Chapter 22
The wagon creaked and groaned, straining under the weight of the lumber as it rolled up the rocky trail. Mandie leaned back against the bench, her mind still spinning with the memories of their refreshing day in town.
Having the chance to shop again had turned out to be far more refreshing than she’d expected. The Walnut Grove Mercantile possessed a surprising variety of goods, and they’d enjoyed a pleasant lunch at the little cafeteria that served as the lower level to the boarding house.
James had been attentive and charming as always, his quick wit and easy laughter drawing her out of her shell.
And Enoch... Well, he’d been Enoch. Gruff and taciturn at first, clearly irked by his brother’s flirtations. But as the day wore on, he appeared to relax, his stern facade softening around the edges.
It had been nice to feel like a normal woman for once. Not a grieving widow or an invalid. Simply a lady enjoying the company of two handsome gentlemen.
Even if one of those gentlemen was simply being a pleasant younger brother, and the other...
The other stirred feelings in her that were far from sisterly.
She darted a glance at Enoch, taking in his strong profile, the way his hands gripped the reins with quiet competence.
He’d removed his hat, and the breeze ruffled his dark hair, revealing the twisted scar he’d received saving Willow and her baby.
Did it still hurt? The thought made her fingers itch to smooth his locks back from his brow.
Dragging her gaze away, she focused on the passing scenery.
The heavy load of wood in the bed made the wagon creak and groan more than before, nearly drowning out the birdsong and rustle of leaves on the trail.
They were lumbering around the side of the mountain, but the road was wide enough that the rig stayed away from the downward slope on her side.
It wasn’t a cliff exactly, just a steep hill.
The front wheel on Enoch’s side hit a particularly deep rut, lurching the wagon forward. She fought to hold in a gasp as she clutched the seat for balance.
Enoch’s arm shot out in front of her, a brace to keep her in place even as he gripped both reins tighter in his other hand, holding the team steady when the rear wheel dropped into the rut too. “You all right?”
She managed a nod. “I’m fine. Just startled.”
When the rig settled again, he glanced her way. His gaze searched her face, as though looking for details of an injury she’d not confessed to. He must be satisfied, for he turned forward again. “The road’s a bit rough through here. We’ll take it slow.”
True to his word, he eased the horses into a slower pace, guiding the wagon around rocks and over uneven patches of ground.
She tried to relax, but every bump and sway seemed magnified, jangling her nerves a little tighter each time.
They navigated a narrow stretch, though the incline leveled out some through the length of it.
As they rounded the next bend, the trail widened once more. Mandie let out a breath. But just as she started to relax, the wagon hit another deep rut, larger than any of the previous ones.
The wagon lurched violently to the side. Wood planks clattered and shifted behind them. Enoch barked a command to the horses, hauling back on the reins to steady the team even as the rig tipped precariously toward the slope.
Mandie’s stomach swooped. She grabbed for the seat, for Enoch, for anything solid as her world tilted. But gravity yanked her sideways.
Her hip struck the edge of the bench. Then she was falling, tumbling over the side of the wagon into open air.
Brush and saplings broke her fall, but she still hit the ground with a jarring thud. All the breath left her lungs.
She rolled, leaves and twigs catching in her hair, snagging her skirts. Down and down, until she fetched up against the base of a tree, her back pressed against the bark.
For a moment, she could only lie there, stunned and gasping. Pain throbbed through her, radiating from her side, her hip, her head.
But worse than that was the sharp stab low in her belly, like a knife twisting.
No. Oh God, no!
Panic clawed up her throat. She curled inward, hands clutching her stomach. “Please.” Her jaw trembled as she whispered the words. “Please be all right.”
Dimly, she heard Enoch shouting her name, the crashing of footsteps down the hill.
He dropped to his knees beside her, fear etched all over his face. “Mandie! Are you hurt?” His hands hovered over her, as if afraid to touch.
She tried to speak, but a whimper escaped instead. Tears blurred her vision. “The baby.”
Enoch paled.
Carefully, so carefully, he gathered her into his arms. “I’ve got you.” His voice rasped thick with emotion. “Just hold on.”
He carried her up the embankment, cradling her against his chest. Each step sent a fresh wave of pain through her, but she clung to him, her face pressed into the solid column of his neck.
Tears stung, but she blinked them back. She had to be strong now. For the baby. For Enoch.
At the top, he lowered her onto the wagon bench. “James,” he barked. “Secure the load. We need to get her home. Now.”
James replied to him, but he spoke quietly, and the chaos inside her drowned out his words.
She focused on breathing, slow and steady.
The pain in her belly had subsided, and she strained for any sensation that might be the baby moving around.
It had only happened a few times since that first day when she’d realized she carried a child, so not feeling movement now wouldn’t be unusual.
But surely after such a harrowing tumble, her wee one would have a reaction.
Enoch appeared beside her, his face close enough that she could see the murky shadows clouding his eyes. “One of the axles snapped. I’m going to take you on the gelding.”
She pushed up to her elbow so she could better figure out what he was saying.
Before she could respond, he slid his arm beneath her shoulders, the other under her knees, and then he was lifting her, pulling her tight against his chest. She gasped at the movement, her hands clutching at his shirt.
“I can walk.” The protest came out weak, even as she pressed her face into his shoulder.
“I’m not taking any chances.” His low voice vibrated through her.
He carried her to where James stood with his horse. “Can you stand for a minute? Until I’m in the saddle?” His words rumbled near her ear, his breath fanning her nose.
She nodded, and he eased her feet to the ground, keeping a firm arm around her waist as she swayed. Her legs felt like jelly, the ground unsteady beneath her, but his solid presence kept her upright.
James gripped her arm as Enoch pulled away. Being so fully cared for by these men…it eased the knot in her chest at least a little.
A moment later, Enoch had settled into the saddle, and she started to lift her foot to the stirrup. Was she to sit behind him? She didn’t have on her split skirt.
But James lifted her waist, and Enoch reached for her upper arms. “Turn and sit across my lap.”
She tried to obey, though the movement was awkward. She plopped down onto his lap harder than she’d intended, drawing a grunt from him.
Heat flooded up her neck. “Sorry.” She tried to shift her weight to find a more ladylike pose, but pain shot through her hip, and she gasped.
Enoch’s arm tightened around her waist. “Easy.” His other hand cupped the back of her head, guiding it to rest on his shoulder. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you.”
Too weary and sore to argue, she let her body melt into his, her face nestling into the warm crook of his neck, her arms loose around his waist. The steady thrum of his pulse beat against her cheek, and she focused on that, on the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
He smelled of leather and pine and sweat and something uniquely Enoch. Solid. Safe.