Chapter 12
Mandie’s eyes stung as she stumbled into the house.
The bedraggled Balfour brothers filed in behind her, and a glance at them all showed they were as dirty as she and must be just as exhausted.
They’d finally put out the last of the fire, and the steady patter of rain would hopefully douse the remaining coals and smoke.
The lightning had stopped, and they’d caught all the horses from the barn and secured them in the pasture nearest the house.
In the morning, there would be more to do, but for now, they could clean up and rest.
She sent a look toward Enoch. He must be worried about the loss of the barn. His head and shoulders sagged with more exhaustion than the others. Probably a great deal of pain too.
She could still see him in her mind, knocked to the barn floor with flames leaping from his hair and shirt.
He must have terrible burns. If they weren’t cleaned and treated, they would fester quickly.
Bea wasn’t here, so Mandie should be the one to tend him. Or at least make sure the job was done correctly.
She turned to him, keeping her voice low. “Enoch, your burns need bandaging. Tonight, before infection sets in.”
Enoch lifted his head slowly, as if the very act of meeting her gaze required monumental effort. The weariness in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth, spoke volumes of the agony he was enduring.
He shook his head. “I’ll manage.” His voice scratched so much the words were hard to make out.
She stepped closer to him. “You can’t properly clean and bandage the burns yourself. Not when they’re on your neck and back.” She kept her tone brisk, matter-of-fact. “Go change, then come to the kitchen. I’ll take care of it.”
Surprise flickered across his face, followed by a flash of something harder to define. “You don’t need to bother yourself. It won’t be pretty.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure it won’t. But I’ve plenty of experience with such.
Back home, I often tended injuries for our staff.
Burns from the kitchen fires, cuts from a slipped knife or broken glass.
I can clean and bandage as well as a doctor.
” In truth, she always liked being helpful in that way. Making hurting people feel better.
Enoch regarded her for a long moment. His shoulders had stiffened, and for a second, he looked like he would argue. At last, he gave a slow dip of his chin. “Fine.” Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway to his chamber.
A small victory, but a vital one. Those burns wouldn’t wait on stubborn pride.
Mandie hurried to her room to change out of her sodden, sooty dress and clean the worst of the grime from her face and hands. By the time she reached the kitchen, Enoch was already seated at the table, his head cradled in his uninjured hand.
At her entrance, he looked up, and she nearly stumbled to a halt.
He was shirtless, the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest bare except for a blanket draped over his uninjured side. The lamplight played over the ridges and planes of his muscled shoulder and chest, highlighting both the power of his form and the vulnerability of his current state.
He met her gaze with weary blue eyes. “Figured you couldn’t tend the shoulder if I put a clean shirt on.” His voice still rasped with pain and exhaustion. Likely smoke too.
She swallowed and forced herself to nod, then move past the table to the stove behind him. Of course she’d seen a man’s bare chest before—she’d been married to Nicholas for three years. But he’d been slender and finely built, his frame honed by a life of privilege and ease.
Enoch Balfour was another creature entirely, all rugged strength and coiled intensity.
She forced her focus onto her work. She was here to provide medical care, not gawk like a schoolgirl. The kettle of water she’d been warming for tea still sat on the stove, so she poured some into a clean basin, tempering it with cool water until the liquid was warm but not scalding.
She had seen a basket on the shelf containing clean cloths, bandages, and a jar of healing salve. Mandie pulled it down and grabbed a towel, then carried it all to the table beside Enoch.
Once more, she was faced with his bare skin and hulking frame, yet standing behind him, she could see the ring of soot around his neck and the burn marks on his shoulder. They didn’t look to be open wounds, so hopefully they would heal without trouble.
Dipping the cloth in the warm water, she started on the unburned skin of his neck and shoulder. He tensed at the first touch but didn’t flinch away.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she murmured.
“S’all right,” he ground out. “Do what needs doing.”
Working in gentle strokes, she removed the layers of soot and grime, then assessed the damage. The burn on his shoulder wasn’t too deep, but the one on his scalp looked far more serious, the skin raw and blistered. “I’m going to need to cut your hair. To treat the burn.”
“Fine.” The word was little more than a pained exhale.
Mandie took a deep breath to steady her hands, then replaced the cloth in the water and retrieved the scissors from the basket.
She fingered a section of longer locks that hung over his neck.
His hair was thick and wavy, the rich brown color glinting with hints of auburn in the lamplight.
She let herself enjoy the sensation of those silken strands sliding between her fingers.
She had to work though.
With careful strokes, she trimmed away the singed and matted hair around the burn, letting the dark strands fall to the floor. She’d never cut a man’s hair before. Never expected the act to feel so intimate.
The hair had to be trimmed everywhere so it would lie evenly, so she moved to his right side to work. Her fingers wove through his thick locks, brushing against his scalp.
Enoch sat completely still beneath her ministrations. Was that because of pain? Or did he feel the connection in this simple act?
This close, with the heat of him radiating against her skin, she was far too aware of Enoch as a man. Not just a patient, not just someone who had extended kindness to her and was in need of aid, but a flesh-and-blood male with all that strong, masculine power.
Bit by bit, the dark waves fell away, leaving his hair cropped close to his head. The shorter layers outlined his strong features, making something flip in her middle. He looked somehow younger, more vulnerable. Only his beard still covered him like armor.
At last, she set the shears aside and reached for the salve. As she smoothed the ointment over the burned patch of scalp, the muscles in his shoulders bunched and twitched.
Her chest tightened and she kept her strokes as light as possible. If only there was a way to take his pain away completely.
She finished his scalp, then moved down to dab the balm over the lesser burns on his shoulder. “Is there anywhere else that hurts?” She kept her voice soft, but it sounded loud in the stillness of the room.
He shook his head. “Just there.”
She smoothed the last of the salve over his shoulder, letting her fingers linger a moment longer than necessary. The urge to soothe, to comfort—and yes, to touch this man—was far too strong within her.
Finally, she made herself step back and wipe her hands on the rag. Then she reached for a bandage from the basket and unrolled a length of clean cloth. “I’m going to wrap your head, to keep the salve in place and keep the wound clean while it heals.”
He didn’t answer. He might not appreciate the attention having his head bandaged would bring, but getting dirt in the open burn would cause trouble.
She worked quickly, then tied off the cloth and shifted around to his side to check her work from that angle. It would do.
She glanced at his face. His eyes were closed, face tight against the pain.
Her chest clenched at the sight. She had to resist the urge to smooth her fingers over the furrow between his brows, to see if she could ease some of his suffering with her touch.
Instead, she spoke in a soft voice. “All done.”
His eyes opened, those deep blue depths fixing on her. The weariness in his gaze had deepened, but there was something else there too—a flicker of gratitude…and more. “Thank you.” His voice came low, rough with exhaustion and pain.
She nodded. She was standing too close to him. So close she could feel his heat. Or maybe that was her own cheeks flaming. She took a step away. “Of course. It’s the least I can do.”
She busied herself tidying away the supplies and basin of water while she worked to compose herself. When she turned back, he was still watching her, an unreadable expression on his face.
“We’ll need to put more salve on your head two or three times a day. You should rest now.” She managed a smile. “The salve will help with the pain and prevent infection, but sleep is the real healer.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, then dipped his chin. Bracing his good arm on the table, he pushed to his feet, moving stiffly. She fought the instinct to reach out and steady him.
“Goodnight then. And…thank you, again.” With that, he made his way out of the kitchen.
All she could do was stand there and watch him walk through the front door.
Enoch stood alone in the barn after everyone else had retired to their rooms.
The acrid smell of smoke lingered despite the rain. Moonlight streamed through the damaged roof, illuminating the wreckage.
His shoulder and head ached, but nothing compared to the turmoil in his heart.
Mandie’s face—pale, determined, framed by the flames—still flashed through his mind. She’d risked herself to save the mare, and he’d nearly lost her.
He sank onto a bucket, his voice a hoarse whisper in the silence. “Lord, I can’t lose her too.” He clenched his fists against the memories that surged forward of Charlotte, of Will—losses that had carved hollows in his soul.
Mandie was getting too close. Her kindness, her quiet strength, had seeped into those hollows, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
“I don’t know how to do this.” He stared at the shadows. “To care for her and not be afraid every moment she’s in danger.”
He half-expected a nudge in his spirit, something telling him he was being ridiculous. But there was only silence.
And the weight of his fear remained.