James stepped through the open doorway, dragging a burned log, his face streaked with soot. His white teeth flashed when he saw her. “Morning, Mrs. Beaumont. Come to lend a hand?”
She strode toward the doors he’d just exited. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Inside the barn wasn’t nearly as dark as usual. Having most of the ceiling gone certainly allowed in sunshine. Robert dipped a nod as he strode past her, carrying an armful of charred wood.
She returned a smile. The pieces he carried looked small enough for her to manage them. If the men could handle the dismantling, maybe she could help with the hauling.
“What are you doing?”
She turned toward the voice—Enoch’s voice, of course—and had to search before spotting him up in the loft. What was left of the loft anyway.
His piercing blue eyes met hers, his scowl making his frustration plain. It seemed he’d removed his bandages already.
She kept her voice pleasant. “I’m here to help, like everyone else. Many hands make light work, as they say.”
Enoch’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at Thomas as if seeking support.
The younger brother shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “She’s right. We’ll get this cleaned up faster with all of us working together.”
Enoch gave a hard shake of his head. “A burned-out barn is no place for a lady.”
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “I’m no delicate flower. I can pull my weight, same as the rest of you.”
For a moment, they stared at each other, a silent battle of wills. Then Enoch shook his head. The ghost of a smile tugging at his lips was starting to look familiar. “Fine. But take it slow and stop when you get tired.” He gestured toward a smaller pile of rubble.
With a nod, Mandie set to work, her hands soon coated black as she hefted charred boards. The men kept an easy rhythm with their tasks, Thomas and James trading jibes as they labored. Even Robert joined in, his quiet strength evident as the brothers worked together.
When the sun climbed higher, hunger pangs gnawed at her stomach. She ignored them. If the men could work until midday without a break, she would too.
She should have eaten more at breakfast, but there was no help for it now.
Gritting her teeth, she hefted another sooty timber, the rough wood scraping her palms. Her stomach churned, and a wave of nausea washed over her. It was silly to think she would vomit from a little hard work and hunger. She could push through this.
But the queasiness only intensified, and a sour taste rose in the back of her throat. Her grip around the wood trembled.
Her stomach heaved. She was out of time.
Dropping the rubble, she sprinted out the barn door and around to the side, her vision tunneling as she fought to keep the nausea at bay.
She barely made it. Bracing herself against the rough wall, her insides retched, spewing out of her. Another surge came, her body shaking with the force of it. Then another.
She barely felt the hand gripping her elbow, holding her steady as she trembled with the force of her sickness.
Finally the spasms subsided. She could only stand there, bent over, as she caught her breath and searched for the strength to straighten. Her mind finally processed the reality that someone stood beside her, holding her elbow and rubbing her back.
Those strong hands. And the worn boots visible at the edge of her sight.
Mortification swept through her as she realized it was Enoch beside her, his large palm gentle on her back. Of all the peopleto witness her humiliation, it had to be him. She couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, the disgust or pity in those piercing blue eyes.
But as she straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a strange feeling pressed against her chest. Not nausea, but a churning apprehension, as if her body remembered something her mind could not. The sensation was so strong it nearly buckled her knees.
Closing her eyes, she tried to follow the feeling, to grasp at the elusive memory. A powder room materialized in her mind, but not the one at her home. At church, perhaps? And what had brought on this awful foreboding?
Was it Clayton, Nicholas’s brother? He always had a way of making her skin crawl, his eyes following her with a predatory intensity.
Yet this was different, deeper than simple dislike or fear. As if some buried memory was trying to claw its way to the surface. A warning she couldn’t quite grasp.
The memory slipped away like wisps of smoke, and she grabbed for it. Yet she couldn’t…
