so much. Though she suspected it wouldn’t happen until she could finally leave this place and all its painful memories.
Maybe now that her father had some time to grieve, he wouldn’t mind so much letting her go to Aunt Celeste. Maybe there, she could build a life for herself. A life that didn’t include putting her heart out to be broken on a daily basis.
“I was going to have her stay in my room.” The miner’s voice came from her doorway.
Annabelle jumped at the interruption, then took a breath as she smoothed the covers around Nugget. “I’ve already gotten her settled. Besides, it’s not seemly for her to share your room.”
“She’s my sister. We can share.” He stepped into the room as if he was going to snatch Nugget away.
Annabelle stood. Sister? She hadn’t expected that. What sort of man took on the care of a sister when he barely seemed capable of taking care of himself? Yet again, she realized that this man was different. And she didn’t like it.
Ignoring the desire to know more about his situation, she looked at him with the same detachment she gave everyone else. “You’re a grown man. You deserve your privacy. Besides, just look at her.”
As if to prove her point, Nugget snuggled deeper into the covers, giving a small sigh.
“I haven’t ever seen her look so...”
Clean? Content? This man didn’t seem to know anything about raising a child. But for the first time, she could understand his protectiveness. And she had to give him credit for trying.
Annabelle sighed. There was no escaping the compassion leaking into her heart.
“Nugget’s so peaceful, isn’t she? It’d be a shame to disturb her.” Annabelle gave the miner a smile. “Why don’t I show you to your room? It was my brother Peter’s.”
She swallowed the inevitable lump at the mention of his name. This stranger wouldn’t understand how much she’d lost. Hopefully, they wouldn’t stay long. She refused to get attached to one more person who was just going to leave anyway.
“I’m not putting him out, am I?” The gruff tone to his voice made Annabelle pause. He seemed uncomfortable with the hospitality. Unlike so many of the people she encountered, this miner wasn’t a taker. Her conscience told her she shouldn’t judge, but her heart reminded her that it could no longer afford to be open.
“Peter died seven months ago.” As many times as she stated that fact, it didn’t get any easier to accept.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Words she heard often enough, but the sadness in his voice made Annabelle’s heart constrict. He’d lost someone recently, too.
“It gets easier every day.” A lie, but since that’s what everyone told her, she supposed it must be true for some people. It was the answer she’d learned to give to quiet the well-intentioned words of sympathy that never seemed to do any good.
The miner stepped into her space as she pushed the door open. “Does it?”
His dark eyes searched hers, making her feel exposed, vulnerable. People weren’t supposed to ask those questions. They were supposed to move on and leave her to dwell in her private pain.
She turned her head away. “Of course it does.”
Doing what she did best, Annabelle pressed on, ignoring the tickle at the back of her throat as she surveyed the room she’d barely dared enter since Peter’s death. She’d liked to have said it looked exactly the same, but it didn’t. The lamp that had sat on the table beside his bed was gone. Her father had given it to a needy parishioner. The same with the blanket that had always lay across the foot of the bed. Her grandmother had made it, but that hadn’t stopped her father from giving it to someone in the mining camp. And if she looked in Peter’s closet, it would be empty.
Yes, it was selfish to cling to them; after all, they were only things. If her father knew these thoughts, he would tell her about storing up her treasures in heaven instead of on earth, and that these things would be far more useful to the people here than they were to Peter’s memory.
Those emotions, like everything else, were quickly pushed away. Her father expected her to be a part of his ministry, and that meant making this man feel comfortable in their home.
“Maddie filled the pitcher with some clean water for your use.” Annabelle gestured to the dresser. “If there’s any other need I can attend to, please let me know.”
She turned to leave, but he stopped her. “Wait.”
“Is there something else you need?”
His features were cast in shadows, but she could still see the hard catch in his jaw. “I’m sorry if my question offended you. I didn’t mean to put you out.”
He might as well have taken that pitcher and dumped it on her. Annabelle glanced at the open door. Her father would be up soon, and he would know that she hadn’t been very welcoming. She sighed. She was trying, she really was. But her father was so focused on providing for the miners’ needs that he never seemed to consider hers.
More selfishness. And none of it helped the man in front of her. The man who looked like he was staring down into the depths of her soul. A place no one, not even God, was allowed to look.
“I’m sorry.” Annabelle looked at the floor. Swept clean, of course. If only Maddie had left one stray dust bunny that could swallow her whole.
Annabelle took a deep breath. She’d hurt this man’s feelings, and she hadn’t meant to. But with all the miners, she had to keep her heart locked up. She’d let one slip past her guard. One to whom she’d given her heart. And he’d deemed his search for riches more valuable than their love.
The miner standing in front of her? Now that he’d had a bath, she could tell that his hair truly was the color of soot, and it curled around the top of this collar ever so slightly. His eyes, too, were dark, and the light caught them just enough that she knew he meant business. This wasn’t some miner. Not anymore.
Bad enough that he had to sleep in Peter’s room, worse that by closing herself off to him, she now had to admit the truth.
“I lied. I don’t know if missing someone gets easier. I wake up every day wishing I could hear my brothers or my sister, and especially my mother, walking through the door. But they don’t. And I guess having you here makes it more real that they never will.”
Everyone expressed sympathy over her losses. But what she saw shining in Joseph’s eyes was deeper, more personal. She couldn’t afford to get personal, not again. They were both supposed to say the proper things, like that Annabelle was getting over the loss of her mother and brothers and sister, and that Joseph was sorry to hear about it, and every other pithy comment that everyone said because it was what you were supposed to say.
Because she’d already said all of those deeply personal things to another man, another miner, and despite her offering up everything her heart had, he’d left, chasing after rumors of gold in the Yukon.
Getting personal was no longer an option.
“Annabelle?” Her father’s voice boomed through the room as he pushed open the door. “You’ve made sure
