James finally broke the charged silence, a slow, speculative smile spreading across his face as he settled into his seat across from her. “About time.” He sent her a wink, but didn’t explain his cryptic words.
Enoch’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing as Bea emerged from the kitchen, bearing a large platter of roast beef, the savory aroma preceding her. She placed it in the center of the table with a flourish, her dark eyes twinkling as she surveyed the gathered family. “Well now, doesn’t this make a nice picture? It’s been too long since I’ve seen a lady grace our table.”
She settled into the seat nearest the kitchen, and they all bowed their heads. Mandie quickly did the same, and Robert spoke a prayer over the food. Did he always say grace? She was accustomed to the man of the house doing so—first her father, then Nicholas. But Robert was third or fourth in line, as far as she could tell.
When they spoke the “amen,” activity commenced before she could even lift her head.
All the brothers reached for the nearest serving spoons and heaped generous portions onto their plates. Enoch took up the fork for the roast, but placed the first serving on Mandie’s dish before scooping a generous chunk onto his own.
As the food made its way around the table, conversation began to flow. James and Thomas regaled her with tales of the spring calves and foals, their words tumbling over each other in their eagerness to share. Robert interjected occasionally to correct an exaggeration or add a salient detail.
And Enoch...Enoch remained largely silent as he listened and ate. But he seemed to relax by degrees, the tight line of his shoulders easing as he listened to his brothers’ chatter.
Every so often, his gaze would flicker to her, as if to gauge her reaction to their stories.
She couldn’t quite puzzle him out. He was clearly the head of the family and took his responsibilities seriously. But he possessed a heaviness. Was it only grief for his brother lurking beneath the surface? Or did another weight drag down his joy?
Whatever the case, his pain called to something deep within her. She knew what it was to pretend at normalcy while your heart bled in secret.
Bea kept the meal running smoothly, hopping up to fetch a second helping of potatoes or refill a water glass. The food was delicious—simple but hearty fare that warmed Mandie to her toes.
As the meal drew to a close, Mandie dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, feeling more sated and content than she had all day. The Balfour brothers’ easy camaraderie and Bea’s warm hospitality had worked their magic, soothing the raw edges of her grief and uncertainty.
She still had no idea how or why she’d come here, but for the first time since waking up after the accident, deep in the fog of confusion, a flicker stirred inside her of something that felt a lot like hope.
CHAPTER 9
Enoch’s pulse thrummed like he faced a rattler. The burning afternoon sun pierced his shirt-sleeves as he strode toward the ranch house. He tugged his hat lower, shielding his eyes from the glare. He never came in this early from the pastures, but he had something important to accomplish.
He’d wrestled with this decision all night, then spent all morning planning what he’d say to Mrs. Beaumont. The words looped through his mind until they’d worn a groove deep as a wagon rut.
A sharp squawk jolted him from his thoughts. His gaze snapped to the coop, tucked in between the barn and cellar. Had a snake or fox crept in?
He turned his steps and pushed into a jog. Something had definitely entered the pen. The hens flapped and screeched with an outrage that could scare off any varmint.
As he approached, a dark figure shifted in the shadows of a back corner. A large creature. A bear?
“Enoch!”
The “bear” called his name in a relieved tone that sounded far too lady-like for a chicken coop, even laced with a tinge of fear.
What in the wide blue sky wasshedoing in there? Shouldn’t she still be tucked in bed?
When he reached the doorway and peered inside, he got his first full view of the situation.
There, cornered against the chicken wire, stood Mrs. Beaumont. Her chignon had come loose, dark tendrils curling around her flushed face.
She wielded a basket in one hand, the other clutching her skirts high enough to reveal yards of lace and boots more suited for a dance floor than a henhouse.
Their large red rooster blocked her path—its hackles raised in challenge.
For a moment, Enoch could only stare, caught between amusement and admiration. Mandie’s dark hair, usually meticulously coiffed, now fell in damp tendrils around her flushed face. Her eyes flashed with a mix of fear and anger as she swatted at the rooster with her basket.
Enoch’s mouth twitched. He shouldn’t find amusement in her predicament, but there was something about the way she faced off against that cocksure rooster, her chin lifted, her eyes narrowed in determination.
He shouldn’t just stand here and watch though. “Need help?”
Her glare lifted to him. “If you please. He keeps going for my throat.”
