Her Colorado Man (3 page)

Mariah’s grandmother had been gone nearly a decade, so as the oldest of their daughters, Mariah’s mother supervised meals and holidays. Her blindness had no effect, since the family had carried out the same plans in the same manner for so many years that everyone knew their role. But Henrietta took her position seriously and reigned from her stool just inside the kitchen door.

“Where is the
rotkohl?”
her mother asked. “The dish hasn’t gone to the table yet.”

Mariah used flour sacks to pick up the steaming hot bowl of braised red cabbage. “Right here, Mama.”

She and Faye exchanged an amused glance. Nothing passed without being detected by Henrietta’s exquisite sense of smell.

Faye carried out egg noodles with mushroom sauce and Hildy followed with potato dumplings. The women had been cooking since the day before, and the house had remained filled with the mouthwatering aromas.

Mariah hadn’t had much of an appetite recently, but tonight she was famished. She couldn’t wait for her mother to give the word to begin.

Families grouped together, and the crowd became unusually quiet.

“Good health to the Spanglers!” her mother shouted.

A rousing cheer went up. Mothers helped their children prepare plates first. The youngsters sat at the
long table in the kitchen, and the adults were welcome to prepare plates and eat in either the dining hall or the great room.

Mariah settled John James between Paul and Wilhem’s boy August before going back for a plate for herself.

The line had already grown long, so she waited her turn beside Wilhelm and his wife, Mary Violet.

“How old is your grandfather?” Mary Violet asked.

Mariah and Wilhelm exchanged a glance. “Seventy this year?” Wilhelm asked and Mariah nodded.

At last Mariah filled her plate and took a seat in the great room. The room buzzed with conversation and laughter. One of Grandfather’s dogs belched and flopped down beside his master’s chair, raising a round of amused chuckles.

The door chimes rang, and Mariah distractedly noticed Marc rise and leave the room in the direction of the front hall.

A few moments later, the noise level dropped until the only sounds were forks settling on plates and voices from the dining hall.

Marc appeared in the doorway, a stranger beside him.

The few bites Mariah had eaten turned to stones in her belly. She paused with her fork in the air and stared.

The tall broad-shouldered man beside her cousin wore a brown straight-cut wool jacket over a red flannel vest, double-breasted shirt and black wool trousers. The outsider held a felt hat by the brim until Marc took it, along with his jacket and led the man farther into the room.

“She’s right over there, Mr. Burrows.”

Mariah froze in a moment of pure terror. A sound like rushing water filled her ears.

He was here.

T
he stranger’s skin was deeply tanned except for feathered lines at the corners of his rich brown eyes, making him look as though he’d squinted against the sun for a lifetime. His russet-colored hair had been neatly cropped and was combed in waves against his scalp. One obstinate curl drooped at his temple.

He searched the faces of the people in the room with surprising intensity.

He wouldn’t know her. The man everyone believed was her husband had never before set eyes on her.

Quickly handing her plate to Mary Violet, Mariah stood. She only wore skirts to church and for special occasions, and while a dress always made her feel naked and awkward, she felt even more vulnerable now. She brushed her damp palms against the fabric.

She’d drawn his attention, and he directed his dark gaze to her.

She took a few steps forward, then halted. Under the starchy skirts and petticoats, her knees shook.

He was taller than most of her brothers, but not as burly. He had a smooth, handsome forehead, a nice nose and well-defined lips. God help her, her gaze was drawn directly to a deep divot in the upper one.

Taking a few hesitant steps closer, she noticed the sweep of his dark brows and the shape of his square jaw. Just because his appearance took her breath away was no reason to weaken her resolve. This was the scoundrel who was up to no good.

His gaze never wavered from hers. “Mariah,” he said.

Her first breath didn’t produce anything, and it was a good thing, because she’d been about to blurt,
Mr. Burrows,
in front of her entire family. Instead she corrected her thinking and managed, “Hello, Wesley.”

Louis straightened from his chair and made his way to where she and the unfamiliar guest stood gaping at one another.

“Welcome to Colorado, young Wes.” Grandfather extended a hand. “Welcome to our home. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

The stranger averted his gaze to the gentleman and shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

Grandfather’s mountain hounds sniffed at the stranger’s boots and pant legs. He leaned forward and lowered a hand with his fingers curled under to let them learn his scent. After careful evaluation, one of the dogs licked him, and Wes turned his palm over to scratch its ear.

A few voices picked up conversations behind her, and others greeted Wesley with curious hellos.

The news had traveled as far as the kitchen, and Mariah knew the moment John James appeared in the great room. The expectant silence was deafening. Of course the irritating man had picked this night and this hour, and now her predicament was destined to play out in front of the entire Spangler clan. Mariah’s heart hammered in apprehension.

All of her fears combined into a wave of dread, and she wanted to grab her boy and run with him until they were far away and safe, someplace where nothing could ever hurt him. But she couldn’t. She was doomed to watch this unfold and deal with the consequences.

John James walked forward to stand beside her and curl his slender fingers into hers in the hidden folds of her skirt. He was afraid, too, but he was trying to be brave and not let on.

Wesley Burrows hunkered down until he was level with her child. The look in his obsidian eyes confused her even more. The look was almost relieved, almost desperate, almost…loving.

“John James?” he asked.

John James nodded, looked up at Mariah and then back. “Are you my papa?”

Mariah’s throat grew tight with panicky denial. Denial she couldn’t voice. Dozens of eyes were on them. She’d never fainted in her life, and she wasn’t going to start now.

“I’m Wes Burrows,” the man said. “I have all your letters. Every one. I’ve read them a hundred times.”

“A hundred?”

“Maybe more.”

John James’s face lit with pure elation. “I read the book you sent. Mama helped me with the big words. There was lots of ’em.”

The man glanced up at her with a crooked smile, but she averted her gaze to John James. As soon as they picked up their conversation, she studied him again.

His voice was deep and low, with a smoother accent than she was accustomed to hearing. “You’re taller than I expected,” Wes said.

“So are you.”

The stranger smiled.

“Mama says I grow like a weed.”

Mariah looked away so she wouldn’t meet his eyes again.

“Did you cross the ocean?” John James asked with rapt fascination.

“I did. I had a stateroom aboard the
White Star
and came ashore in Seattle.”

“I studied the ocean in my geography book,” John James said with wide-eyed amazement. “Some ships sink in the water.”

“Tragically, some do,” he agreed.

Mariah had been unaware of her son’s concern about this man’s ship being lost, but putting herself in his place, he’d been without a father his entire life.
When he’d learned his was on the way, he’d likely imagined all manner of heartbreaking possibilities. She’d caused him this worry, but she’d had no choice. No choice in any of it.

John James’s face was lit with discovery and pride. He turned to glance at the nearest family members.

For the first time, Mariah noted that Wilhelm and Arlen, along with her two older brothers, Gerd and Dutch, stood in a protective semicircle behind her and John James. Her gaze touched on each of their faces, noting their solemn expressions of concern. No doubt her body language hadn’t alleviated their instincts.

With deliberate purpose, she relaxed her facial muscles and her shoulders, garnering her gumption for what she knew she must do. “Wesley,” she said in the most cordial tone she could muster.

Immediately he stood, giving her his nerve-racking attention. “Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to include her brothers in their circle. “Meet my brothers, Gerd, Dutch, Arlen and Wilhelm.”

Wes shook hands with the fair-haired men one at a time, each man weighing the measure of the other in those brief grasps.

“I brought you something,” Wes said, turning back to John James.

John James’s eyes lit in anticipation. “What is it?”

“Wait right here.” Wes turned and headed back for the front door, giving Mariah her first notice of the way he favored one leg in an awkward gait. John
James looked up at her. He’d noticed, too. So had everyone else.

Within moments, the man returned, but now all attention was drawn from his limp to the wooly white-and-gray puppy he carried over his forearm.

John James yipped his own bark of excitement and darted forward.

Grandfather’s mountain hounds were every bit as interested as John James, wagging their tails and sniffing the air.

“You brought me a puppy?” John James asked excitedly. “What’s his name? Did he come on the boat with you? What does he eat?”

This time when Wesley knelt to place the dog on the floor, Mariah noticed the way he grimaced, realizing the position caused him pain. “He’s meant to be your dog, so you’ll do the naming,” he replied. “And yes, he and Yuri were good company on the trip. They’ve eaten a lot of fish. And small animals mostly.”

“This isn’t Jack, the pup you drew for me.”

“No, Jack stayed up north to pull sleds. He wouldn’t have been happy here.”

The puppy was good-sized already, with unusual pale blue eyes and an erect head. It had a broad face and triangular ears, a bulky muzzle and a thick coat. Its facial markings looked like a white mask on his gray fur. Mariah had never seen a breed like it before. She knew from the letters that the puppy had been born to one of his sled dogs.

“Who’s Yuri?” John James asked.

“Yuri’s my dog,” Wesley replied. “I sold all my others, but couldn’t bear to part with him.”

“Where is he?”

“Outdoors.”

The young dog and the hounds sniffed each other with tails wagging.

Wes’s charming grin turned up the corner of his lips. “Your pup’s used to being around a pack of sled dogs and the rest of his litter.”

John James reached for the puppy, and it backed away.

“Let him smell you first,” Wes instructed. “Show him the back of your hand.”

The furry dog sniffed John James’s hand, licked it and then stood with his paws on John James’s shirtfront.

The crowd murmured their appreciation and John James turned his face aside to avoid the dog’s lapping tongue. He giggled with delight.

“You must be hungry.” Henrietta had joined them and now stood just behind Mariah’s shoulder.

Mariah turned and offered her mother her forearm. “This is my mother.” Friederick joined them. “And my father.”

Henrietta released Mariah to walk straight to Wesley. She raised her hand to his chest, then his shoulder. “You’re tall.”

Wes stood silent beneath her appraisal.

Henrietta raised both hands and ran them over his dark wavy hair, loosening another curl in the process, and then trailed her fingers over his forehead and nose.
“Isn’t he a handsome one, Mariah?” she asked.

Mariah’s neck warmed and the heat spread to her cheeks. Wes Burrows was definitely a ruggedly handsome man. The last thing she wanted to do was tell him she thought so, but she had to answer her mother. “He’s a handsome one, Mama.”

L
aughter erupted around them.

Henrietta took Wesley’s hand and placed it on her arm. “Come, get a plate and eat. It’s my father’s birthday and we’re celebrating with our traditional dishes. Do you like
schweinswurst?”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever had it, ma’am. But the food sure smells good.”

Mariah stood rooted in place as conversation swelled to normal. Her brothers blended back into the gathering, and her mother led Wesley toward the food tables.

Roth poured a mug full from the barrel and handed it to Wesley, who accepted the beer with a nod of thanks.

John James followed with the puppy at his heels and fed the animal bites of sausage without anyone scolding him.

Mariah’s newly married sister, Annika, took
Mariah’s hand and led her toward the dining hall. “This is an exciting day.”

Mariah nodded.

“John James looks so happy.”

Now Wes was seated at the long table and Henrietta directed Mariah’s youngest sister Sylvia to fill his mug already. A heaping plate of food befitting a logger sat before him, and in between answering questions from others at the table, he seemed to be enjoying it.

Annika urged Mariah toward the empty chair beside him, and reluctantly, she took it.

“Where did you leave your plate?” Annika asked.

Mariah couldn’t remember, so Sylvia brought her new servings and a fresh mug of beer.

Wesley glanced from the mug placed before Mariah to all the others around the table. The Spanglers drank beer with their meal as though it was water. Even the children had brimming mugs. He’d never seen beer served outside a saloon.

The food was pure heaven on his tongue, rich sauces and savory spices. This was a meal cooked by women who knew their craft and employed it seriously. His meals over a typical season consisted of salmon and small game roasted over an open fire. An occasional stay in a town sometimes garnered him a few vegetables and maybe a dried fruit pie that cost an arm and a leg.

“What is this?” he asked, of a particularly tasty serving on his plate and Mariah politely explained the potato dumpling.

She pushed around the food on her plate with her fork. It was plain she was uncomfortable with his presence, and he didn’t really blame her. John James waited until a chair became available across from them and climbed up.

“Would you like some more to eat?” Mariah asked her son.

The boy shook his head and his gaze fixed on Wes.

The way the child looked at him made Wes sit a little straighter, eat his food a little more slowly. Clearly, the boy was completely enamored with having a father of his own.

A tiny arrow of guilt tried to stab his conscience, but Wes used his determination as a defense. He was giving John James the father he had longed for. He knew firsthand what it was like to see other kids with parents and have none. Of course, John James had his mother, a woman with fire in her eyes when she looked at him, though she avoided that most of the time.

She was spittin’ mad.

Wes finished his meal and polished off another mug of beer. It was fine brew indeed, with a dark full flavor like nothing he’d enjoyed before. “I believe this is the best beer I’ve ever had.”

Mariah nodded in her suspicious way, her wide blue gaze not lifting all the way to his. “Spangler Brewery makes the finest lager in the country.”

“The children drink it, too,” he remarked.

Something more flashed in her gaze when she directed it to him that time. Had he made her feel defensive? He hadn’t meant to. “Some outside our culture
find it an outrageous custom,” she replied. “But we don’t know anything different.”

She had lustrous fair hair fastened in a loose knot atop her head, and skin as pale and smooth as the Chinese women who worked the laundries in the gold camps. Each time she looked at him, a rosy-pink hue tinted her complexion.

She was angry. Angry and wary, and he couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t even positive why he needed to make this trip and insert himself as John James’s father, but he’d been pulled.

And after seeing the expression on the boy’s face, after meeting him, he wasn’t sorry. Not a damned bit sorry.

“Can I see Yuri?” the boy asked.

“Sure.” Wes glanced aside at the boy’s mother. “As long as your mama approves, we’ll go outdoors later.”

“How many dogs did you have?”

“Eight fine sled dogs,” he replied. “Plus the occasional pups.”

“Where did they sleep?”

“They camped under the stars with me,” he replied. “Most usually I set up my tent and we all shared it. Keeps the snow from drifting over us during the night.”

“You sleep right out in the snow with no house or nothing?”

“No houses out in the Yukon wilderness between towns and tent camps,” he replied.

Two more children sidled in beside John James to listen. A girl and a smaller boy. “What did you eat?”

“These is my cousins, Emma and Paul,” John James told him. “This here’s my papa.” The pride in his voice tugged at Wes’s heart. “He delivers mail in Alaska.” He turned back to Wes. “What did you eat?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Wes said to the wide-eyed children, then replied to John James’s question. “Sometimes I cut a hole in the ice and caught salmon for our suppers. Ate a lot of dried fish and dried meat during the day. In fair weather I found duck eggs and snared rabbits.”

“Wasn’t you scared of coyotes and mountain lions?” John James asked.

“No mountain lions, but I was always on the lookout for wolves and bears.”

“Did you ever shoot a bear?” Paul asked.

“Yup. One time I had a good shot on an elk. Was looking down the barrel of my rifle when I heard branches snapping behind me. The elk bounded off.” He gestured with a rapid swing of his arm. “I turned around to see a silver-tipped grizzly heading straight for me. That bear must’ve been twice as tall as me. At least he looked it from where I stood.”

“What did you do?” one of the boys asked.

A few more children had joined them and now the adults had turned their attention to his story. One of Mariah’s male cousins leaned against a doorway. Others stood nearby listening as attentively as the youngsters.

“I quick ran behind a tree and kind of circled it to buy some time. The bear followed and swiped at me. I
didn’t know how well I’d do shooting at it up close like that, but I fired. First shot didn’t faze him.”

“He didn’t die?” John James asked.

“Nope, he raised up on his hind legs and charged forward. So I shot again. Must’ve hit an artery that time, ’cause blood spurted on the snow. That big fella lowered to all fours and took off running. About twenty yards down the hill, he fell over a log and died.”

“What did your dogs do all that time?” Mariah’s oldest brother Dutch asked from the corner, where he stood with a mug of beer.

“They’re taught to stay quiet and wait for commands,” Wes told him. “Protecting sled dogs can mean your life, and that load was my livelihood.”

“What’d you do with the bear?” John James asked.

“Traded his hide for coffee and milk.”

“You
skinned
’im?” Paul asked.

“Ewww.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Grandfather has a bearskin in his room. It’s icky.”

“In the Yukon people use bearskins for blankets and rugs and even coverings for doorways,” Wes explained. “The grease from their fat is used for all kinds of things.”

“Let Mr. Burrows get comfortable now.” Henrietta shooed away children and instructed her niece to remove his plate. “Come, Wesley. We’ll sit by the fire. “Hildy will bring you some dessert.”

“I’d better wait on the dessert, ma’am. I’m about to pop as it is.”

“We gotta go see the other dog,” John James reminded him.

Wes glanced at Mariah. “With your mother’s permission.”

She nodded her approval.

Henrietta rolled up a newspaper the women had scraped plates into, and handed it to him. Wes thanked her.

John James patted his leg to get the pup’s attention, and the three of them headed out of doors.

Yuri met them with his tail wagging, but he didn’t jump up or sniff at John James or the food until Wes gave him permission with a clicking sound.

“What did that noise mean?” John James asked.

“I told him he could come close and sniff. He won’t jump on you. It’s important for a work dog to be obedient, and it’s especially important for a dog that’s so strong.”

It was obvious that the furry animal intimidated John James, and Wes understood that dogs of this breed were uncommon outside the far northern territories.

“Where is he gonna sleep?” the boy asked.

“He’s used to being out-of-doors in all kinds of weather,” Wes replied. “This is the fairest night he’s ever seen. He’ll sleep out here.”

“Where is my puppy gonna sleep?”

“He’s used to being outdoors, too. Pack dogs sleep close together to keep each other warm, and they get used to the company.” Yuri had sniffed out the food, so
Wes opened the paper on the ground for him. “But honestly, that pup was a good bunkmate on the ship. So it’s up to you to teach him where you want him to sleep.”

“I’m gonna ask Mama if he can sleep with me. Grandfather’s hounds sleep in his rooms with him.”

Wes nodded. “All right.”

John James looked at Yuri’s harness. “Are you gonna tie him up?”

“Safer for him if he’s loose.”

“He won’t run away?”

“He’ll likely discover the woods yonder, but he’ll come back.”

Back inside, the blind woman greeted them and led Wes to the great room where, with a few words, she made seating space, then pointed for Mariah to sit on his other side.

John James settled on the rug with the puppy gnawing on a rubber ball beside him.

“Mama, can my dog sleep with me?”

Mariah observed the way her son stroked the animal’s fur. “We’ll give it a test to see if he does all right. You will have to learn to take him out before bedtime and again first thing in the morning. If there are any messes on your floor, he can’t be your roommate.”

“I promise,” he said with all seriousness and gave Wes a pleased grin.

“Tell us of the women in Alaska,” Henrietta prompted.

“Well, ma’am, the females are mostly from native
tribes, the Tlingits, Haidas, and Tsimshians…and near the coasts the Eskimos.”

Little Emma had wedged her way into the gathering of children that had once again formed. “What do the Eskimos wear?”

“Sealskin leggings and coats, rabbit skin boots mostly,” he replied.

“It sounds like a fascinating place,” Henrietta commented.

“And beautiful in its own way. The cities are filled with sightseers,” he told her. “They are the ones who pay the highest prices for food and mail delivery.”

His gaze fell upon Mariah, seated quietly beside him, her slender fingers linked in her lap. She asked no questions, didn’t even appear to be interested in the conversation, though she paid close attention to her son’s animated face as well as those of her family members.

Faye brought Wes a cup of rich black coffee that smelled wonderful and tasted even better.

“Be off now,” Henrietta told the children. “Give our guest air.”

They obediently scrambled away.

He searched the faces of the family members, watched them interact with each other.

The children divided into groups to play games, and the adults picked up their own conversations.

Wes found it hard to imagine that John James and Mariah were related to every person in this room. Mariah had four brothers and two sisters he’d met so
far, as well as an army of cousins, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews.

He didn’t know what it felt like to belong to a family. Or what it was like to look into a mother’s face or see a father’s hands and recognize where some part of him originated. What did it feel like to know the love and secure acceptance of people with the same name or the same eyes and a shared history?

He glanced around to make sure no one was listening and asked quietly, “You work at the brewery?”

Seeming startled that he’d addressed her directly, she nodded.

“What do you do?”

She, too, checked to see that no one overheard. “I oversee production and handle promotional events. Right now we’re getting ready for the Exposition that opens in Denver July 17.”

“I’ve heard talk of it. I read in the
New York Times
about the mining companies creating exhibits. Railroads and artists will have displays, too. They’re going to start a two hundred and fifty horsepower Corliss engine on opening day. I read that the Denver hotels are booked already.”

He’d been reading newspapers for the past couple of months, first while recuperating and then aboard the ship. Her surprised expression said she hadn’t expected him to know so much about it.

“Over a year ago, I reserved an entire floor of rooms at a hotel. We’ve constructed a building inside the
grounds where we’ll cook, store lager and have displays of the brewery’s history. An outdoor beer garden will be set up for entertaining.”

“Sounds like an enormous undertaking.”

“We’ll be giving away beer the whole time. We have special bottles and labels. Handling the advance production has been a yearlong project. Some of us will be on site at all times, soliciting contracts. Now that we’re bottling, this is an opportunity to spread our product and our name across the country.”

It was more than she’d said since he’d arrived, and her enthusiasm for her subject was apparent. “Making beer is an unusual occupation for a woman.”

“Not for a Spangler woman,” she replied. “My mother and grandmother worked at the brewery. It’s a
family
business.”

He tilted his head. “I admire that.”

She lifted her bright gaze and searched his face as though seeking his sincerity. She was lovely, this prickly woman, but her blue eyes sparked fire.

Her resentment was understandable. He was butting into her family. And because she had a secret she didn’t want revealed, she wasn’t calling him on his deceit. He wouldn’t let himself feel bad about that. He was giving her son more than he was taking from her.

John James giggled and pulled his pant leg away from the puppy’s nipping teeth, and Mariah turned her attention. Her entire expression softened when she looked at him.