Page 60 of In Honor’s Defense

As she released the bars and turned to leave, she kept her chin up, doing her best to practice what she’d just preached. She wasn’t alone. God was with her. Fighting for her.

“‘Ye shall not fear them,’” she quoted softly beneath her breath, “‘for the Lord your God he shall fight for you.’”

“What’s that you’re sayin’?” Sheriff Conley looked up from where he’d just retrieved a coffeepot from atop a potbelly stove.

Damaris smiled at the lawman, and oddly enough, the gesture felt authentic, unlike the pieced-together patch of false politeness she usually manufactured in situations like this.

“Just recalling a verse that a friend of mine likes to quote.” And doing my best to emulate his confident, warrior mentality. “It seemed appropriate.”

“You talkin’ about that Horseman fella?” Sheriff Conley scowled. “Be careful around him, ma’am. Vigilantes like that care more about collecting bounties and reward money than who might get caught in their crossfire. Now that Oliver Grimes has his stock back, Davenport’s got no reason to stick around. And that’s fine by me. We don’t need his kind around here.”

Damaris burned with the urge to give the pompous nitwit the setdown of his life, but angering the sheriff would do her nephew no favors. So she tamped down her outrage and pulled out one of those manufactured smiles she kept handy, even though it had to stretch a little too tightly over her indignation and likely wouldn’t fool anyone.

“I can’t say I agree,” she said, adding a heaping tablespoon of sugar to her tone, “but I won’t argue with your conclusions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I will heed your advice and seek legal counsel for my nephew.”

He saluted her with his newly filled coffee cup and waved her toward the door, no doubt as eager to see her gone as she was to be rid of him.

Hurrying up Elm Street to the courthouse square, Damaris prayed that she’d find Mr. Mullins in his office. When she found the door to his office unlocked, she nearly wilted in relief. After letting herself in, she dashed through the reception area and burst straight into the inner office, where she found Mr. Mullins standing by a coatrack, reaching for his hat.

“Miss Baxter. Are you all right?” He abandoned the coatrack and made his way to her side. “You look quite distressed.”

“I need to hire you,” she blurted. “To defend my nephew. He’s been arrested.”

“Arrested?” He drew back in shock. “But he’s just a boy.”

“Precisely! The very idea of him being a cattle rustler is ludicrous. But Sheriff Conley will not be swayed. Nathaniel is locked in jail at this very moment.”

Mr. Mullins lightly touched her arm and steered her toward a chair. Then, instead of seating himself behind his desk as he usually did, he sat in the empty chair next to her. “I assume the sheriff has evidence of some sort that precipitated the arrest?”

Damaris nodded and told him about the stolen cattle being found on Baxter property, about Nathaniel’s past forays onto Triple G land, and about his grudge against Oliver Grimes. “We are ready to make restitution for the vandalism,” she rushed to assure her lawyer, “but Nathaniel is no cattle thief.”

Mr. Mullins grew thoughtful. “I believe you, Miss Baxter, but I’m not sure a judge will. Having those steers found on your property is compelling evidence. And given the boy’s history with Grimes, he appears to have motive.”

“But Luke Davenport can testify that Nathaniel was not part of the rustler’s gang that attacked him. He saw four men and could likely recognize them if he saw them again. My nephew knows nothing of these men. He’d never seen them before that night and has not seen them since.”

Mr. Mullins let out a sigh. “I’m afraid that Mr. Davenport’s testimony might not be as convincing as you hope.”

“What do you mean? He’s one of Hanger’s Horsemen, for pity’s sake. No one has more experience when it comes to identifying and capturing rustlers. His credibility is unmatched.”

“That would be the case in most situations, but in this instance, that credibility has been compromised.”

Damaris didn’t believe him. She couldn’t afford to. Luke’s testimony was the only viable weapon she had at her disposal. “How?” she challenged, preparing arguments to rebuff whatever he might say.

“Well, if I were the opposing attorney, I would point out to the judge that Mr. Davenport is only alive today because of the nursing he received from you, Miss Baxter. The entire town has heard about the attack that left him near death. The very fact that he is still among the living is due solely to your care.”

“That’s not entirely true. Josephine Hanger handled most of the doctoring,” Damaris corrected. “She and her husband, Matthew, were here for four days. If anyone should be credited with saving Mr. Davenport’s life, it’s Dr. Hanger.”

Mullins nodded. “That’s good to know. I can argue that in rebuttal, but I don’t think it will make much difference. Not when my opponent is sure to bring to light the fact that Mr. Davenport has been living at your place during his recuperation. Growing close to you and your nephew. Nathaniel talks about him at school, you know. And children spread tales faster than adults. Why, just this morning on my way to the café for breakfast, I overheard a pair of young lads talking about how exciting it must have been for Nathaniel to have one of the Horsemen take him shooting. They were quite envious.”

Damaris crossed her ankles and tucked them beneath her chair. “I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

“My dear Miss Baxter. It would take very little effort for a lawyer to argue that a man like Luke Davenport, one who is known far and wide as a protector of the innocent, would do whatever was necessary to protect a young lad with whom he had struck up a friendship. Not only is Mr. Davenport indebted to you, the boy’s aunt, but he is genuinely fond of the boy himself. A protector protects. It’s his nature. Therefore, someone could argue that Mr. Davenport’s description of the rustler attack deliberately omitted Nathaniel’s involvement in order to protect the boy from blame.”

“Luke would never lie.”

“Of course not.” Mr. Mullins patted her hand, but the gesture failed to impart any reassurance. “Unfortunately, the law isn’t always about what is true. It’s about what you can get a judge and jury to believe is true. And I’m afraid that far too many people would find it easy to believe that Mr. Davenport has a soft spot for you and the boy.”

All of her arguments turned to dust in her mouth. She had truth on her side, but what if truth wasn’t enough?