Chapter 27
Enoch kept his eyes fixed on the dust cloud until it disappeared beyond the tree line, every muscle still coiled for action. Only when the last echo of hoofbeats faded did he allow himself to turn toward Mandie.
She stood frozen on the bottom step, her face pale as winter snow. The fierce strength that had carried her through the confrontation seemed to drain away all at once, leaving her swaying like a sapling in a strong wind.
“Mandie.” He moved toward her, but her mother reached her first.
“Oh, my darling girl.” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice broke as she gathered her daughter into her arms. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry we didn’t believe you immediately.”
Mr. Sinclair approached more slowly, his weathered hands trembling as he reached out to touch his daughter’s shoulder. “Amanda, forgive an old fool. I should have seen…should have known.” His voice cracked. “What kind of father brings his daughter’s attacker to her very door?”
“You didn’t know, Papa.” Mandie’s words came muffled against her mother’s shoulder. “How could you have known when I never told you?”
“Because it was my job to protect you.” The anguish in her father’s voice made Enoch’s chest tighten. “Instead, I failed you completely.”
Enoch watched the family reunion with a growing hollow ache in his chest. This was what Mandie needed—her parents’ love.
Their acceptance and protection. Not some emotionally guarded mountain man who couldn’t bring himself to tell her how he felt.
“We’ll take you home, darling. Away from all this wilderness and danger. You’ll be safe with us.” Mrs. Sinclair murmured the words as she stroked Mandie’s hair.
“No.” Mandie pulled back from her mother’s embrace, her voice firm despite the tears tracking down her cheeks. “I told you—I’m not leaving.”
Her father’s brow furrowed. “But, sweetheart, you can’t stay here. These men have been kind, but you need proper care. A woman in your condition—”
“I have proper care.” Mandie’s gaze swept across his brothers before settling on Enoch. Something in her eyes made his breath catch. “I have people who believe me. Who protect me. Who…” She faltered, color rising in her cheeks.
“Who what, darling?” her mother asked gently.
Mandie straightened her shoulders, and when she spoke again, her voice carried a quiet certainty that sent Enoch’s heart hammering against his ribs.
“Who see me exactly as I am. Who I love.”
The words hung in the mountain air like a challenge and a promise all at once.
They found their mark in Enoch’s chest, piercing through every wall he’d built to keep her at arm’s length.
She loved him.
The knowledge blazed through him like wildfire, burning away his thickly constructed defenses. Standing there in her emerald dress with tears still wet on her cheeks, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
His throat constricted. She was offering him everything he’d ever wanted and all he’d convinced himself he couldn’t have. The chance to build something real. To be the man who stood beside her through whatever storms came.
But what if he failed her like he’d failed everyone else? What if his attempts to protect her only brought more danger to her door?
Mrs. Sinclair followed her daughter’s gaze to Enoch, her eyebrows rising with sudden understanding. “I see.” She studied him with the calculating assessment of a mother weighing her daughter’s suitor. “And do you return my daughter’s feelings, Lord Balfour?”
Every eye turned to him, waiting. His brothers wore expressions of barely contained hope.
Mr. Sinclair looked skeptical but not hostile.
Mrs. Sinclair appeared to be dissecting his very soul.
But it was Mandie who mattered. Mandie, who stood there with her heart in her eyes, having just laid her feelings bare before God and everyone. She deserved his honesty, even if the truth terrified him.
“I do.” The words came out rougher than he intended. “More than I ever thought possible. More than I know what to do with.” He swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving hers. “She’s the bravest, strongest woman I’ve ever known, and I’d count myself the most fortunate man alive if she’d have me.”
The admission hung between them like a bridge waiting to be crossed. Mandie’s eyes widened, hope and wonder chasing across her features.
“Then ask her properly.” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice broke through the bubble of Mandie’s response. “A woman in my daughter’s condition needs the security of marriage, sir. Not pretty words.”
Heat crawled up Enoch’s neck. He’d never imagined proposing marriage with an audience of five, but perhaps it was fitting. Mandie deserved witnesses to his commitment—people who would hold him accountable if he failed her.
He stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. “Amanda Beaumont.” His voice came steadier now, weighted with certainty. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Enoch.” His name was barely a whisper on her lips. “Are you certain? The baby—”
“Will be our child.” The words came without hesitation. “Blood doesn’t make a family, Mandie. Love does. And I already love that little one because he or she is part of you.”
A sob escaped her throat, and she pressed her hands to her mouth. “Yes.” She spoke through her tears. “Of course, yes.”
He reached for her then, and she melted against him. The rightness of it settled into his bones—the way she fit against his chest, the way her tears dampened his shirt, the way her arms wrapped around him as if she’d never let him go.
“Thank you.” He pressed his mouth close to her ear so only she would hear his whisper. “For trusting me with your heart. For staying. For being brave enough to fight when I was too much of a coward to join the battle.”
“You’re here now,” she whispered back. “That’s all that matters.”
“Well.” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice carried a note of approval that surprised him. “I suppose if my daughter must live in this wilderness, at least she’ll have a proper husband to look after her.”
Mr. Sinclair cleared his throat. “You’ll forgive a father’s concern, Lord Balfour, but what are your intentions regarding my daughter’s…situation? There will be talk, no matter how quickly you marry.”
Enoch lifted his head to meet the older man’s gaze directly. “Let them talk. Anyone who has a problem with my wife or our child will answer to me.” The steel in his voice left no room for doubt. “As far as I’m concerned, this baby is a blessing, not a burden.”
Mrs. Sinclair gave a firm nod. “Under the circumstances, I think a simple ceremony would be most appropriate. Perhaps next week? We could arrange for the minister from town.”
“No.” Mandie lifted her head from Enoch’s shoulder, her voice firm. “I don’t want to wait. Not when Clayton might…” She shuddered.
Enoch tightened his arms around her. She was right—the sooner they were married, the sooner she’d have the legal protection of his name. “We could ride to Walnut Springs tomorrow. Find the preacher there.”
Mr. Sinclair cleared his throat. “If you’re certain this is what you want, Amanda. This man—” He studied Enoch with the shrewd gaze of a father protecting his daughter. “You’ll provide for her? Protect her?”
“With my life, sir.” Enoch met the older man’s stare without flinching. “Your daughter means everything to me. I’d die before I let harm come to her.”
Something in Mr. Sinclair’s expression softened at the raw honesty in Enoch’s voice. “Then you have my blessing.” He extended his weathered hand, and Enoch clasped it. “Though I reserve the right to shoot you if you ever make her cry.”
A startled laugh escaped Mandie’s throat. “Papa!”
“What? A man’s got to look after his little girl.” Mr. Sinclair’s gruff tone couldn’t hide the moisture gathering in his eyes.
Mrs. Sinclair dabbed at her own eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Well then, we have a wedding to plan. Amanda, you’ll need a proper dress, and we’ll have to see about flowers and—”
“Mama.” Mandie raised a hand, stilling her planning. “I don’t need all that. I just need him.” Her gaze found Enoch’s again, and the simple truth in her words made his chest tighten.
“But darling, it’s your wedding day. Surely you want—”
“I want to be his wife.” The quiet certainty in Mandie’s voice silenced any further protests. “Everything else is just…decoration.”