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Her aunt had never married. She’d been engaged in her early twenties, but her fiancé had been killed while serving in the Army, and she’d never found anyone else she wanted to spend her life with. With no husband or children, and Amanda’s parents no longer close to Edith, Amanda was her nearest relative willing and able to help. Still, her stubborn aunt hadn’t contacted her, later saying she hadn't wanted to bother her busy niece.

After Amanda finally spoke to her on the phone, she knew she had to come to Antelope Rock and help with the woman’s recovery instead of just paying someone else to do it. She owed her aunt that much, if not more.

It took a few days to rearrange her hectic schedule and then drive to Wyoming from L.A. Edith had been released and transported home yesterday by an ambulette service. One of her neighbors had been there to help out and stay overnight until Amanda arrived.

Leaving her luggage in the car for later, she climbed the slightly wobbly steps and entered the house that held some of her happiest childhood memories. Aunt Edith had cared for her in ways her parents hadn’t. While her mom and dad provided for her every material need, affection was in short supply as they focused more on their careers than on their only child. Lonely and angry, she spent many summers with her beloved aunt. As an elementary school teacher in Butterfield, Edith had been off during the summers, giving her plenty of time to fill Amanda’s days with horseback riding, gardening, fishing, hiking, and dozens of other things she never got to do back home.

Even though it’d been years since her last visit, she still had a key to the place but didn’t need it. Behind the screened door, the front door was surprisingly unlocked, as it’d always been since she was a kid, but a lot had changed since then. Crime wasn’t confined to big cities anymore, and people in small towns like Antelope Rock needed to be more cautious, in her opinion.

Making a mental note to have a conversation with her aunt about that later, she turned the door’s knob and pushed it open. Walking into the living room of Edith’s home, Amanda was transported back in time. It still smelled the same—like cinnamon, lemon, and sunshine. Yes, sunshine has a smell, and no, she didn’t know how the warm, exotic aroma always filled the house, but it did, despite all the years that’d passed.

Breathing deeply, Amanda felt some of her stress melt away.

“Mandy, is that you?” Her aunt’s more tired-than-usual voice came from deeper in the house.

Aunt Edith was the only person on the planet allowed to call her Mandy. Even Amanda’s parents didn’t use the nickname.

She strolled through the living room and down the short hallway leading to the two bedrooms and a bathroom. The primary bedroom door was ajar, and she pushed it fully open before entering.

Edith lay in bed, propped against a stack of pillows with a book in her lap. Her weathered face and slender body were a stark reminder of how much time had passed since Amanda last saw her. While they spoke on the phone or on video calls once or twice a month, she hadn’t laid eyes on her father’s older sister in person in more than two decades.

Between college, internships, jobs, and starting her own business, which had taken off faster than she’d ever dreamed, there’d never been enough time. Hell, she’d barely had time to date, much less travel to Wyoming.

“There’s my sweet girl.” A smile lit Edith’s face. “As beautiful as ever. How was your trip?”

Her aunt spoke as if they’d seen each other only days ago, not years.

Amanda swallowed hard. She should’ve made more time to visit.

She moved a red walker aside and sat on the edge of the bed as Edith inserted a bookmark into the paperback, closed it, and set it aside. The cover caught her attention, and her eyebrows shot up as a sultry-looking, shirtless man stared back at her.

Aunt Edith reads steamy romance?

Some things you never wanted to know about your parents and older relatives. This was one of them. But since she liked most romance sub-genres, she made a mental note of the title and author—The Truth of Loving You by Heather Leighson—and decided to look it up later. Or maybe borrow the paperback when Edith was done.

Leaning forward, she kissed her aunt on the cheek. “Long, but I had good weather and no traffic once I got out of California. How are you feeling?”

“Flustered. This book is something else.” Edith picked it back up and fanned herself with it. “Who knew two men would be so spicy together? I think Jeremiah and his husband, Dale, are onto something here.”

She sputtered, “Y-you’re reading a gay romance? Aunt Edith! I’m so surprised.”

Not that there was anything wrong with it. She’d read and enjoyed numerous books in the MM genre herself. She’d just been caught off guard that her elderly aunt liked it too.

“And who the heck are Jeremiah and Dale? Characters in the book?”

“Oh, no. Jeremiah owns the JP Ranch.” Edith pointed toward an east-facing window as if that would give Amanda any clue where the man lived. “He shook things up a couple of years ago when he very publicly laid claim to Dale. Quite the scandal in the Rock, although I honestly don’t understand why. Love is love, right? Anyway, the whole town was buzzing with the news at the time, but now, people see them together and don’t blink twice, aside from a few holier-than-thou, judgmental bigots.” A mischievous glint entered her eyes. “Personally, I’d like to see a little more of them together, if you know what I mean.”

She winked and nudged her niece with a bony elbow, eliciting an amused giggle. “Oh my gosh, Aunt Edith, you’re something else.”

“I’m old, but I’m not dead yet, girlie.”

Her amusement gave way to guilt as she gently gripped her aunt’s hand. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

“Oh, poo. Don’t you worry about that. You’re here now, which is all that matters.”

“And now that I am here, what do you need me to do?” She traced a finger over the blue veins visible beneath her aunt’s thin skin. Edith’s hand and wrist felt so small and fragile in hers, as if the bones beneath might break with too much pressure.

Tears of sadness, worry, and guilt burned her eyes, but she forced them back, refusing to let them fall.