In wonder and astonishment, Mariah gave herself over to the moment, to the kiss, to this man who puzzled and confused and aroused her. Tight bands of expectancy made her breathing harsh. Her limbs trembled. Wes must have needed to breathe, as well; he eased away only a fraction, enough for their breath to mingle, and then he used his lips to nip at hers, enticing her to return the featherlight kisses, to sigh, to catch her breath.
His warm tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened them in welcome. He tasted like peppermint and a little bit of heaven.
Each new motion of his tongue against hers amplified her amazement and pleasure. She didn’t want the moment or the experience to end. It shifted instead, to something more intense when he dragged the hand against her back around her side and rested it under her breast.
She covered his hand with hers, his so much larger, the skin rougher, a provocative dusting of hair under her palm. The kiss waned to a mere touch of lips and shared breath while her heart beat an unsteady rhythm. She focused on his touch.
“We should go,” he said against her lips.
Realizing she was standing on her toes to strain upward, she relaxed, loosening the intense embrace, experiencing a biting sense of loss.
Without releasing her, he said, “Don’t be sorry, Mariah.”
She thought of how many times she’d fought against this very weakening of her defenses, remembered her fierce resentment for his intrusion. And why?
Because of this. Because this had always been a possibility. An impossibility rather.
Mariah refused to spoil this moment. Though she was still as uncertain as ever, she had this much. More than she’d ever known. And she wasn’t sorry.
He released her to once again tuck her hand in the crook of his arm. This time he smiled down at her, and something in her heart softened. She clung to his arm…and enjoyed the walk back to the hotel.
Since John James would be sharing their room eventually, she had asked for an additional bed. For the time being, Wes didn’t have to sleep on the floor. She didn’t know what they’d do when John James arrived, but she figured she would simply say she wanted him sleeping with her.
That week as they worked together, ate together and slept across the room from one another, they developed a tolerable, if not comfortable, coexistence.
That kiss had changed things. She was more aware of him, more aware of herself and the experiences she’d missed out on. Each time their eyes met, it was there between them: a silent recognition, a yearning and an expectation. Whenever they were alone, they danced around the memory of that moment and the possibility of another encounter—the possibility of more.
With a wealth of retail stores at hand, Mariah shopped, buying herself costumes for the weeks to come. Gerd had been the one to suggest she dress to impress clients, so as not to draw attention to her peculiarity. “I love you, Mariah, and what you wear makes no difference to me at any other time. But you will be wooing businessmen from across the country, and it won’t benefit us for you to look like one of the boys.”
She’d resented his remarks at first, but wisdom had overcome stubbornness, and reluctantly she’d acknowledged his insight as correct.
Three-button kid gloves, “jumbo” dresses and horrible masculine-looking hats seemed to be the rage. Appalled at the volume of draping ruffles, cuffed sleeves and the recurrence of the horrible bustle, she nearly wept when faced with the thought of working in their enclosed building and greeting people in the blistering sun dressed in the like.
“Madam should have come earlier in the season, and we could have ordered and altered appropriate summer attire,” a particularly haughty saleswoman told her.
Mariah managed a demure thank-you and made a beeline for the door.
“I couldn’t help but overhear.” A young woman near the front of the store stopped her. She wore a ruffled skirt, pretty plaited blouse and a narrow-brimmed hat. “I might be able to help you.”
Mariah was prepared to wear her plain skirts and shirtwaists like those she wore now, outdated as they were, but the girl had her interest. The young woman gestured for her to follow, and they stepped out onto the boardwalk.
“My name is Katie Halverson. My sister Rebecca and I have a shop a few blocks from here. More modest, yes, but we’ve been preparing ready-made clothing for months in hopes of attracting customers. We’ve lent our needles to fashion, but not at the expense of comfort or price. You might find something you like. And a little alteration won’t take long at all.”
“I have nothing to lose at this point.” Mariah accompanied her on a pleasant walk to a small storefront in a less affluent district. The sisters turned out to be seamstresses who had thrown their savings together for this shop. They were struggling to get a start.
“Perhaps something like this,” Katie suggested and showed her a rack of polished cotton and tulle dresses. By trimming the garments with lace, velvet and cashmere, the costumes still had an elegant finished look, but weren’t heavy or outrageously priced.
“You have saved me embarrassment and heatstroke,” Mariah told her with relief.
The other girl beamed in delight.
Mariah selected ten day dresses and four evening dresses, as well as undergarments, stockings and two lace necklets. Katie talked her into a parasol and a beaded hair band. “I recommend the milliner’s shop on Martin Avenue,” she told her. “The hats are lightweight and not cumbersome.”
“If you recommend it, I’m sure I’ll find something I like.” Mariah paid her and made arrangements to have most of the dresses delivered after they were altered.
“I’ll bring my sewing basket to your hotel and make sure they fit,” Rebecca told her.
Gratitude for this much-welcome blessing overwhelmed her. Normally she didn’t pay heed to fashion, and these ladies didn’t care a whit about anything except helping her buy what she needed. “I have two sisters, two sisters-in-law, a mother, aunts and a dozen female cousins.” She picked up her paper-wrapped parcels. “And I’m sending them all here during the next couple of weeks.”
The sisters looked at each other and their eyes widened with excitement. “We’ll be ready!” Katie told her.
On opening day, as was his habit in the morning, Wes dressed early and left to wait for her in the hotel dining room. She arrived a little out of breath, having had more feminine details than usual to fuss with.
Wes glanced up from his cup of coffee and newspaper and his eyes widened. He stood as quickly as the chair and his leg allowed. “Mariah!”
She’d been pleased that this dress had needed no adjustments, because it was her favorite of the day dresses and today was special. Katie had assured her the pale green two-piece dress with gold bead trim accentuated her pale hair and drew attention to her blue eyes. She had conceded to the bustle pad, but it was insubstantial, just enough so that the gold-fringed sash tied around her hips with its bow tied at the back making a becoming silhouette.
It had been a long time since she’d gone out of her way to select a becoming dress and fix her hair. It had been a long time since she’d felt pretty and feminine. She’d had to silence the demons that whispered she was asking for more than she could handle by setting aside her inhibitions this way. There was nothing wicked or suggestive about her clothing. She was dressed like any other woman in the city.
She felt silly carrying the lacy parasol, but she didn’t want to wilt under the midday sun.
Wes, too, had dressed for the occasion in a lightweight serge suit, a soft white collar showing above the tailored vest. His hair was still a little too long, and she liked it that way.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, pulling out her chair.
His comment took her aback, and she murmured an embarrassed thank-you. She had to sit forward to accommodate the padding on her rump. Her grandmother used to tell her she was pretty, and her sisters commented on her fair hair and enviable skin, but a man had never paid her such a gratifying compliment.
&nbs
p; “Hopefully I’ll survive two weeks of this. Where is the logic in long sleeves and high necks being appropriate for day wear while low necklines and sleeveless dresses are accepted dress for evening?”
“Logic must have nothing to do with fashion. But I have no doubt you’ll do better than survive.” He grinned. “They had scones and lemon curd on the menu this morning.”
She raised a brow to study him.
“But I ordered us both ham and eggs.” He poured her a cup of coffee.
“Thank God.” She picked up her cup and sipped the strong brew.
“Do you have room for two more?” Roth stood next to their table, and beside him waited Louis.
“When did you get here?” Mariah rose to give her grandfather a warm hug.
Roth held out a chair and Grandfather was seated. “Last night. My grandson wanted to do a little sightseeing.”
Roth chuckled. “The beer is substandard no matter where you go.”
Grandfather agreed with a nod. “The boy is right.”
“I can’t believe you took him to saloons,” Mariah said to her nephew.
Roth shook his head. “Gentlemen’s clubs.”
A waiter hurried over for the newcomers’ orders. Eventually their breakfasts came and they turned their attention to the food.
Once out of doors, the sun promised a blistering day. The commotion of people and band instruments led them to the main street where a long procession formed. Mariah studied the throng. “How are we ever going to find the others in this crowd?”
“Wilhelm came at sunup to situate the wagons and buggies,” Wes replied. “Said he’d be as close to the front of the bank as he could get.”
Sure enough, several of their vehicles, two abreast, were already in the lineup. On four wagons, stamped barrels had been arranged, seating for their brood while the procession traveled to the Exposition grounds. Banners on the backs and sides identified them as Spangler Brewery Company.
Wes and Roth helped Grandfather up to the wagon bed and Roth sat close beside him. He had the crucial responsibility of being Louis’s companion for the coming week.
They weren’t that far behind the Board of Trade officials and distinguished city and state officers who would lead the parade. The Chaffee Light Artillery fired a deafening eighty-nine-gun salute, and the procession began. Having a marvelous time, Grandfather waved his hat as they moved along the street. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight. Crowds lined both sides of the street as well as the road all the way to the open gates of the grounds.
Wes left Mariah with Gerd and Wilhelm to help stable the horses and store the wagons, returning to find her beside Roth and their grandfather, listening to the opening benediction and the governor’s oration.
A state senator ordered the two-hundred-and-fifty-horsepower Corliss engine started and officially declared the event open. Wes took Mariah’s hand and they dodged the deafening enthusiasm of the people to make their way to their building.
Those cooking had been there since early that morning: her Aunt Clara, Mary Violet and a handful of cousins and friends. The interior smelled like a Spangler celebration day. Outside the canopies and tables were draped with festive red banners and linens.
“We haven’t had many visitors this morning,” Wilhelm said.
“Richmond and Danville Railroad and the mining companies are the star attraction in the pavilion,” Gerd replied. “Soon enough people will get hungry.”
“Stretch their legs out of doors,” Wes added.
“And explore the rest of the grounds,” Mariah agreed. “And then word of mouth will spread.”
They looked at each other, grinned and said as one, “Free beer.”
Wes squinted at their neighboring vendor. “Maybe we should have some refreshment before the day gets crazy.” He directed a look at Louis. “Care for a dish of ice cream, sir?”
They’d predicted correctly. Shortly before noon, people trickled from the pavilion seeking food and drink.
Among the people who sauntered by that day, Mariah met ranchers, shopkeepers and railroad executives. Late that afternoon, a tall bearded man finished a bottle of beer and introduced himself as an entrepreneur from Philadelphia. “I haven’t tasted lager like this since I was a young fella.”
Mariah observed as Gerd and her grandfather explained the fermenting techniques that gave their beer its hearty flavor.
The man examined the label. “My partner and I are opening a gaming hall. I’m thinking the clientele we’re seeking would appreciate such a fine lager.”
After further discussion, Gerd motioned to Mariah. “This is my sister, Mrs. Mariah Burrows.” The gentleman gave a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Burrows.”
“Mariah is solely responsible for our presence here this year. She made it happen, so I don’t want her to miss out on meeting our first new client.”
She held the parasol in her left hand to offer him her right. “We’re proud of our product, Mr. Simpson. Generations of pride and know-how are in every bottle that leaves our property.”
“How intriguing to meet a woman who is both beautiful and smart,” he replied.
Wes had a notion to step in and interrupt their conversation, but Louis caught his eye and gave him a reassuring nod. Days like this stretched out in front of them, and Mariah was going to be meeting a lot of men…while dressed in her feminine finery. She was young and beautiful, and this entire event was business. Even if it hadn’t been, he didn’t really have any hold over her.
She wasn’t actually his wife.
The thought put a damper on his day. What was he letting himself in for by caring so much? He led Louis next door for ice cream.
That evening, Wes relaxed under the shade of their canopy while Mariah and her brothers discussed the logic of laying another track for freight cars at the west end of the brewery. Roth had already taken Louis back to the hotel.
Wes had enjoyed a dinner of smoked fish, boiled potatoes and Aunt Clara’s liver cheese. Many of their traditional dishes tasted a lot better if he didn’t ask what was in them.
The women served dinner until after eight o’clock, and then the men washed and stacked dishes and sent the ladies over to Baur’s for desserts and coffee. Those on the last shift would continue to serve free beer and soft pretzels until the grounds closed at eleven.
Wes had washed mugs until his fingertips wrinkled. “I didn’t really know what a huge undertaking this was going to be.”
From her seat across from him, Mary Violet said, “You’ll be exhausted by the time it’s over.” She glanced over at Wilhelm. “So will my husband. He’s a hard worker.”
“There are a lot of hard workers in this family.”
She smoothed the tablecloth. “I’ve never seen Mariah so happy, not since you came, I mean. At first we could all tell it was awkward, and I had my doubts about the two of you. But whatever you’re doing, however you’ve managed to make it up to her, it looks like it’s working.”
The deceit had begun to wear on him. Lying to this many people was a full-time commitment. A lifetime commitment?
He said nothing.
“Have I offended you?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
Straightforward. He’d expect nothing less. There wasn’t an indirect or pretentious Spangler in the lot. He regretted he was the one holding back.
Before eleven, he had a buggy waiting on the concourse. Mariah joined him, and the others climbed into their separate wagons.
Mariah removed her hat and took the pins from her hair. It fell down her back in a golden wave. “I’ve been having visions of that big bathtub for the past two hours.”
The image her words created in his mind sent his pulse racing. He changed the subject. “It was a successful day.”
“Very much so. Mr. Simpson and his partner are going to buy a lot of beer from us over the next five years.”
“Congratulations.” After a few minutes, he asked what had been on his mind
for days. “Have you thought on what we talked about with your grandfather? About moving to our own place, or…or me moving to my own place?”
She glanced aside, as though interested in the buildings they passed. “I haven’t had much time to think.”
“Which choice are you leaning toward?”
“John James would be heartbroken if you moved out. We both know that.”
“But you feel trapped. That’s what you said.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I’ve felt trapped for a long time. I don’t know that any kind of a move would change that.”
How was he supposed to understand a comment like that? Or a woman like her for that matter? He turned his gaze to the horse, plodding forward, and questions rose in his mind. Somehow, and for unknown reasons, she’d kept the identity of John James’s father a secret all this time. She must have been only recently out of school when she’d gotten pregnant. She didn’t associate much with the townspeople now, but she had gone to school with them. He recalled their interaction with the Renlow couple on a previous morning after church. Lucas Renlow was a handsome fellow, and apparently he and Mariah once had a fondness for each other.
She had dismissed Arlen’s teasing, but perhaps there’d been more to that story. If there had been, why hadn’t she married him? Why had Lucas married Delia instead? Wes wondered if he’d ever learn all there was to know.
Or maybe John James’s father had been a drifter, passing through the state, temporarily working at the brewery. There had probably been many men hired on over time.
“Where was John James born?”
She shot her gaze to his face. “Why do you ask?”
“The story is that we met in Chicago, right? What were you doing there? Was I supposedly there when he was born?”
“I went there to attend a school for young women, and I met you. We were married and John James was born. You left and I came home.”
“Did you really live in Chicago?”
“Yes. For a time.”
It was possible she’d met a man there. The thought disturbed him. Anyone taking advantage of a young woman away from home was a cad. “Is it customary for the young women of your family to go away for education?”
Her Colorado Man Page 11