Free Silver Heart (Historical Western Romance) (Longren Family series #1) by Amelia Rose Page B

tree in it.  Every surface including most of the surfaces attached to me, were covered in peach juice and sugar and though I tried to convince myself that Hutch was right and everything would still be there come morning, I'd been unable to leave the formerly pristine kitchen in that state and had stayed up even later, cleaning by lamplight.  As the morning sun heated up the bedroom, I realized I was sore from walking to the Barnett's house and back and from riding to the mine.  My arms were sore from cutting peaches and canning and cleaning for half the night.
                  My heart was sore with confusion, for an easy conversation had sprung up with Matthew as I canned before Hutch got home.  Too easy, perhaps, more so because I couldn't see Matthew, but only call to him from the kitchen where I worked.  I was attracted to him, and although I thought what I was already feeling for Hutch in light of all the letters (and maybe because he was to be my husband) was more emotional, what I felt for Matthew as more exciting, breathtaking, and definitely trouble.
                  Sitting up and stretching, I realized that Hutch would be long gone by now, off at the mine without breakfast and if I remembered the dying sounds of the grandfather clock that had woken me, he'd be back for midday meal before I could get anything hot fixed.
                  The thought was enough to send me reeling out of bed, which I made in a hurry.  I splashed my face clean, promising myself a bath that evening because I was still sticky in places from peach juice.  I brushed my hair and cleaned my teeth and stared into the tiny mirror on the wall, wishing it would show me all of my face at once.  I'd have Virginia send me the mirror from my room at home. I needed to write to her, and I needed to send her the recipe Gloria Barnett had shared with me but first, I needed to get together a meal and make up for lost time.
                  I whirled out of the room and down the hallway, my boots creating a racket that couldn't have been missed, came fast around the staircase, using the newel post to spin myself through the door into the sitting room, where I fetched up hard against Matthew, leaving him rocking on his feet.
                  I caught him before he fell back, providing just enough support to stop him hitting the wall behind him or tripping on the piano no one here played.  My hands caught his biceps, sending heat rushing through me.  His hands came up around my forearms, keeping him upright, steadying himself – and me.
                  "Are you all right?" 
                  We asked it at the same time, each looking closely at the other for signs of injury, and then we both laughed at about the same time, relieved and embarrassed. 
                  "Where's the fire, Miss Maggie?"  His good humor restored, and also, apparently, mobility.
                  "It needs to be in the kitchen," I said.  "I'm late!"
                  I would have started for the kitchen but he still held my wrists, his hands warm and strong, easily circling my arms.  I looked down at them, knowing I should protest, knowing he should have let go by now.  Knowing he knew to let go.  Knowing that he would realize I hadn't protested.
                  I met his eyes again, and tried to speak.
                  Outside on the road, a carriage passed and the spell broke.  Matthew took two steps back, releasing my wrists.  He didn't look directly at me but said, "My leg is much improved.  Probably I should be home again tomorrow at the latest."
                  I nodded, biting one lip.  "I'm glad you're recovered," I said.  And then, "Will you join us for midday meal?"
                  I thought he'd decline.  I thought it might be awkward.  I was afraid he'd felt what I felt or, at the very least,