Her Colorado Man

“He didn’t die?” John James asked.

“Nope, he raised up on his hind legs and charged forward. So I shot again. Must’ve hit an artery that time, ’cause blood spurted on the snow. That big fella lowered to all fours and took off running. About twenty yards down the hill, he fell over a log and died.”

“What did your dogs do all that time?” Mariah’s oldest brother Dutch asked from the corner, where he stood with a mug of beer.

“They’re taught to stay quiet and wait for commands,” Wes told him. “Protecting sled dogs can mean your life, and that load was my livelihood.”

“What’d you do with the bear?” John James asked.

“Traded his hide for coffee and milk.”

“You skinned ’im?” Paul asked.

“Ewww.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Grandfather has a bearskin in his room. It’s icky.”

“In the Yukon people use bearskins for blankets and rugs and even coverings for doorways,” Wes explained. “The grease from their fat is used for all kinds of things.”

“Let Mr. Burrows get comfortable now.” Henrietta shooed away children and instructed her niece to remove his plate. “Come, Wesley. We’ll sit by the fire. “Hildy will bring you some dessert.”

“I’d better wait on the dessert, ma’am. I’m about to pop as it is.”

“We gotta go see the other dog,” John James reminded him.

Wes glanced at Mariah. “With your mother’s permission.”

She nodded her approval.

Henrietta rolled up a newspaper the women had scraped plates into, and handed it to him. Wes thanked her.

John James patted his leg to get the pup’s attention, and the three of them headed out of doors.

Yuri met them with his tail wagging, but he didn’t jump up or sniff at John James or the food until Wes gave him permission with a clicking sound.

“What did that noise mean?” John James asked.

“I told him he could come close and sniff. He won’t jump on you. It’s important for a work dog to be obedient, and it’s especially important for a dog that’s so strong.”

It was obvious that the furry animal intimidated John James, and Wes understood that dogs of this breed were uncommon outside the far northern territories.

“Where is he gonna sleep?” the boy asked.

“He’s used to being out-of-doors in all kinds of weather,” Wes replied. “This is the fairest night he’s ever seen. He’ll sleep out here.”

“Where is my puppy gonna sleep?”

“He’s used to being outdoors, too. Pack dogs sleep close together to keep each other warm, and they get used to the company.” Yuri had sniffed out the food, so Wes opened the paper on the ground for him. “But honestly, that pup was a good bunkmate on the ship. So it’s up to you to teach him where you want him to sleep.”

“I’m gonna ask Mama if he can sleep with me. Grandfather’s hounds sleep in his rooms with him.”

Wes nodded. “All right.”

John James looked at Yuri’s harness. “Are you gonna tie him up?”

“Safer for him if he’s loose.”

“He won’t run away?”

“He’ll likely discover the woods yonder, but he’ll come back.”

Back inside, the blind woman greeted them and led Wes to the great room where, with a few words, she made seating space, then pointed for Mariah to sit on his other side.

John James settled on the rug with the puppy gnawing on a rubber ball beside him.

“Mama, can my dog sleep with me?”

Mariah observed the way her son stroked the animal’s fur. “We’ll give it a test to see if he does all right. You will have to learn to take him out before bedtime and again first thing in the morning. If there are any messes on your floor, he can’t be your roommate.”

“I promise,” he said with all seriousness and gave Wes a pleased grin.

“Tell us of the women in Alaska,” Henrietta prompted.

“Well, ma’am, the females are mostly from native tribes, the Tlingits, Haidas, and Tsimshians…and near the coasts the Eskimos.”

Little Emma had wedged her way into the gathering of children that had once again formed. “What do the Eskimos wear?”

“Sealskin leggings and coats, rabbit skin boots mostly,” he replied.

“It sounds like a fascinating place,” Henrietta commented.

“And beautiful in its own way. The cities are filled with sightseers,” he told her. “They are the ones who pay the highest prices for food and mail delivery.”

His gaze fell upon Mariah, seated quietly beside him, her slender fingers linked in her lap. She asked no questions, didn’t even appear to be interested in the conversation, though she paid close attention to her son’s animated face as well as those of her family members.

Faye brought Wes a cup of rich black coffee that smelled wonderful and tasted even better.

“Be off now,” Henrietta told the children. “Give our guest air.”

They obediently scrambled away.

He searched the faces of the family members, watched them interact with each other.

The children divided into groups to play games, and the adults picked up their own conversations.

Wes found it hard to imagine that John James and Mariah were related to every person in this room. Mariah had four brothers and two sisters he’d met so far, as well as an army of cousins, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews.

He didn’t know what it felt like to belong to a family. Or what it was like to look into a mother’s face or see a father’s hands and recognize where some part of him originated. What did it feel like to know the love and secure acceptance of people with the same name or the same eyes and a shared history?

He glanced around to make sure no one was listening and asked quietly, “You work at the brewery?”