Her Colorado Man

by Cheryl St. John

  “And others,” she went on. “It’s…well, it’s a mystery to me. But I want the same thing.”

  “You know how I feel about you, Mariah. And about John James. I never had anyone before. When I look at him and see that it’s normal for him to belong and feel loved and wanted, I choke up because I’m so happy for him. He might not have had a father around, but he has a wonderful mother and a great family. You’ve given him more than a lot of kids will ever know.”

  “It’s the husband part that scares me,” she admitted.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “That I won’t be enough for you and you’ll leave. That I won’t be able to be an adequate wife, and I’ll disappoint you.”

  “I won’t leave,” he promised her.

  “But you lived an exciting life before you came here. All those stories you tell show how adventurous you were.”

  “All those stories show is what an empty life I had. I was always on the go, always traveling, searching for a place to belong, but never fitting in anywhere. Until I came here. Now the only way I’d ever leave is if you told me to go.”

  “I won’t do that.” She gazed up at him, and her blue eyes were soft and questioning. “We’ll be following our hearts, right?”

  “I believe so.”

  She tugged on his tie until it was loose, and then slowly pulled it from his collar. “And our hearts will show us how to do other things, too?”

  “Only if you want them to.”

  “I do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sliding his palm along her soft jaw, he admired her pale hair glistening in the illuminating light that arrowed through the open drapes. He loved everything about this woman, from her fragrant hair and sparkling eyes to her independent streak and her ofttimes sassy attitude. This almost-yielding, but suggestively curious side of Mariah intrigued him all the more.

  If she intended to hold on to her secret about the man she’d been with before, Wes was going to have to accept that. There had to be a strong reason that she refused to tell. Maybe, after she trusted him enough, she would understand she didn’t have to be ashamed.

  She’d never even asked him about his past experiences, but if she did, he would assure her that his past encounters didn’t include feeling about someone the way he felt about her.

  “I want to take off my shoes,” she said, waking him out of his thoughts.

  “Sit and I’ll do it.”

  She perched on the edge of the bed and gripped the post.

  Wes knelt at her feet. Her shoes were more like slippers, tied on with satin bows. He untied and removed them. “They’re so light.”

  “Not much protection against stones,” she answered. “My feet have been sore ever since we’ve been in Denver. I miss my boots.”

  He grinned and rubbed the sole of her foot through the silky white stocking. “Stockings, too?” he asked.

  She reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it upward so she could unhook the stocking from the clasp of her garter.

  Wes took his time rolling the material down the length of her thigh and calf, enjoying the glide of silk against her smooth curves, then tossed it over his shoulder.

  She laughed and unfastened the other stocking. He took even longer with this one, pausing to stroke the inside of her knee with his thumb and listen for the quick intake of her breath. She was incredibly soft and feminine.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Mariah. These assets aren’t hidden under those trousers you wear, in fact those pants show off your features rather nicely. I always enjoy watching you walk away.”

  “I never did that on purpose,” she said quickly, her voice revealing concern.

  “That’s why it’s so…arousing.”

  She raised a hand to her cheek as though it flamed. He reached for that hand and flattened her palm against his own face. She traced the line of his jaw, and his skin tingled.

  He picked up her hem, which was still over her knees. “Who helped you into this dress?”

  “Faye.”

  “I’m glad to help you out of it.”

  She stood, turned her back to him and held her cascading ringlets aside. He rose and worked on the row of buttons, his knuckles brushing her skin, until the back of her dress parted. She shrugged first one shoulder, then the other, and tugged the garment downward.

  Wes held it while she stepped out of the fabric, then he laid the dress over the nearby chair.

  Dressed in a lacy white chemise and short pantaloons, Mariah faced away from him. She reached to take pins from her hair, and he couldn’t resist kissing the back of her neck and the exposed skin of her shoulders. A delicate shudder passed through her body in response. She smelled so good and clean, like freshly ironed linen and faintly of lilacs.

  A soft sound told him she’d dropped her hairpins to the floor. He threaded his fingers into her curls and loosened the tresses until they fell over her shoulder. With one hand, he massaged her scalp, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder, reaching up and back to cup his jaw.

  Wes cradled her softly rounded breasts through the fabric of her undergarment and his entire body throbbed for this woman. Cautioning himself to draw on patience, he stroked her arms, tasted the succulent flesh under her ear and along her neck. He intended to take his time and lead them along this journey slowly. No reason to rush…every reason to prolong her pleasure and his own.

  Shivers zigzagged up Mariah’s arms and shoulders, and her breasts grew tight and heavy. She’d first been surprised at her reaction to Wes’s touch there, but then disappointed that the caress had been so brief.

  She turned in his embrace to face him and leaned into his solid warmth and strength, wanting to press herself impossibly close. His touches felt good—better than good. His lips on her skin sent fiery pearls of delight pulsing through her veins. He was magic, this man who now awakened her to the bliss of knowing a man’s gentle hands and arousing caresses.

  Learning this joy was like waking up after a long winter’s hibernation. To think she might never have known the wonder of these moments…. “Will you kiss me?”

  His mouth came down over hers, searching this time, awakening more senses, setting fire to secret places with the slide of his velvet tongue. He grasped her buttocks and drew her up hard against him. Revealing. Unsatisfying.

  Desire was a disquiet that had her waiting…wanting…wondering what it was she’d missed—wanting something she’d been afraid of for so long. Let it all be just this good. It would be. It had to be. This was Wes.

  He separated them enough to untie the ribbon of her chemise, and she tugged it over her head. He fumbled for the tie at her waist, but she pushed his hands aside and slid her pantalettes and garters over her hips and kicked them away. A ripple of vulnerable panic coursed through her body, and self-consciousness brought everything into acute awareness.

  Experience was difficult to ignore, but so far nothing about this moment frightened her. This was so different from anything she’d known or expected that her senses were still catching up with her body, and she regretted her hesitation. As though Wes understood what she needed, he unbuttoned his shirt, tugged the tails from his waistband and dropped it.

  She extended her arm to touch his chest. His skin was warm and smooth, and she drew her fingertips down through the soft curls.

  He stood motionless under her exploration.

  Mariah took a step closer and smoothed both palms along his ribs. He expelled a breath he’d been holding. In the next moment he turned away, used the jack near the bureau to loosen his boots and, one by one, they hit the floor with resounding thuds. He unfastened his trousers next, dropping his remaining clothing to the floor.

  Mariah’s heart pounded at his approach, but she wasn’t afraid of him. She was eager to know more of this wondrous experience. The backs of her thighs touched the quilt. Wes folded her in his arms and they collapsed together on the bed.

  The sensation of his warm skin against
hers was a delight she hadn’t anticipated. Each place where she was soft and smooth fit perfectly against his hair-roughened strength.

  She didn’t have to ask him to kiss her this time. His kisses were deliberately gentle, almost teasing. She framed his jaw with both hands and initiated a more enthusiastic contact.

  Remembering the feel of his hands, she brought one up to cover her breast. Wes’s lips left hers and he lowered his head to press enticing kisses to the sensitive skin of the peak, lastly taking her nipple into his mouth.

  Her sigh of enjoyment encouraged him to pay equal attention to the other. Mariah saw stars behind her closed eyelids and opened them to assure herself she was awake and this was so very real. “You were right,” she managed to say.

  He raised his head. “About what?”

  “That there were things I didn’t know you could do.”

  “You said you wished this night didn’t have to end, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “I intend to make it last as long as I can,” he promised against her sensitive flesh.

  “There will be more nights,” she assured him.

  He found her hand and kissed her fingers. “It’s good to hear you say that.”

  And then he released her hand to stroke her breast, her belly and thighs. She lifted her hips in anticipation of his next touch, a featherlight assault that stole her breath and brought her focus into a sensual spiral.

  Every fear and hesitation dissipated in this escalating fever of taut need and rippling pleasure. She was an eager participant. A willing partner. She thrust her fingers into his hair and urged him to kiss her again, to keep this keen wonder building.

  He eased his body over hers, and she welcomed him. Mariah could have cried for the sheer beauty of understanding the perfection and wonder of a love shared. But she was too joyful to cry, too caught up in discovery to do more than feel. It was a splendid thing, this sweet and sharp desire, this all-consuming urge to weep and laugh and become his.

  “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you happy,” he told her.

  She framed his face with both hands and looked into his eyes. “I don’t know if I can handle being any happier than this.”

  In the moments that followed, he showed her just how gentle he could be, how ignorant she’d been to think she had anything to fear from him. He first took her hand and opened it against his satiny length, a surprise and a reassurance all the same.

  And without a pause in the kiss she was enjoying so thoroughly, he joined them in a slow, sacred movement of purpose and beauty. She accommodated him with an amazing ease; a shiver of exquisite joy coiled inside her. At this moment nothing mattered except the two of them.

  Like a balm applied to an abrasion, so were his gentle movements. He spoke to her, though his words were muffled against her hair, and his sentences rambled off into husky groans.

  This…this was the once-impossible unattainable knowing she’d desired. This was how husbands loved their wives and how wives learned passion. This was how babies should be created.

  In his arms she discovered truth. Mariah learned many lessons about men and women that night, but the most amazing fact was that she possessed the power to make this strong man tremble.

  A surprising urgency awakened inside her. She forgot to breathe. Wes understood and his silken intent became deliberate.

  Her pleasure spilled over in a succession of labored beats that kept time with gusty sighs and his heart racing against hers.

  “You were right,” she told him. “About everything.”

  Mariah woke to the sun spiking through the drapes and warming the sheets and her skin. Heat radiated along her side where Wes lay with his face buried in her hair.

  Her first thoughts were memories of the night before. Her body still tingled. She disentangled her hair so she could rise. On her way to find her robe behind the screen, she stepped over their scattered clothes. Pulling on the garment, she quietly gathered clean clothing and put on her slippers. Wes slept soundly, the sheet twisted around his leg and over his hip.

  She watched him for a moment, learning the novelty of such an intimacy. She studied the scars on his ankle, another at his knee, and one on his shoulder before admiring the contours of his limbs and his broad back. With a smile, she slipped out into the hall and to the bathing room.

  On her return, she found the bed empty, and their clothing haphazardly folded and stacked on a chair. A quick glance around told her he’d left.

  Mariah stood before the bureau mirror to brush her hair and arrange it in a loose chignon. She put the finishing touches to a pale yellow dress she hadn’t yet worn and added a tiny nosegay of white paper flowers to her hair.

  The key turned in the lock and a moment later Wes came in carrying a tray. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Upon meeting his eyes, she blushed. “Good morning.”

  “I was on the schedule, so I made arrangements with Gerd for us to have the morning free. And John James is going with Roth and your grandfather to look into buying horses.” He set down the tray and gestured to the teapot and plate of fruit. “Eat something while I shave and clean up.”

  She took a step toward him, and he captured her hands and held them between his against his chest and leaned forward to kiss her. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  She shook her head. “No. Are you?”

  “I’m more sure than ever,” he assured her. “I love you. I love everything about you, and I adore making love to you.”

  A warm wash of satisfaction set her even more at ease about their plans. Until last night, the possibility of such beauty had seemed impossible. Now she recognized the bright glimmer of a future. “I love you, Wes.”

  He sealed that declaration with a tender kiss, then grazed her chin with his fingertips. With a grin, he released her, gathered clean clothing and his shaving gear and left the room.

  Forty-five minutes later, they stepped away from a window resembling that of a bank teller, with a signed marriage license. “To any minister of the gospel,” Wes read. “Or any other person legally authorized to solemnize matrimony. You are permitted to solemnize the rites of matrimony between Wesley Taylor Burrows and Mariah J. Fuermann.” He looked up at her. “Why did you only give the man your middle initial?”

  “It’s perfectly legal.”

  “But I don’t know your middle name.”

  “Would it make a difference?”

  “Maybe.”

  She propped a hand on her hip. “Is that so? Well then, you might not marry me if you knew my middle name.”

  “Jane?”

  She started up the curved marble stairs. “The judge’s chambers are supposed to be up here and to the right. Did that fellow say there’s another couple ahead of us?”

  “Juanita.”

  They got to the top, and she led the way, studying the gold script on the wavy glass in each massive door they passed.

  “Jack.”

  She stopped in front of a door labeled with the name Thomas Huff and raised a brow in Wes’s direction. “Who would name their daughter Jack?”

  “I don’t know. Most of the names in your family are German, and I can’t think of a girl’s name that starts with J.”

  “This is it, Wes. We’re about to have our rites of matrimony legally solemnized, and you’re making a big deal out of my name.”

  “How many secrets are you going to keep from me?” he asked.

  She looked up into his dark eyes, and teasing him about her middle name was no longer humorous. She didn’t want to hide anything from him. “Johanna. My middle name is Johanna.”

  He grinned and took her hand. “Are you ready to be my wife?”

  “I am.”

  The next document she held was a marriage certificate. She studied the judge’s script and their signatures, noting the date. Wilhelm and Mary Violet had their marriage certificate framed and hanging in their parlor, but she and Wes would keep theirs
hidden, so no one would see the date. That was all right. Because he was truly her husband, and in her heart it didn’t matter when he had become so.

  Right there in the wide hallway, Wes pulled her up close and kissed her hard. “Let’s go find our son, Mrs. Burrows.”

  Mariah’s eyes stung and she fought back tears. She leaned her forehead against his crisp white shirt until she got her emotions under control. Wes rubbed her back in a comforting caress.

  Voices alerted them to people on the stairs, and they pulled apart, but Wes kept her hand securely in his. Two men and a woman carrying a stack of papers reached the corridor. The woman gave them a warm smile. “Are you newlyweds?”

  At their affirmative replies, she congratulated them, and the bride and groom dashed down the stairs.

  Their building at the Exposition grounds was the central location for keeping track of family members and schedules, so Wes got their buggy and they set out.

  Today artists had easels set up along a stretch of the concourse; several of the paintings had been bedecked with ribbons holding prize medals. “If we have time later, I’d love to see the paintings and sculptures,” Mariah said.

  The sun was high in the sky, a humid wind lifting the flags and edges of the canopies as Wes pulled the buggy around the back of the building under a tall awning. He helped Mariah down, and they strolled hand in hand around to the front.

  Several guests sat in the shade, sipping mugs of beer. Aunt Ina stood in the doorway, her sharp gaze landing on Wes and Mariah. She mopped her forehead with the hem of her apron. “Do you know what happened?”

  “What’s happened?” Mariah asked, and her first panicked thought was that John James or her grandfather had been in an accident. “Is John James all right?”

  “As far as I know he’s fine,” she replied. “But Clara found Hildy on the floor in her room this morning.”

  Hildy! “Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. They called a doctor and he had her taken to the Sisters of Charity Ward, where she could be looked after. Clara’s with her. I saw Hildy when they carried her out, Mariah.” She got tears in her eyes. “She looked bad.”