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someone to talk to. She wished more times than she could remember that everything could stay the same, that she would remain a young girl surrounded by children and an adoring stepaunt. She’d never been happier in her life—until she’d met Carson.
    It had been perfect. Her brother was getting married, her stepaunt and her cousins were moving into their own lovely little estate, and she was going to Texas to start her own life, her own family. Because more than anything in the world, Amelia didn’t want to be left alone, an afterthought, the extra wheel that really didn’t belong.
    She swallowed down the burning in her throat, squeezing her fists in disgust that she had allowed herself to fall into self-pity. It was just…
    Nothing was the way it was supposed to be.
    Taking a bracing breath, Amelia began opening cupboards, finding dishes and pots and pans but nothing edible. Finally, she found the pantry and stood staring rather forlornly at three eggs, a sack of flour, a sack of cornmeal, a few cans of corn, canned peaches, and what appeared to be pears. Amelia poked her finger at some sort of salted meat, and frowned. Nothing looked even remotely palatable, except perhaps the eggs. The icebox was empty, and Amelia suspected it hadn’t held ice in quite a while, for the drip tray was dry as a bone. Surely even a place as remote as Small Fork had ice shipped in regularly.
    “I’m afraid you won’t find much to eat.”
    Amelia turned to find Boone standing at the entrance to the kitchen. His hair was wet and slicked back but already starting to curl, and his cheeks were ruddy as if he’d been buffeted by a strong wind. The Kitteridge men were ungodly handsome, but unlike Carson, Boone seemed to be completely unaware of God’s gifts.
    “Are you feeling better?” he asked, giving her an intense, sweeping look that was slightly unsettling. She was suddenly acutely aware that her hair was down, her dress a wrinkled mess, and her feet shoeless. The tile had felt so blessedly cool, she hadn’t wanted to put on her shoes.
    “Much better. But I am hungry. Starving, actually.” She gave him an embarrassed smile. “I really don’t know how to cook anything.” She glanced doubtfully at the stove, an ancient thing that looked like it had been in use for one hundred years. The only thing she knew for certain was that she needed to put wood in it to start a fire.
    “I thought Carson was…” He stopped and looked down at the floor, almost as if he were angry. “I guess Carson didn’t want to wake you. He and I usually eat at the hotel nights I don’t cook. Agatha leaves at four to help her own family.”
    “You don’t know where Carson is?”
    “No, miss. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll run over to the hotel and get you something and bring it on back here. This time of night there aren’t too many ladies hanging around the saloon, so it’s best you wait here.”
    Amelia had the terrible feeling that Boone was covering up for Carson, that her fiancé had forgotten her. Or worse, was avoiding her. “I’ll just go out to the garden, then.”
    “Okay, but watch out for rattlers. They don’t usually come out this time of night, but it was warm today.”
    “Rattlers?”
    “Snakes.”
    The only snake Amelia had ever seen was a harmless infant grass snake, and she’d thought it rather charming. “Oh, I’m not afraid of snakes unless they bite.”
    “This one bites and can kill you if it gets you good.”
    Amelia smiled politely. “I’ll just wait here, then, shall I?”
    Boone nodded then headed for the door, but before he left, he poked his head back into the room. “They come indoors, too.”
    Amelia looked up, surprised, then narrowed her eyes. He was teasing her. At least she thought he was, because he certainly wasn’t smiling. “You are joking,” she said with false bravado.
    “Probably.” And then he was gone.
     
    Boone stepped out of his home and stopped dead. He could see a man with a long