Her Colorado Man. Cheryl St.John

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      Chapter Four

      Laughter 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.

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