Her Colorado Man (9 page)

Not like this.

He levered his gaze to hers in the mirror.

“You’ve gained weight,” she said.

He combed his hair. “I’d been down with a fever for weeks before I came to the States. I was probably a little scrawny.”

“Well, you’re not scrawny now.”

After laying down the comb, he turned to face her and dried his shoulders. His chest was covered with a dark sprinkling of soft-looking curly hair that arrowed down into his waistband. He tossed the towel toward the hook beside the bureau where it caught. “I hope you like rainbow trout.”

“What?”

“I haven’t had fish for a while, and mountain trout are my favorite.” He looked at her. “That’s what I ordered. For dinner.”

“Oh. Yes, I like trout just fine. Trout are delicious.”

Their luggage had been piled against a wall, so he rearranged the cases to find what he wanted. Securing his satchel, he carried it to the bed, then opened it and arranged his clothing in the bureau drawers.

All the while Mariah watched him, the play of muscle, his fluid grace of movement. “You’re not limping much anymore.”

“No.” He closed a drawer. “Leg’s a little stiff in the morning and sometimes it aches during the night, but it’s healed real well.” He snapped open a folded shirt and slid his arms into it. He buttoned it with nimble fingers. “You all right?”

Mariah blinked. “Fine. Great. I’m hungry.”

A knock sounded at the door. Wes grinned and went to open it.

The trout was indeed delicious, as was the wild rice and creamed peas. He’d ordered her a pot of tea, as well, and she enjoyed two cups.

“Did you save room for ice cream?”

She’d forgotten all about it. “Do you still want to go out?”

“If you do. You don’t have to change on my account.”

They left their dinner tray in the hall and locked their door. Baur’s Bakery wasn’t difficult to find. Apparently everyone knew about the place, and the confectionary
was a popular gathering place for everyone with a sweet tooth or a hankering for a refreshing dessert.

A few interested gazes turned Mariah’s way. “Maybe I should have put on a skirt.”

“Let ’em look.” He led her to a table out of doors. A young woman served them generous scoops in blue-and-white china dishes. Mariah had chosen chocolate with sprinkled almonds while Wes ate vanilla and crushed peppermint.

“Want a taste?” He pushed his bowl toward her.

It looked tempting, so she dipped her spoon and tasted the cold minty flavors. Then she gestured to hers. “Go ahead.”

Wes took a generous spoonful of her ice cream and his eyes closed as he let it melt on his tongue. He opened his eyes and looked straight at her as though something earth-shattering had just occurred to him.

“What?” she asked.

“Mr. Baur will be our neighbor for the next two—wait—
three
weeks.”

His delight with that childlike realization struck her as wildly funny. She laughed out loud and grabbed her napkin to cover her mouth. Still, more uncharacteristic giggles erupted. She calmed herself to say, “I wonder if he and his family are equally excited about our beer!”

That struck Wes as humorous, and they laughed until noticing people at other tables staring at them.

It had been a good day, and Mariah felt as though
they were on track with the tasks that needed to be accomplished by next week.

“John James will like this place,” she said.

Wes agreed. “I miss him already.”

She studied him for any sign of teasing, but read none. She’d no more than had the thought when he’d voiced it.

“He’s such a clever boy,” Wes continued. “He catches new concepts, and his questions show how quickly his mind works. I don’t know how to explain it, but he thinks beyond the confines of what is. He thinks more broadly. He thinks in possibilities.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she replied, amazed at his perceptiveness. “He asked so many questions about those infernal steam engines in that book you sent. I couldn’t answer half of them.”

“He’ll likely invent something new and amazing one of these days.” His tone could have been mistaken for pride.

Arlen had always been good with John James, but Wes took more than an interest. He behaved as though he had something at stake, like a parent would. Like a real father.

They finished eating and he paid. It was full dark, and traffic was still moving along at a clip. Wes extended a hand to Mariah.

His face was illuminated by the light from the plate-glass window on the business beside them. Her heart hammered as though she’d run five miles in skirts and
petticoats. Instead she stood on a Denver street wearing trousers like a boy, afraid to place her hand in Wesley’s for fear of—
what?

She wasn’t coy or feminine. She’d done nothing to attract his attention or encourage him. She’d gone out of her way, in fact, to discourage him at every angle. And yet she hadn’t. And yet he still treated her like a lady, ordering her tea, buying her ice cream, asking silent permission to hold her hand.

Tears stung her eyes and her heart slowed to an unsteadily painful beat.

Wesley Burrows loved her son. He played with him, told him stories, read to him, helped him learn his numbers and listened to his dreams and ideas as though they were the most fascinating philosophies of the day.

He was a good man. A man who wanted a family.

When she reached to place her hand in his, the sounds of horses and a distant saloon faded. His skin was warm, his hand strong and solid. He smiled as though she’d just offered him the deed to a gold mine.

She smiled back. Perhaps she had.

He turned, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and covering it with his other. They strolled along the brick walkway. She hadn’t paid attention to where they were headed and wondered if he had, but it didn’t really matter.

He paused, and they came to a halt. “Mariah.”

She glanced up, her heart thundering.

Wes glanced over his shoulder, and then walked
backward, tugging her with him into the sheltered alcove of a darkened shop’s doorway. He raised his hand to skim her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and her vision blurred. She almost panicked. But then she recognized his unique scent and the moment cleared. She grounded herself in the place and time and raised her hand to the front of his shirt, where his heart beat strong and rhythmically.

She closed her eyes and visualized him carrying her son to his bed. Pictured him carrying a puppy in the crook of his arm and telling stories to her nieces and nephews. She remembered him as he’d been earlier, bare chested and robust with his dark hair dripping on muscled shoulders.

It definitely wasn’t panic or fear that throbbed in secret places or radiated warmth throughout her body now.

“Yes,” she told him with a hoarse whisper.

T
hough he hadn’t asked for permission, she’d given it all the same.

One strong arm banded across her back, drawing her flat against the long, hard length of him. Her boots grated on the paving stones in that one step. She exhaled an audible gasp.

She waited for a red cloud of alarm to fill her head, but instead a thrill of sensation and expectation tingled along her nerve endings, setting her senses on glorious alert. This wouldn’t be a tentative kiss with her son held protectively between them; this would be deliberate and needful. Oddly enough, she felt unexplainably safe in his arms—a security she couldn’t fathom or explain.

Her palm grew damp against the front of his shirt, so she pressed it flat and smoothed it across the fabric, feeling his muscles tense.

He simply touched the corner of her mouth with his lips. She almost wept with the rightness of the gentle contact. But it was insufficient, and she tilted her head to aid a deeper, more satisfying union, and he groaned.

In wonder and astonishment, Mariah gave herself over to the moment, to the kiss, to this man who puzzled and confused and aroused her. Tight bands of expectancy made her breathing harsh. Her limbs trembled. Wes must have needed to breathe, as well; he eased away only a fraction, enough for their breath to mingle, and then he used his lips to nip at hers, enticing her to return the featherlight kisses, to sigh, to catch her breath.

His warm tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened them in welcome. He tasted like peppermint and a little bit of heaven.

Each new motion of his tongue against hers amplified her amazement and pleasure. She didn’t want the moment or the experience to end. It shifted instead, to something more intense when he dragged the hand against her back around her side and rested it under her breast.

She covered his hand with hers, his so much larger, the skin rougher, a provocative dusting of hair under her palm. The kiss waned to a mere touch of lips and shared breath while her heart beat an unsteady rhythm. She focused on his touch.

“We should go,” he said against her lips.

Realizing she was standing on her toes to strain upward, she relaxed, loosening the intense embrace, experiencing a biting sense of loss.

Without releasing her, he said, “Don’t be sorry, Mariah.”

She thought of how many times she’d fought against this very weakening of her defenses, remembered her fierce resentment for his intrusion. And why?

Because of this. Because this had always been a possibility. An
impossibility
rather.

Mariah refused to spoil this moment. Though she was still as uncertain as ever, she had this much. More than she’d ever known. And she wasn’t sorry.

He released her to once again tuck her hand in the crook of his arm. This time he smiled down at her, and something in her heart softened. She clung to his arm…and enjoyed the walk back to the hotel.

Since John James would be sharing their room eventually, she had asked for an additional bed. For the time being, Wes didn’t have to sleep on the floor. She didn’t know what they’d do when John James arrived, but she figured she would simply say she wanted him sleeping with her.

That week as they worked together, ate together and slept across the room from one another, they developed a tolerable, if not comfortable, coexistence.

That kiss had changed things. She was more aware of him, more aware of herself and the experiences she’d missed out on. Each time their eyes met, it was there between them: a silent recognition, a yearning and an expectation. Whenever they were alone, they danced
around the memory of that moment and the possibility of another encounter—the possibility of more.

With a wealth of retail stores at hand, Mariah shopped, buying herself costumes for the weeks to come. Gerd had been the one to suggest she dress to impress clients, so as not to draw attention to her peculiarity. “I love you, Mariah, and what you wear makes no difference to me at any other time. But you will be wooing businessmen from across the country, and it won’t benefit us for you to look like one of the boys.”

She’d resented his remarks at first, but wisdom had overcome stubbornness, and reluctantly she’d acknowledged his insight as correct.

Three-button kid gloves, “jumbo” dresses and horrible masculine-looking hats seemed to be the rage. Appalled at the volume of draping ruffles, cuffed sleeves and the recurrence of the horrible bustle, she nearly wept when faced with the thought of working in their enclosed building and greeting people in the blistering sun dressed in the like.

“Madam should have come earlier in the season, and we could have ordered and altered appropriate summer attire,” a particularly haughty saleswoman told her.

Mariah managed a demure thank-you and made a beeline for the door.

“I couldn’t help but overhear.” A young woman near the front of the store stopped her. She wore a ruffled skirt, pretty plaited blouse and a narrow-brimmed hat. “I might be able to help you.”

Mariah was prepared to wear her plain skirts and shirtwaists like those she wore now, outdated as they were, but the girl had her interest. The young woman gestured for her to follow, and they stepped out onto the boardwalk.

“My name is Katie Halverson. My sister Rebecca and I have a shop a few blocks from here. More modest, yes, but we’ve been preparing ready-made clothing for months in hopes of attracting customers. We’ve lent our needles to fashion, but not at the expense of comfort or price. You might find something you like. And a little alteration won’t take long at all.”

“I have nothing to lose at this point.” Mariah accompanied her on a pleasant walk to a small storefront in a less affluent district. The sisters turned out to be seamstresses who had thrown their savings together for this shop. They were struggling to get a start.

“Perhaps something like this,” Katie suggested and showed her a rack of polished cotton and tulle dresses. By trimming the garments with lace, velvet and cashmere, the costumes still had an elegant finished look, but weren’t heavy or outrageously priced.

“You have saved me embarrassment and heatstroke,” Mariah told her with relief.

The other girl beamed in delight.

Mariah selected ten day dresses and four evening dresses, as well as undergarments, stockings and two lace necklets. Katie talked her into a parasol and a beaded hair band. “I recommend the milliner’s shop on
Martin Avenue,” she told her. “The hats are lightweight and not cumbersome.”

“If you recommend it, I’m sure I’ll find something I like.” Mariah paid her and made arrangements to have most of the dresses delivered after they were altered.

“I’ll bring my sewing basket to your hotel and make sure they fit,” Rebecca told her.

Gratitude for this much-welcome blessing overwhelmed her. Normally she didn’t pay heed to fashion, and these ladies didn’t care a whit about anything except helping her buy what she needed. “I have two sisters, two sisters-in-law, a mother, aunts and a dozen female cousins.” She picked up her paper-wrapped parcels. “And I’m sending them all here during the next couple of weeks.”

The sisters looked at each other and their eyes widened with excitement. “We’ll be ready!” Katie told her.

On opening day, as was his habit in the morning, Wes dressed early and left to wait for her in the hotel dining room. She arrived a little out of breath, having had more feminine details than usual to fuss with.

Wes glanced up from his cup of coffee and newspaper and his eyes widened. He stood as quickly as the chair and his leg allowed. “Mariah!”

She’d been pleased that this dress had needed no adjustments, because it was her favorite of the day dresses and today was special. Katie had assured her the pale green two-piece dress with gold bead trim accentuated
her pale hair and drew attention to her blue eyes. She had conceded to the bustle pad, but it was insubstantial, just enough so that the gold-fringed sash tied around her hips with its bow tied at the back making a becoming silhouette.

It had been a long time since she’d gone out of her way to select a becoming dress and fix her hair. It had been a long time since she’d felt pretty and feminine. She’d had to silence the demons that whispered she was asking for more than she could handle by setting aside her inhibitions this way. There was nothing wicked or suggestive about her clothing. She was dressed like any other woman in the city.

She felt silly carrying the lacy parasol, but she didn’t want to wilt under the midday sun.

Wes, too, had dressed for the occasion in a lightweight serge suit, a soft white collar showing above the tailored vest. His hair was still a little too long, and she liked it that way.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, pulling out her chair.

His comment took her aback, and she murmured an embarrassed thank-you. She had to sit forward to accommodate the padding on her rump. Her grandmother used to tell her she was pretty, and her sisters commented on her fair hair and enviable skin, but a man had never paid her such a gratifying compliment.

“Hopefully I’ll survive two weeks of this. Where is the logic in long sleeves and high necks being appropriate for day wear while low necklines and sleeveless dresses are accepted dress for evening?”

“Logic must have nothing to do with fashion. But I have no doubt you’ll do better than survive.” He grinned. “They had scones and lemon curd on the menu this morning.”

She raised a brow to study him.

“But I ordered us both ham and eggs.” He poured her a cup of coffee.

“Thank God.” She picked up her cup and sipped the strong brew.

“Do you have room for two more?” Roth stood next to their table, and beside him waited Louis.

“When did you get here?” Mariah rose to give her grandfather a warm hug.

Roth held out a chair and Grandfather was seated. “Last night. My grandson wanted to do a little sightseeing.”

Roth chuckled. “The beer is substandard no matter where you go.”

Grandfather agreed with a nod. “The boy is right.”

“I can’t believe you took him to saloons,” Mariah said to her nephew.

Roth shook his head. “Gentlemen’s clubs.”

A waiter hurried over for the newcomers’ orders. Eventually their breakfasts came and they turned their attention to the food.

Once out of doors, the sun promised a blistering day. The commotion of people and band instruments led them to the main street where a long procession formed. Mariah studied the throng. “How are we ever going to find the others in this crowd?”

“Wilhelm came at sunup to situate the wagons and buggies,” Wes replied. “Said he’d be as close to the front of the bank as he could get.”

Sure enough, several of their vehicles, two abreast, were already in the lineup. On four wagons, stamped barrels had been arranged, seating for their brood while the procession traveled to the Exposition grounds. Banners on the backs and sides identified them as Spangler Brewery Company.

Wes and Roth helped Grandfather up to the wagon bed and Roth sat close beside him. He had the crucial responsibility of being Louis’s companion for the coming week.

They weren’t that far behind the Board of Trade officials and distinguished city and state officers who would lead the parade. The Chaffee Light Artillery fired a deafening eighty-nine-gun salute, and the procession began. Having a marvelous time, Grandfather waved his hat as they moved along the street. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight. Crowds lined both sides of the street as well as the road all the way to the open gates of the grounds.

Wes left Mariah with Gerd and Wilhelm to help stable the horses and store the wagons, returning to find her beside Roth and their grandfather, listening to the opening benediction and the governor’s oration.

A state senator ordered the two-hundred-and-fifty-horsepower Corliss engine started and officially declared the event open. Wes took Mariah’s hand and they
dodged the deafening enthusiasm of the people to make their way to their building.

Those cooking had been there since early that morning: her Aunt Clara, Mary Violet and a handful of cousins and friends. The interior smelled like a Spangler celebration day. Outside the canopies and tables were draped with festive red banners and linens.

“We haven’t had many visitors this morning,” Wilhelm said.

“Richmond and Danville Railroad and the mining companies are the star attraction in the pavilion,” Gerd replied. “Soon enough people will get hungry.”

“Stretch their legs out of doors,” Wes added.

“And explore the rest of the grounds,” Mariah agreed. “And then word of mouth will spread.”

They looked at each other, grinned and said as one, “Free beer.”

Wes squinted at their neighboring vendor. “Maybe we should have some refreshment before the day gets crazy.” He directed a look at Louis. “Care for a dish of ice cream, sir?”

They’d predicted correctly. Shortly before noon, people trickled from the pavilion seeking food and drink.

Among the people who sauntered by that day, Mariah met ranchers, shopkeepers and railroad executives. Late that afternoon, a tall bearded man finished a bottle of beer and introduced himself as an entrepreneur from Philadelphia. “I haven’t tasted lager like this since I was a young fella.”

Mariah observed as Gerd and her grandfather explained the fermenting techniques that gave their beer its hearty flavor.

The man examined the label. “My partner and I are opening a gaming hall. I’m thinking the clientele we’re seeking would appreciate such a fine lager.”

After further discussion, Gerd motioned to Mariah. “This is my sister, Mrs. Mariah Burrows.” The gentleman gave a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Burrows.”

“Mariah is solely responsible for our presence here this year. She made it happen, so I don’t want her to miss out on meeting our first new client.”

She held the parasol in her left hand to offer him her right. “We’re proud of our product, Mr. Simpson. Generations of pride and know-how are in every bottle that leaves our property.”

“How intriguing to meet a woman who is both beautiful and smart,” he replied.