Her Colorado Man

“Didn’t your grandfather share my letter?”

“You want my son to have a father,” she stated.

“It’s more than that. I don’t know that I can explain it to you.”

“Try.” With her hands on her hips, she pursed her glistening lips and waited, her body held stiff. Her flowery, feminine scent played havoc with his restraint. He knew what was beneath that dressing gown.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. He deserved her suspicion, of course. She didn’t know him. “Can we sit down? I’ve traveled a far piece on foot today.”

Her accusing gaze faltered, and she frowned as though she regretted having to change her opinion of him from an ogre to a human being. “Yes, of course. Take the chair there by the fire.”

With his ankle and calf throbbing, he made his way over to the chair and sat. It took him a couple of minutes to get his boots and socks off.

She appeared to wrestle with herself for a moment, but then darted forward. “Will it help to raise it?” she asked. She dragged a small trunk within reach and placed a needlepoint pillow atop it. “Rest your foot.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Though he didn’t take a shine to showing his weakness, he had no choice but to use both hands to lift his leg and set his foot atop the pillow.

She leaned over to adjust the cushion, and her braid fell against his bare ankle. She straightened, glanced away and then back. “A bear trap?” she asked.

“Can’t see ’em in the snow,” he answered. “That’s the idea, of course, but this one was set along a trail.

“Passed out a couple of times before I got the rusty contraption off. Used my first-aid supplies to clean and bandage it, but I lost a lot of blood. Would’ve died if a band of Haida hadn’t found me. They doctored my leg and took me on to Juneau City ’cause they saw the mail bags.”

“What’s a Haida?”

“A native tribe that mostly hunts whales and fish along the coast, but some travel inland. Lucky for me these did. Anyway, infection traveled up my leg, and I was in a bad way for months.”

Mariah perched on the foot of the bed, then curled her feet up under her wrapper to lean against one of the posts on the footboard as she listened.

“When I came around, the new station man said my box was full and brought me the stack. All letters from your boy,” he said. “Letters addressed to me. I shared a room right there at the station when I was in the city, so that’s where I spent the next few months, laid up and reading letters. Couldn’t figure out why this young fella was writing to me like he knew me, like I was somebody special.”

Mariah’s gaze shifted to the hem of her sleeve and she smoothed a finger over it without speaking.

“It probably doesn’t make much sense to you or to anybody…I’m kind of confused by it myself—but those letters were a connection for me. Something to hang on to. Something to look forward to and see me through another day. I searched old Otto’s room and found the rest, along with several from Louis. Eventually I wrote back to your grandfather.”

Mariah looked up and sighed. “And he told you it wouldn’t hurt if you picked up where Otto left off.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t disagree with him. I never did. I just let him create this whole fantasy and played right along with it because it was convenient.”

Wes heard the concern in her voice. Her next words proved it.

“What are you going to do with this information now?”

He appreciated her freshly scrubbed face, shiny hair and pink lips. She was the prettiest woman he’d laid eyes on in a month of Sundays. “What do you mean, ma’am?”

“We used your name and your mailbox, and it was wrong of us. Have you told anyone?”

“No, of course not. I don’t care that you used my mailbox. Or my name for that matter. As it turned out John James’s letters might have saved my life.” He’d been alone for so long, that those letters had been a life connection for him. “That probably sounds a little dramatic, but it’s not much of an exaggeration.”

“What do you want from him? From me?”

“I don’t want anything, Mariah. I want to give something to him. I want to make a difference.”

She slid her feet to the floor to stand again, and he noted they were slender and bare. Like the rest of her beneath that plain cotton dressing gown.

“What does that mean exactly?” she asked. “How do you plan to make a difference? How is playing out this lie going to do anything except make things worse?”

“How will I make it worse?”

“By disappointing him,” she said hastily and then lowered her voice. “By lying to him.”

“You’re already lying to him. I’m making it real. I’m bringing him the father he wants.”

She pressed her palm to her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment before raising her head to glare at him. “How dare you presume? You are not real. And you are not the father he wants. I don’t even know you!” She caught herself raising her voice again and lowered it to say, “He doesn’t know you.”

“I’m here to fix that.”

She stepped closer. “To what end, Mr. Burrows? How do you plan to step into the imaginary role of his father and not disappoint him? Someday he’s going to learn the truth.”

“How?”

She stared at him.

“How will he learn the truth? According to you, only three of us in the entire world know. Is that a fact?”

“It is.”

“Nobody else?”

“No one.”

“Do you think your grandfather will tell him?”

“Of course not.”

“I haven’t pried into your business, but now that you’ve brought it up, what is the truth? Is his real father going to show up?”

She looked away. “No.”

“Then how will he find out? Do you plan to enlighten him when he’s older?”

The lantern light picked up the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Why are you really here?” she asked. “What do you want from us?”

She blinked and turned her back to him, gripping the bedpost so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

It didn’t matter how much his leg complained, Wes had to get up and go to her. Her feelings were justified. Her fears were real. He stood behind her, close enough to detect the trembling in her body. He reached out to place his hand on her shoulder and reassure her of his intent.