“You have all the time you need.” He kept his voice as soothing as his rough tone could manage. “And whatever you decide, you have a place here, for as long as you need it.” With a final gentle squeeze, he released her hand and sat back. “I’ll let you sleep. Can I bring you anything?”
She shook her head. “No. Thank you.” She hesitated. “Only…”
He leaned forward again. “Yes?”
“I…can we not tell your brothers? Yet. About the babe, I mean. I just… I want to come to terms with it myself first.”
That tightness pulled in his chest again. How hard it must be to face all this in such a wave. “Of course. When you’re ready. I’ll tell them you merely need rest for now. They’re nosy buzzards,but they won’t push.” They wouldn’t pushherat least. They’d nag at Enoch until he put an end to it.
A hint of a weary smile curved her lips. “Thank you.”
He stood and moved away from her bed. “Call out if you need anything.”
She nodded. “I will.”
As he reached the door, her voice drifted to him. “Good night, Enoch.”
With his hand on the knob, he glanced back at her. “Good night, Mandie.”
Something about those words, the simple sentiment using her given name, felt far too intimate for his heart. He’d best do a better job of shoring it up, or he’d be hurting once again when he lost this woman too.
CHAPTER 16
She couldn’t spend another moment wallowing in her tears.
Not when there was so much to do. Not when Mandie could help in at least a small way by preparing meals for these men who’d taken her in with such kindness. Enoch especially.
As the first blush of dawn showed outside the window, she pushed herself from the bed, ignoring the lingering ache in her head. She dressed quickly, then pinned her hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck. A glance in the mirror showed her face still bore traces of the previous day’s tears. Hopefully that would fade once she got moving.
The house remained quiet as she stepped softly down the hall and into the kitchen. The cookstove was already lit with the coffeepot on the surface, which meant at least one other person was up. A check inside the pot showed the water just starting to boil.
She set to work pulling out the biscuits Bea had made the morning she left. They were starting to grow hard, but would hopefully still be fresh enough to serve. To go with them? Would the men mind fried ham and eggs again like she’d preparedyesterday? She had no idea how to prepare pastries, and she’d not found potatoes anywhere.
“You’re up early.”
She jumped at the deep voice behind her. Enoch.
She turned to find him standing in the kitchen doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. The morning light filtering through the small window cast his rugged features in sharp relief, highlighting the angles of his jaw beneath his beard.
“I wanted to get breakfast started.” She kept her voice low. The others might still be sleeping.
His blue eyes searched her face, concern etching lines around them. “How are you feeling?”
She summoned a smile, hoping it reached her eyes. “Better. Truly. I needed the rest yesterday, but I can’t spend all day in bed again. Not when there’s so much to be done.”
He stepped closer, his large frame filling the small kitchen. Even with the island between them, his presence surrounded her. “You’ve been through a lot, Mandie. No one expects you to push yourself before you’re ready.”
His use of her given name, the gentleness in his tone, sent a flutter through her middle. How was it that this man she barely knew could both unsettle and comfort her with a few simple words?
She lifted her chin. “Iamready. Helping, even in small ways, will make me feel more myself again.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, then inclined his head. “All right. But promise you’ll stop if it’s too much.”
“I will.” She turned back to the work counter to begin slicing ham. Anything to hide the effect his nearness had on her composure.
He moved to the stove to check the coffeepot, and she tried not to notice the way his shoulders strained against his shirt, orthe fluid grace of his movements despite his size. His hair and beard curled damp around his face, like he’d just washed up.
The scent of his soap drifted to her, clean and masculine, mingling with the aroma of woodsmoke. She focused on the ham, the rasp of the knife against the cutting board, and tried to ignore the awareness prickling along her skin.
