"I can tell we're heading toward our room." She couldn’t keep the curiosity from her voice, even as anticipation fluttered through her chest like moth wings. "You're being very mysterious, Lord Balfour."
"Patience, Lady Balfour." His breath warmed her ear, sending delicious shivers down her spine. "Trust me."
Trust. Such a simple word, yet one that had taken her months to truly embrace. Now it came as naturally as breathing when it came to this man—her husband of four weeks, though it felt both like a lifetime and mere moments since their wedding in Doc Hansen’s parlor.
"Just a few more steps."
His hands remained steady on her shoulders as he directed her steps. She could sense the familiar dimensions of the hallway, could smell the beeswax Bea used to polish the woodfloors, could hear the soft creak of floorboards beneath their feet. They were heading toward their room—the chamber that had been hers alone when she'd first arrived at the ranch, but which they now shared as husband and wife.
His former chamber sat empty save for the furniture he no longer needed. She'd grown accustomed to waking in his arms, to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her in the darkness, to the way he'd rest his hand protectively over the growing swell of the babe each night.
Their child.
At seven months along, she could no longer hide the evidence of the life growing within her, and Enoch had made it abundantly clear that this babe was theirs in every way that mattered. He'd never once spoken of the circumstances of conception, never made her feel anything but cherished and protected.
His hands stilled her, and she felt him reach around her to push open a door. Not the door to their chamber, but the one to his former room. The hinges whispered softly as the door swung wide.
He guided her a few more steps, then stopped her again. "Open your eyes."
She blinked, her vision adjusting to the afternoon light streaming through the window. For a moment, she couldn't quite comprehend what she was seeing. There, positioned against the far wall, stood the most beautiful cradle she'd ever laid eyes on.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The wood gleamed with a warm honey patina, every curve and detail speaking of hours of careful craftsmanship. Smooth rails curved in graceful arcs, and delicate spindles had been turned with such precision they looked like fine lacework.The headboard bore a simple but elegant carving—a tree with spreading branches, its roots deep and strong.
"Enoch." His name came out as barely a whisper, her hand moving to cover her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.
"Do you like it?" There was uncertainty in his voice now, the confidence from moments before replaced by something almost vulnerable. "I've been working on it in the afternoons, in the barn. Wanted it to be perfect."
She moved forward on trembling legs, her fingers reaching out to trace the silken wood. The craftsmanship was exquisite—every joint seamless, every surface smooth as glass. She could imagine their child sleeping here, safe and warm in this cradle crafted by loving hands.
"It's perfect." The words came out thick with emotion as she ran her palm along the curved rail. "I can't believe you made this."
His arms came around her from behind, his large hands settling over the pronounced swell of her belly where their child grew. The babe responded immediately to his touch, rolling and stretching as if recognizing the familiar warmth of its father's hands.
"I wanted our child to have something that was made with love." His voice rumbled against her ear, low and steady. "Something that would last for generations. Maybe our grandchildren will sleep in this cradle someday.”
The image his words painted—a future filled with children and grandchildren, a legacy built on the foundation of their love—made her chest tight with happiness. She leaned back against his solid chest, drawing strength from his presence.
"The tree." She traced the carved design with one finger. "What does it mean?"
His arms tightened around her, and he pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Family. Roots thatrun deep, branches that reach toward heaven. A place where everyone belongs and is loved for who they are." His voice carried a weight of meaning that made her heart swell. "I want that for our child—for all our children. A home where they know they're loved unconditionally."
The babe kicked again, a firm little foot or elbow pressing against her ribs, and Enoch chuckled. "Someone's awake in there."
"The baby always responds to your voice." Mandie covered his hands with hers. "Sometimes I think this little one loves you more than me."
"Impossible." His lips brushed against her temple. "But I'm grateful for every movement, every sign that our child is healthy and growing strong."
This man. How had she been blessed so very much?
Tears burned her eyes, along with the need to tell him what she’d never given voice to. It felt like he should know this new way he’d changed her life.
She took in a breath for strength. “I was afraid. When I first realized I was carrying a child. A child conceived the way…” She didn’t need to finish, and the way Enoch’s hands tightened around her, drawing her closer, soothing her spirit with his constant love, it gave her the courage to say the rest. “I worried I wouldn’t be able to love the babe. Or maybe just simply wouldn’t be a good mother.”
“Mandie…” His voice came out almost in a groan, and he’d nearly wrapped himself around her now, as though his very closeness could prove her fears wouldn’t come true.
She turned in his arms, needing to see his face, though the babe swelled between them. The late afternoon light streaming through the window caught the gold flecks in his blue eyes, and the pain there made her chest tighten. She pressed her hands flat on his shirt.
