Her Colorado Man (8 page)

A
t his ungentlemanly revelation, heat climbed Mariah’s neck to scald her cheeks. A quick glance at her grandfather showed mild amusement, and that angered her all the more.

Bold as could be, Wes looked her in the eye. “Kissing me scared the wits out of you. I’m guessing that’s because you liked it.”

Just when she thought he couldn’t get any bolder, he pulled something like this. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and you don’t know me. That was a mistake. This—” she gestured wildly as though groping for a word to describe her hellish predicament “—
arrangement
is not working.”

He acquiesced with a curt nod. “I have to admit I’m not all that keen on sleeping on the floor for the rest of my life.”

Again Mariah looked at Louis, now listening with
fascination. Her grandfather composed his expression. “Surely there’s a solution here.”

She didn’t have much hope for that, but she had nothing more to lose. She rested her hands flat on the table and leaned toward him. “I’m listening.”

“Well.” Louis tapped his fingers on the wooden surface. “What if the two of you took your own house? One of the nice ones near town—or build your own right here by the others. You could keep up the appearance, yet have separate rooms.”

Wes rubbed his palms together thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind building a house.”

He glanced at Mariah.

She shot her gaze to Louis. What kind of plan was that? Was he trying to force them together now? “I’ve lived here my entire life. So has John James. I’ve never had any desire to live on my own. I’m…secure here with my family.”

“All right.” Wes was silent for a moment. “We could tell your family that it’s not working out for us. I could get a place of my own.”

Mariah let her imagination run with the idea of Wes living separately, still being a father to John James. It could work—would probably work. Everyone believed he’d left her on her own for years. It would take a saint to forgive a man for that and welcome him back as her husband. “I’ll think about it.”

John James would be sorely disappointed.

“So there’s something to think about.” Louis scooted
his chair back. “If you’re in pain or tired, you stay home and rest tomorrow.”

“I’ll see how I feel in the morning,” she replied.

“Good night then. To both of you.”

Her grandfather stood and left the kitchen.

Mariah picked up the two empty cups. “Why did you do that in front of him?” she whispered.

“I don’t have anything to hide.”

His implication needled her. “You’re saying I do?”

“We both know you do.”

Ignoring his comment, she stood and moved away.

“What did you want to talk to me about this morning?” Wes asked. “Before the accident.”

She stacked the empty cups by the sink. She wasn’t in a mood to talk to him about this now, but this marginally safer subject had to be discussed. “Grandfather wants you to accompany me to Denver. It’s not my idea, mind you. A lot of the family is going. Some will come back home while others attend, but I’ll be there the entire time.”

“Why does he want me to go?”

“He feels I’ll be safer if you’re with me.”

Wes didn’t say anything right away, so she looked at him.

His eyes showed puzzlement, but a bigger dose of pleasure. “He trusts me to protect you?”

“Apparently.” And if today was any proof, the old man’s instincts were right. The frustrating fact was that
she
trusted him with John James’s welfare. That’s why she wanted him with her in Denver.

The puppy tugged on the corner of a rug that had been tossed over the woodbin, and scattered bits of bark on the floor. Wes got up and shooed him away, then knelt to scoop up the mess. “What about you?”

She wondered if she had more to fear from herself than any harm Wes might do her. “Not all of the men can leave the brewery at once. I want John James with me part of the time. I’ll feel safer if you’re there to help keep track of him. I’ll be busy, but I can’t bear not to see him for weeks. Faye will bring him when she and her children come.”

Wes tossed the shards of wood into the stove and closed the door. “I’ll be happy to watch over him. And help you.” He came back to the table. “What all does the Exposition involve, anyway?”

“Nearly every state and territory in the Union is participating,” she answered. “Nine or ten years ago a huge building was constructed for a main pavilion, and the grounds cover nearly a mile. This year there will be exhibits by artists and mining companies and railroads, and Wells Fargo is even sponsoring a theater.”

“Can’t even picture it,” he said.

“Many of the states hold their own industrial Expositions,” she told him. “But it’s exciting to put them all together for an event like this.”

“I’m looking forward to it now.”

Things couldn’t get any worse. Her life had changed tracks so suddenly that she didn’t know where she was headed anymore. She was on a speeding train with no
stops, no destination, no purpose. Mariah calmed herself with a deep breath. She had a purpose and that was to protect her son. And herself.

She’d vowed that she would figure out what Wes was up to, but for the life of her she couldn’t see how he was benefiting from being here, other than what he claimed: having a family, showing John James that a father cared about him.

If he was lying and had an ulterior motive, what was it? If he conned her into falling for him and marrying him, he didn’t necessarily gain anything. There was no way he could make any headway moving in on Grandfather’s position. Her father and brothers held all the authority.

The final—and maybe worst—possibility was that he was exactly who he claimed and had been drawn to John James with a true desire to be a father.

She didn’t want to accept that option because, being honest with herself, it was the one that frightened her the most. If his motivation was exactly as he claimed, it didn’t excuse him from being presumptuous or rash, or probably even a little idealistic, but it made him caring and real.

She couldn’t handle him if he was genuine. She couldn’t hate him. Couldn’t resist him. Couldn’t fight him. Couldn’t breathe.

She might be the only one lying.

Mariah’s chest tightened so quickly, she slapped her hand flat against it to force air back into her lungs.

“Are you all right?” Wes stepped in close with outstretched hands as though to catch her if she fell.

“Please don’t touch me,” she managed.

“What is it? Your head?”

She nodded. “I’m going to lie down.”

Wes set his mug beside the two coffee cups on the sideboard, banked the ashes in the stove and turned out the flames on the gaslights. He followed closely as she climbed the back stairs.

Mariah was deeply anxious about something, and he didn’t take her fears lightly. Part of her jumpiness was his presence, understandable, but not all. Not even most.

There was something else eating at her. Something that kept her in reserve and overly cautious. Maybe John James wasn’t the only one who needed him. Maybe as much as she hated to think about it and refused to entertain the idea—maybe she needed him, too.

T
he next weeks passed quickly. There was much to do in preparation for the Exhibition, and the family worked to finish the tasks. One entire Saturday was spent labeling the remaining bottles. The brewery wasn’t operating at full capacity that day, so the children came along and joined in.

A suggestion passed from person to person, and every family agreed to attend church the following morning. When every last one of them showed up, the benches were full to bursting. Toward the end, Reverend Thomas said a prayer for the success and safety of those participating in the Exposition, and the service ended.

Delia Renlow stopped Mariah and Wes as they descended the wooden steps into the bright sunlight. “Mariah! It was quite something seeing your whole family in church this morning.” From beneath the brim of a hat festooned with silk daisies, she smiled and
turned her gaze to the man beside Mariah. “And this must be your husband. Oh, do introduce us.”

Lucas Renlow came up beside his wife, still carrying his hat. Mariah gave him a brief smile. The summer after she’d finished school in Ruby Creek, she and Lucas had attended a few socials and once shared a picnic by the creek. By fall she’d told him she no longer wanted to see him. The next spring he’d married Delia.

“Delia, Lucas, this is my husband, Wesley Burrows. Wes, these are friends I went to school with, Delia and Lucas Renlow.”

The men shook hands.

“I must tell you the town was all abuzz with news of your arrival,” Delia told him. “Some of us were beginning to doubt there was a Mr. Burrows.” She said it with a smile and lighthearted inflection, but Mariah guessed she’d been the one speculating. Delia loved gossip.

“I am very real, Mrs. Renlow,” Wes assured her.

“I can certainly see that.”

“Welcome to Ruby Creek,” Lucas told him, then caught his wife’s arm and led her away.

Arlen had come to stand beside Wes. Once the couple was out of earshot, he said, “Delia’s always been jealous of Mariah because she and Lucas were sweet on each other once.”

Mariah swatted her brother’s arm. “You’re still a pesky little brother, do you know that?”

Wes studied Mariah’s face for her reaction.

She caught his look. “Grammar school,” she told
him with a shake of her head to negate any seriousness. “Let’s get home to dinner.”

Sunday dinner was a noisy affair, much like the night Wes had arrived. Now as he stood behind Roth, he teased the young fellow about leaving some
apfelstrudel
for him.

“My mama made this batch from the best apples in the orchard,” Roth told him. “I helped pick ’em, so I get the biggest share.”

Wes turned and sought Betz Fuermann’s smiling face and raised his empty plate. “I’ll pick apples any day you give the word.”

“This season’s aren’t ready yet,” Betz replied. “But come fall, you’ll be on a ladder in our orchard.”

“Do I get a bigger share now? Because my word is good.”

Roth turned and plopped a scoop of the strudel on Wes’s plate. “There! Now stop cryin’.”

Wes grinned and slid a slice of cake onto the plate beside the first dessert. “I’ve never eaten so well in my life.”

Mariah stood near the dining room doorway, observing…watching how Wes had embedded himself into her family, into all of their lives so easily. So effortlessly. They were good people. Trusting. Loving, good-hearted and kind.

For the most part.

Annika and Robert stood not far behind Wes, Robert’s hands at her waist as they waited in line. Her
sister smiled at something her husband said in her ear and turned and looked up at him. The adoration in her eyes sent a velvet shaft of longing into Mariah’s heart. Robert touched the tip of his wife’s nose in a playful gesture. Right in the midst of this teeming swell of conversation and organized chaos, they were on their own island. Content. At peace.

Mariah envied them so much her eyes watered. She blinked and let her gaze move along. Not far behind them stood Hildy. She didn’t join a conversation, didn’t smile. Once she gained her turn at the dessert table, she prepared two plates and carried them away.

Mariah moved to the other doorway to watch her offer one of the dishes to Philo where he sat in a gathering of men, including Grandfather, Dutch and Gerd. When he took the plate she handed him, Philo looked at his wife, but she didn’t meet his eyes. He pointed to the chair beside him, and she took a seat.

Mariah never entertained the feelings that threatened to ricochet in her gut when she observed them together. Those were walls that needed to stay in place. After a few minutes, she stepped into the room and called to her cousin. “Hildy. Will you help me for a few minutes?”

Hildy glanced at Philo. He met Mariah’s gaze almost defiantly, but then nodded and turned back to the men’s conversation. Hildy got up and joined Mariah. “What is it?”

“Nothing important. I thought we could slip out for a few minutes and talk about the next couple of weeks.”

It was cooler out of doors, where the summer breeze lifted wisps of their hair. Yuri and Felix got up from a nap on the back porch to sniff at their skirt hems. Felix swatted at Yuri, and the bigger dog gently nipped the pup. They took off across the yard, romping in the sunlight. Mariah couldn’t contain a laugh at their playful antics.

She turned to Hildy, but the other girl’s expression held no amusement. A hank of her dark hair hung over the corner of her eye, and Mariah reached to smooth it back.

Hildy flinched.

Their eyes met.

Mariah held the tress between her first and second fingers, revealing a bruise as discolored as the one she’d had a few weeks ago. It was plain that Hildy had tried to cover it with rice powder. “What happened to you?”

Her cousin took a step back and readjusted her hair to the way it had been. “It was silly actually. A stack of jars toppled in the fruit cellar. One of them hit me squarely.”

“Believe me, I know how much that must hurt.”

“It’s not that bad, really. I wasn’t being careful.”

Mariah didn’t like the feeling that Hildy wasn’t being truthful. Hildy’s question when she’d seen Mariah’s face after the accident had raised a nagging thought. None of the women in the Spangler family adhered to trend by corseting themselves or avoiding food. But Hildy was thinner than even fashion called for. If Mariah allowed her suspicions to form, she’d be forced to question whether or not Philo had done this to her.
But if she didn’t ask, she’d never forgive herself. “Are you telling the truth? This was an accident?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Your husband didn’t have anything to do with it?”

Hildy’s already pale complexion blanched. She grabbed Mariah’s hand and squeezed it hard. “No. It was my own clumsiness. Don’t suggest such a thing again.”

“I’m just concerned for you.”

“Please don’t say that to anyone else.”

If anything, Hildy’s swift denial had fueled her suspicions, but Mariah wanted to believe her. Mariah
had
to believe her. She couldn’t face anything different. “All right, I won’t.”

“You’re heading out early tomorrow?”

“Yes. A dozen or so of us will be there a week ahead of opening day. I’m grateful that you and Mama and Sylvie will be watching over John James until you follow us. I’ll miss him terribly.”

“Of course you will. But he’ll be fine here with us. I love him like he’s my own, you know.”

“I know you do.” Hildy’s attachment to John James had never been a secret. After losing two infants of her own, she had lavished John James, Emma and Paul with her affection. Caring for the children had helped her cope. No one begrudged her that bond.

Hildy’s gaze lifted to Mariah’s. “Your husband is kind to him, isn’t he?”

Mariah couldn’t disagree. “Yes.”

“And to you? Does he treat you well?”

He would if I’d let him.
Another undeniable fact. “Yes. He’s respectful and kind.”

“You are fortunate that he returned, Mariah. It’s curious, the relationship you have. You seemed content all those years without him, but now, when I look at you…when I watch you…Well, I don’t know, but I envy your ability to forgive.”

Hildy watched her with Wes the way Mariah looked at the others? And what had she seen between them? Mariah turned away as though to study the mountains in the distance, but she wasn’t seeing forested hillsides. Her capacity to absolve had nothing to do with this. Her refusal to be taken in by a stranger was wisdom at work, not forgiveness.

A realization came to her on the warm currents of honeysuckle-scented air. During the weeks that had passed so quickly, her anger had dissolved. When she thought about Wes, when she sat across the table from him, watched him kiss John James’s head and tuck him into bed, she was no longer angry.

That crucial part of her armor had been misplaced somewhere between stories of treks through the frozen wilderness and nights of listening to his even breathing across the darkened room.

With that barrier down, her remaining emotions were left painfully sensitive and defenseless.

Wesley Burrows’s presence had cut a chink in her armor, and Mariah didn’t know if she’d be able to repair it quickly enough to save herself.

The Spanglers were among the first to arrive in force to work in their building and create their displays. Of course the railroads and mining companies took over the handsome pavilion made of solid masonry and iron that covered four acres. Puffing steam engines pulled in railcars and workers unloaded their riches at all hours of the day and night.

What was by all purposes a little town of western character had sprung up around the main building. The Spanglers had been fortunate to secure a location along the main concourse. Beside them a plump German man had opened a bakery and confectionary. According to information in the guide, he owned a store ten minutes away in the city.

How fortunate that his offerings of ice cream, candies, cakes and other creamy, sugary treats would complement the Spangler’s lager and old country dishes. Visitors could eat, drink and have dessert, all in the outdoor courtyard, where they’d be shaded from the July sun by colorful canvas tarps.

On the other side, according to their map, a tribe of Navajo and their agent would be displaying blankets and weaving implements.

Wes studied the map. “We’re the only brewery.”

Mariah grinned. “Yup.”

He squinted up at the vivid sky. “Mid-July and throngs of hot, thirsty visitors.”

“Now you know what all the fuss has been about.”
She gestured to Mr. Baur, painting the sign for his bakery. “And ice cream right next door.”

Wes chuckled. “I’m wishing he was set up now.”

“We can always visit his shop in town this evening.”

“I like your ideas, ma’am.” He winked at her.

A soft flutter, like the beating of butterfly wings, tickled her stomach. “Let’s go make sure the ice machines are working before it gets any hotter today.”

By the time the sun edged toward the horizon, they were exhausted, their clothing soaked with perspiration. Arlen and Wilhelm, who hadn’t started to work until noon, convinced Mariah to go eat and rest. “We’ve got it,” Wilhelm told her. “And then Roth and Uncle Gerd will be here for the overnight shift.”

Now that their machinery and products were on the premises, and even though there was a fence and a military guard at the entrance, someone would be present in their building at all times.

Wes picked up Mariah’s leather case. “See you tomorrow.”

It was a stroll to the livery, but Mariah declined his offer to wait while he fetched a buggy and accompanied him.

As night descended on the mountains and the temperature dropped, the ride to the center of town was peaceful. The sky was awash with striations of oranges and purples and there was very little traffic on the streets.

Wes halted in front of the hotel. By the time he came around to her side, Mariah had already stepped to the ground. “Go on up. I’ll take the buggy to the livery.”

She thanked him. On her way through the lobby, she stopped at the desk to request hot water. The fourth and fifth floors of the Centennial Hotel had been reserved for their family, but there still hadn’t been an extra room available. Family members would have noticed if she and Wes had slept separately anyway. They’d made do this far; they could handle these few weeks.

The bath chamber was blessedly empty. Even though there were three tubs with partitions dividing them, Mariah was glad for the solitude. She undressed and soaked in the steaming water. By the time she’d finished and pulled her wrapper around her, Wes had returned. They passed in the hallway. His appreciative gaze took in her robe and bare feet. “I ordered dinner sent up,” he said. “Or we can go to the dining room if you’d rather.”

“That’s fine. I don’t want to get dressed.” She heard her words too late. “Dressed up, I meant.”

He chuckled. “I knew what you meant.”

Hurrying on, she donned clean trousers and a shirt. She took time to brush out her hair and braid it.

Several minutes later, a knock sounded at the door, and she opened it. Wes entered, a towel slung around his neck. His chest and shoulders were bare, and glistening drips fell from his dark hair across his skin.

Mariah backed away, but her attention remained on him. The day he’d brought her ice wrapped in his shirt, she’d noticed he was all wiry, ropy muscle, expected from someone who had lived a harsh life in the wilder
ness and traveled hundreds of miles with only dogs and his wits.

But five weeks of enjoying Mama and Aunt Ina’s cooking three times a day had filled him out. His arms and shoulders were solid, the contours breathtakingly defined. He raised his arm to towel-dry his hair, and she was transfixed.

He turned away to pick up his comb and bent his knees so he could see himself in the mirror on the bureau. His back was as lean and sculpted as the rest of him.

She’d noticed him without his shirt before, of course, on those occasional mornings when John James pounded on the door—he’d been strictly forbidden not to enter without permission, and Wes quickly rolled up his palette and opened the door. But she’d never really
looked.