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real excited when I use language such as that.”
    Meredith chuckled even louder.
    Soon enough though, Meredith couldn’t handle the camaraderie, the way both Mr. Wan and Laura doted on her. She didn’t deserve it. So she left with ice strapped on her wrist, holding her horse’s reins tightly and trying not to cry.
    But she didn’t hold back when she crept into the cabin she’d woken in four months ago. She let the tears flow freely as she piled more wood in her kitchen’s stove. This little house was tiny, granted, but the open space—no distinction between kitchen, dining area, or bedroom—was invigorating. She had spun in her silly dancing circles throughout her small home without banging into any furniture, unlike her apartment in Cambridge. This place, her home now, was as sparse as a Shaker’s. And somehow, she’d come to like that. One large feather bed, one round oak table with two matching chairs, a pantry for all her baking needs, a little pump sink, and the stove she had come to love as much as if it were her Mac laptop, complete with her favorite apps. And on every side of the house were large thick greenish windows that made everything outside, even now in winter, look like Ireland in spring.
    The greenish windows made things a bit cheerier, but nothing could soothe her now. Meredith had started to like the people of Plateau. Care about them. Oh, who was she kidding? She loved them. Even damned Mr. Matlock and his drunken ways.
    But she was a vicious woman who shouldn’t make friends.
    Besides, wouldn’t she be going back to her own time any day now?
    Or was she trapped here?
    Forever?
    Meredith kept crying at that last thought. Not because she missed Cambridge, her job, or anything of her time. She’d burned too many bridges. In fact, after continually waking in the 1880s for more than a month, she’d been relieved.
    Maybe that was why she was crying. This place made her happy.
    And damn it, she shouldn’t be happy.
    To help pass the time and not pace the floor madly, Meredith had started to learn how to bake. Well, first it had been how to make butter. For twelve years she’d craved butter. But being a modern woman, she’d done away with fats and carbs. The instant she arrived though, she wanted nothing but butter on warm bread. So she’d had to figure that out, and thanks to Laura she did. It had taken a lot of work, but she’d churned her own butter, then baked her own bread. After a few weeks of experimenting, the food Meredith prepared actually tasted good.
    And so she’d eaten. A lot.
    That was another reason why Sheriff Cameron wouldn’t think she was attractive, Meredith reminded herself as she unwound from the plaid keeping her warm, wiping the remnants of her tears from her cheeks. She had gained weight. Thank God she didn’t have her ubiquitous scales she’d had in Cambridge. Then she’d know how much weight she’d gained. And even though this was a different time where women were a little rounder than the praying mantis’s Meredith called super models, she felt...fat. And that felt horrible.
    Although, this was the first time in her thirty-two years of life she had boobs. She had to admit that was nice. In her own time, she’d starved, and always thought herself concave when it came to her chest, but now she had these two lumps that kept getting in her way, even while wearing the damned corset.
    Meredith huffed at her tightly bound chest, wondering yet again about Mr. Cameron...dreamy sheriff...lovely man...handsome man. Sure, he had scars on his face, but it had made him seem rugged. Wild. Sexy.
    Meredith snorted again and rolled her watery eyes. Why think about a man when there was no shot in hell he’d ever think of her?
    So why not eat again? Yes, that was always a good choice, even though baking and cooking were so much work. However, as the day turned into late afternoon, with the winter sun retiring early and showing shadows, she concocted a bacon, cheese, and egg