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

that he knew what I'd experienced even if he didn't share it.
                  But this was Matthew Longren, whose exploits my mother had probably censored as she read his brother's letters aloud.
                  "I've smelled peaches since last night.  There's pie crust in the cold storage.  You'd have to send me away, Miss Maggie."
                  I'm not inclined to do that , a traitorous voice in my mind said.  "I think we can stand your company another day or two," I said, smiling.  "Excuse me, I need to get to the kitchen."
                  He moved from my path, but slowly.  But, of course, he was injured.
                  That's what I told myself. 
                  Hutch was quiet at lunch, eating cold chicken and hot biscuits, and the pie, golden and juicy, drew no comment from him.  He ate, responded to anything said to him in single syllables, and excused himself directly after eating, although he didn't leave again for the mine right away.
                  Matthew joined us, apparently used to his brother's moods.  He made enough conversation for all of us, praising the pie and the shining bottles of canned peaches I had yet to transfer to storage.  During the meal, I asked him questions I'd like to have asked Hutch, like who had been taking care of the house and how that person or those people were paid (I would, after all, be the mistress of the house after the wedding and needed to have my own accounts in order and take care of the house myself).  I asked about household expenses, what grocer our pantry stores came from, if they bought or baked bread (that one caused Matthew to look at me with vast patience and ask if either of them looked capable of baking).  I asked about horses, and doctors, and childbirths, and received no answers there because none of those things were of interest to Matthew. 
                  Several times during the meal, Hutch looked up, his gaze sharpening as if he meant to reveal what was preying on his mind but every time, he subsided, cocking his head, pretending to listen to the two of us, who, left to our own devices again, returned to our conversation.
                  Finally, as the meal ended with the pie I'd prepared, finding myself still wondering what to do with the number of ripening peaches I couldn't possibly keep up with, I asked about the garden and who cared for it.
                  "I do," Matthew said, surprised.  "Though I haven't for a few days."  He gestured at his leg as if I might have forgotten.  "I have no room to garden. I just have a couple rooms in a boarding house – and I'm good at it.  If you'd like to take it over, I understand."
                  That one I laughed at and explained I'd be more than happy to have him care for the garden as soon as his injury allowed for it.
                  "Because she has a wedding to plan," Hutch said, abruptly rejoining us from his blue study and then he stood, kissed me chastely on the cheek, nodded to his brother in a vague, already-returning-to-distant-thoughts manner, and headed back to the mine.
                  "I'll be back there tomorrow," Matthew said, watching Hutch go.  He sounded bored and anxious.
                  "You'll be back there next week," I said, standing to clear the table.  "No, sit.  Let the leg heal."
                  It must have pained him because he gave in easily, producing a sketch book and charcoal and working images of the garden as I cleared and cleaned.  We didn't talk but sometimes when I glanced at him, I sensed he had been watching me.
                  No matter.  I had a wedding to prepare for.  Once my place was established and a routine existed in all our lives, surely this sparkling feeling would pass.
                  I finished the dishes, leaving them to drain,