Page 65 of In Honor’s Defense

“I will.” Luke glanced away, giving Conley the satisfaction of winning their little staring contest. Antagonizing the lawman wouldn’t aid his cause. Besides, Luke had nothing to prove.

Except for Nate’s innocence.

“I guess Grimes has already pressed charges.” Luke abandoned his coffee and leaned back in his chair. His stomach might be empty, but half a cup of sludge was his limit.

Conley, on the other hand, gulped down the dregs from his mug and wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth in satisfaction. “Not yet, but he will. I expect him first thing in the morning. He was more concerned with roundin’ up his beeves than ridin’ back to town with us this afternoon. Only natural.”

Luke nodded, his expression carefully solemn. It wouldn’t do to jump out of his seat and throw his hat in the air with a mighty whoop.

If Grimes hadn’t pressed charges yet, Luke still had time to talk to him. Try to convince him to let Nate go. It’d be a long shot. Oliver Grimes had been obsessing over his missing stock too long to turn a blind eye. But maybe with the right argument—

“Visitin’ time’s almost over,” Conley groused. Apparently he told time by how long his cup of coffee lasted. “If you want to see the boy, best do it now. Leave yer guns out here, though.”

Luke unbuckled his gun belt, lowered it onto the sheriff’s desk, then strode toward the back of the small building. He found Damaris in the first cell, sitting on one end of a thin cot. Nate sat on the other end with the food basket between them. Damaris glanced up, a small smile touching her lips. Sadness lingered in her gaze, though, making his chest ache.

Luke circled his hands around the bars and turned his attention to the boy staring at his shoes as if afraid they’d run off without him if he looked away. “Holdin’ up all right, Nate?”

The kid just shrugged and didn’t look up, acted as if shame and self-pity were tied to his chin like twin anchors, mooring him to the floor. Luke had made enough poor choices in his younger years to be familiar with the posture.

Luke’s fingers tightened on the bars. His biceps tensed. How he longed to bend these bars wide. To step into that cell and ruffle Nate’s hair. Squeeze his shoulder. Shoot, grab him up in a bear hug and hold on until those anchors weighing him down disintegrated.

“Hey.” Luke sharpened his tone.

Nate finally lifted his face.

“You forget the first lesson I taught you about fighting?” Luke never thought he’d miss this kid’s sass, but right now he’d give a day’s wages to see some spirit in Nate’s gaze.

“Believe you can win.” The mumbled recitation barely carried across the few feet separating them.

“That’s right. It don’t matter how dark things look or how big your opponent is. If you believe you can win, you’re already halfway to victory. Now, I happen to believe we can win this battle. In fact, after chattin’ with the sheriff, I even have a plan.”

“You do?” Nate set down the fried chicken leg he’d been gnawing on and sat a little straighter.

Luke felt Damaris’s curiosity roll over him as well, but he kept his focus on Nate. “Yep. Gonna have me a chat with Oliver Grimes tonight. See if I can work out a deal to get him not to press charges against you. If it works, it will get you out of jail, but it will mean lettin’ go of your resentment and makin’ restitution for the pranks you pulled. You man enough to do that?”

Nate’s Adam’s apple made a slow rebound as he swallowed. “Aunt Maris told me about Harbinger. You sure Grimes isn’t the one who killed my pa?”

Luke nodded. “As sure as I can be without proof. But I plan to watch your back anyway. If Grimes agrees to let you make restitution, I’ll be part of the deal. I won’t send you over there alone.” The sound of clanging keys urged Luke to hurry. Their privacy was about to end. “You willin’ to do the work if Grimes agrees?”

Nate rose from the cot like a soldier coming to attention. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Luke released the bars and dipped his chin at the boy. “I’m proud of you, Nate.”

The kid blinked, then gave a wobbly nod.

Conley arrived, keys dangling from his hand. “Move over, Davenport.” He peered in at Damaris. “Time to go, ma’am.”

While Damaris packed up the food basket, leaving a napkin with Nate’s unfinished chicken on the cot along with a pair of butter cookies, the sheriff unlocked the door and swung it open with a squeak. Placing himself in the opening, his hand on the butt of his pistol, he waved Damaris out.

Luke stepped to the side to let Damaris pass, but after Conley closed and locked the door, he stepped back up to the bars. “If I’m going to have your back,” he said to Nate, “I need you to have mine.”

The boy’s forehead scrunched. “What can I do from in here?”

“Pray, son. You can pray.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY