Cheryl St.John - Her Colorado Man

Mr. Spangler,

I do not know if you are going to understand what I am about to do. I do not know if I understand it myself, but I am leaving Juneau City at the end of the week and will be heading to Colorado. It makes no sense, but lately I have been homesick for a place I have never been and I have been missing a boy I have never seen. The yearning I read in John James’s letters is the yearning I have felt my whole life. It is a need to be important to someone. And I aim to be that to the boy if I am able.

I want to make a difference in your great-grandson’s life. By the time you get this, you will not be able to reach me, and you could not have said anything that would have changed my mind anyhow. I am on my way to meet John James. This is something I need to do. I want your great-grandson to have what every boy deserves—a father who cares about him.

Sincerely,

Wesley M. Burrows

Her Colorado Man

Harlequin ®Historical

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“Ms. St.John knows what the readers want and keeps on giving it.”

—Rendezvous

“Ms. St.John holds a spot in my top five list of must-read Harlequin Historical authors. She is an amazingly gifted author.”

—Writers Unlimited

Her Montana Man

“Emotional, realistic westerns are St.John’s forte, and her latest…is a satisfying, rough-and-tender novel brimming with true-to-life characters and an understanding of the era that fulfills western readers’ hankerings.”

—RT Book Reviews

His Secondhand Wife Nominated for a RITA ®Award

“A beautifully crafted and involving story about the transforming power of love, this is recommended reading.”

—RT Book Reviews

Prairie Wife Nominated for an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award

“A very special book, courageously executed by the author and her publisher. Her considerable skill brings the common theme of the romance novel—love conquers all—to the level of genuine catharsis.”

—RT Book Reviews [4 ½ stars]

Rain Shadow #212

Heaven Can Wait #240

Land of Dreams #265

Saint or Sinner #288

Badlands Bride #327

The Mistaken Widow #429

Joe’s Wife #451

The Doctor’s Wife #481

Sweet Annie #548

The Gunslinger’s Bride #577

Christmas Gold #627

“Colorado Wife”

The Tenderfoot Bride #679

Prairie Wife #739

His Secondhand Wife #760

Wed Under Western Skies #799

“Almost a Bride”

The Lawman’s Bride #835

The Preacher’s Daughter #851

A Western Winter Wonderland #867

“Christmas Day Family”

The Magic of Christmas #915

“A Baby Blue Christmas”

Her Montana Man #923

Her Colorado Man #971

Other works include:

Silhouette Special Edition

Nick All Night #1475

* Marry Me…Again #1558

Charlie’s Angels #1630

Million-Dollar Makeover #1688

Montana Mavericks

The Magnificent Seven

The Bounty Hunter

As most writers can attest, this rewarding job often takes a toll on hands, wrists, elbows, necks, shoulders and backs.

I am deeply appreciative of Dr. Steven Shockley, who has adjusted my spine more times than I could say, and who instructs me in methods of exercise to attain optimal wellness. I’m not the only one who has a better quality of life because this dedicated chiropractor is concerned with helping patients achieve natural drug-free healing. Thank you, Dr. Steve, for your genuine compassion and for sharing your gifts and abilities.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Ruby Creek, Colorado

May, 1882

“Watch out!”

Mariah Burrows ducked and ran a good six feet before turning back to look up at the crate teetering atop a stack of similar ones in the cavernous warehouse. Three agile young men scrambled from their positions on ladders and beside wagons to prevent it from falling. Two of them were her nephews, the other a distant cousin.

“Don’t stack these crates over twelve high,” she called. “Better that we take up warehouse space than lose eighty-five dollars or someone’s head. We built this whole building just for storing the lager for the Exposition, so let’s use it.”

Her nephew Roth gave her a mock salute and jumped down from the pile of wooden crates. “Grandpa would’ve had our hides if we’d let that one slip.”

“I’d have told your mother not to serve that apfelstrudel you’re so fond of tonight.”

He laughed and took his cap from his rear pocket to settle it on his head. “You’re a tyrannical boss, Aunt Mariah.”

“Mariah!” A familiar male voice echoed through the high-ceilinged building. “Mariah Burrows!”

“Over here, Wilhelm,” she called. At twenty-two, he was her younger brother by two years. He used her full name at every opportunity. Among the hundred plus employees at the Spangler Brewery, hers was one of the few non-Bavarian or German names, and he lived to tease her about it. “What has you out of the office this morning?” she asked.

“Grandfather wants to see you right away.”

She fished for her pencil in the front pocket of the men’s trousers she wore that were her everyday garb. “I’ll be there as soon as I go over the inventory of last night’s bottling.”

“No, right now. He says it’s urgent.”

She tucked her ledger under her arm and rushed to join him. “Is John James all right?”

“Your son is fine.”

“Grandfather?”

“He’s just anxious to have you in the office for whatever reason.”

Relieved, she turned to wave at Roth. “I’ll be back. Go ahead and start stamping those crates near the conveyor. Seven weeks until opening day in Denver.”

Spangler Brewery spread over an acre located roughly two miles from Ruby Creek. The warehouses were situated with platforms a few scant feet from the railroad tracks, and the production buildings sat close to the cold-water streams that poured from the mountains into the wide creek for which the town was named. Three smoke stacks puffed billowy gray clouds into the bright Colorado sky. The mountains to the northeast were still capped with snow, but fireweed and forget-me-nots bloomed on the hillsides nearer. Mariah breathed in the pungent smell of fermented hops.

“I overheard Mama talking in the kitchen this morning.” Wilhelm’s tone was uncharacteristically solemn.

She glanced up at him as they passed the corner of the four-sided brick clock tower that stood in the center of the open yard.