have anger running so hot through your veins that you can’t see anything else. It poisons you. Hardens your heart until you stop caring about anyone or anything. It would’ve destroyed me if God hadn’t intervened. He stuck me in the army. Put me in Matt’s unit. Broke me down little by little until the blinders finally fell off my eyes, letting me see God’s goodness again. A goodness that had been there all along.

“Kinda like your Aunt Maris. You could’ve been shipped off to Missouri after your pa died, but instead, your Aunt Maris left her home to come here. She cooks for you, washes your clothes, helps you with your schoolin’. She puts up with your crabby attitude, forgives your mischief, and is always ready with a kind word. She loves you, Nate. Not everybody has that. I didn’t when I was your age. So, yes, in my book, you’re a very lucky kid.”

Nate said nothing, but Luke didn’t mind. The boy had a lot to chew on, and he wouldn’t be able to swallow truth in the big chunk Luke had just handed out. He’d have to break it down into bite-sized pieces and digest it over time.

Luke gave the kid some space and turned back to the stove to collect the bean pot he’d nearly forgotten. Hoping nothing had burned at the bottom, he hobbled two steps to the table, plunked the pot down on the cast-iron trivet in the center, then gestured toward one of the still-standing chairs on the opposite side.

“Take a seat. I’ll dish it up.”

Nate hesitated, and for a moment Luke thought he might refuse, but the boy’s stomach overrode his obstinance.

Luke unstacked a pair of shallow soup bowls, then broke off a hunk of Damaris’s leftover skillet corn bread and dropped half of it into each bowl. The bread was dry as all get-out, but if he crumbled it and poured the beans over the top, it’d be tolerable.

“Rib-stickin’ food,” Luke said as he placed a bowl in front of Nate and handed him a spoon. “That’s what our old mess cook would call this. He claimed that fancy vittles would never keep a soldier’s belly full through a day of drills. A cavalryman needed food that stuck to his ribs.”

Nate frowned down at the bowl but dug his spoon in anyway. “I ain’t in the cavalry,” he mumbled before shoving in a bite.

“Maybe not,” Luke conceded, “but now that I can get around without my crutch, I was hoping you might be willing to spar with me. Help me build my strength with some sword and combat drills.”

Nate’s chin came up. His eyes widened in his face, and for once they were free of insolence. “You’d teach me to fight?”

Luke hid a smile, remembering his own eagerness to jump into manhood at that age. He schooled his features into a stern line. “I’ll teach you to spar. There’s a difference.”

Fighting might seem glorious to a boy who felt powerless to control his own life, but Luke had learned the hard way that fighting, even for a just cause, extracted a price. But if Luke could focus Nate’s aggression and frustration in a positive direction, maybe the kid would quit funneling them into revenge plots and pranks against his aunt.

Luke caught a hint of a smile playing at the boy’s lips before Nate covered up the evidence by shoving another bite of beans into his mouth.

Propping his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together over his bowl, Luke gave Nate a meaningful glance. “Forget something?”

Nate’s chewing slowed, and he set down his spoon.

Luke nodded in approval, then closed his eyes. “Lord, we thank thee for food to eat and a friend to share it with. Amen.”

Nate scooped up another spoonful, but he cast a cautious glance at Luke. “Friend, huh? Is that what we are now?”

Luke shrugged. “Don’t see why not. I saved your life. You saved mine. That kind of thing bonds cavalrymen. Figured it might as well bond us, too.” He took a bite of bean mush, his heart thumping in his chest as he tried to gauge Nate’s receptiveness. He took a couple of chews. “If your dance card ain’t full up, that is.”

Nate fiddled with his spoon, then gave his own shrug. “I might have some room.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.” Luke extended his hand across the table.