Cheryl St.John - Her Colorado Man

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.

The 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.”