But now, when they were both soaked through and blood dripped down his arm, wasn’t the time. She settled for an added, “Please,” and gave his good arm a little squeeze.
His gaze softened. “All right.”
She could almost hear the,Just this once,he surely added in his mind. One battle at a time.
He reached down for his knife and stepped around her. “Let me go out first. Make sure he’s not still out there.”
She allowed him to lead, and as soon as he gave theall-clearsign, she followed him to the horses.
She started to offer Enoch help to mount, but he managed with little trouble. As though this was a daily experience, he climbed aboard his horse with his left arm clamped tight to his side.
She swung up onto Rosie’s back, gathering the reins in hands that still trembled. The rain had slackened to a cold drizzle, but the wind cut through her damp clothes like a knife.
The journey back to the ranch felt like an eternity with the trail turned to a slick ribbon of mud by the rain. Rosie picked her way carefully, ears flicking back and forth at the rumble of thunder in the distance. Mandie’s thighs ached from gripping the saddle, her split skirt plastered to her legs.
When they neared the house, Rosie loosed a whinny, which was answered by a horse in the barn. Willow probably, for she and her leggy filly were the only two in the structure these days.
Through the open barn doors, Robert poked his head out. He strode out to meet them as they reined in by the front porch, and his eyes widened when he saw Enoch’s arm.
“What happened?” Robert reached for Enoch’s reins as he dismounted.
“Cougar in a cave.” Enoch’s voice was tight. “It’s dealt with.”
Robert’s gaze flicked to Mandie, frowning at her bedraggled state and the blood on her hands from Enoch’s wound. She must look a fright. “You two all right?”
Mandie nodded, sliding down from Rosie’s back. Her legs nearly buckled, but she caught herself by gripping the saddle. “We will be. Enoch needs tending to.”
“I’ll see to the horses.” Robert led them toward the barn. “You get him inside.”
Mandie hurried to Enoch’s side as he climbed the porch steps, ready to offer support if needed.
But he moved under his own power, though his jaw clenched beneath his beard. He didn’t stop to remove his wet boots outside, which was good, for she would have insisted he leave them on. She could wipe up a little muddy water later.
Once he reached the kitchen, he shrugged out of his ruined shirt, revealing the angry red gashes on his shoulder and upper arm, a painful addition to the barely healed burns.
Stripped to the waist, the damage looked even worse. The slashes still seeped blood. Bruises were already forming, dark splotches that made her body ache in sympathy.
“Sit.” Mandie pointed to a chair, her tone brooking no argument. “I’ll get hot water and bandages.”
He obeyed without protest and sank onto the wooden seat. Exhaustion and pain lined his face, making him look older than his years.
She hurried to grab two bowls, filling one with water from the ever-present kettle on the stove, and then pulled the crate ofbandaging supplies down from the shelf. Had it only been four days since she’d been here, doing nearly this exact thing?
He sat without a shirt, same as last time, though now he’d not bothered with a blanket over his good shoulder. The burns were indeed healing, but now they also had to make sure these claw marks didn’t fester.
His head slumped in his right hand, revealing the thickness of the ropy muscles across his shoulders and the top of his back.
She set the bowls and crate on the table, then moved to his side and gripped his palm to stretch his arm out so she could get a good look at all the lacerations.
The gashes were raw and jagged, still bleeding a little. Mandie moved an empty basin under his arm, then dipped a clean cloth in the warm water and squeezed liquid over the first cut. Enoch flinched but held still, his muscles taut under her fingers.
One by one, she did the same for each claw mark, pausing over one near the middle.
“This is going to need sewing up.” She lifted her focus to meet his gaze. In the light of the kitchen, his eyes were the color of a stormy sea. “I can do it, if you’ll let me.”
Something flickered in his expression, there and gone too fast for her to read. “Do it.” He bobbed his chin toward the crate. “Pour whiskey on them first. Cougar scratches fester easy.”
She glanced at the small amber bottle tucked under the bandages. That would sting nearly as bad as the stitches.
