Her Colorado Man by Cheryl St.john Page A

husband.”
    “I never said I was, ma’am. You did.”
    “Oh!” She picked up a pillow and threw it at him. He caught it easily. Then she bunched up the coverlet she’d held around her earlier and tossed it toward him. “Sleep on the window seat. Or the floor. I don’t care where. I have to get up early in the morning.”
    “Should we compare stories?” he asked. “So I don’t make any mistakes?”
    She reached for the lamp that sat on a table at the side of the bed. “Be gone from this room by the time I wake in the morning.” She turned down the wick, plunging the room into darkness. “When we’re alone, you stay as far away from me as possible.”
    A satisfying thump like that of his knee or foot hitting wood was followed by a barely audible groan. She climbed into the bed and pulled the sheet up over her head.
    This had been the worst night of her life.
    That hasty thought unleashed a torrent of chilling memories—the night before Hildy’s wedding, a night she tried never to think of. Tonight had been far from the worst night of her life. But it rated right up there.
    She hugged her pillow, curled up in a ball and used every ounce of her grit not to wail like a baby. She had to keep her wits about her and her chin held high. Her troubles had only just begun.
     
    Wes had slept in a lot worse places. A plush rug in a warm room with a snapping fire was no hardship compared to a smelly fishing ship being tossed on thesea or subzero winter nights in a tent. He woke at first light and crept from the house.
    Yuri met him when he exited the back door. If the twigs in his fur were any indication, the dog had been hunting. Wes sat on the step to pet the animal and pick out sticks and leaves. Yuri licked his stubbled chin.
    So maybe he hadn’t thought this move all the way through. He’d considered the part about being a father to a fatherless boy, but he hadn’t thought about being a husband to a woman who wanted no part of him.
    After several minutes, Wes found a pump and basin in an outbuilding behind the house, where he washed and shaved.
    He was just finishing up when Mariah’s cousin Marc entered. He lit the old stove and set a kettle of water on top. “First one out starts a fire,” Marc told him.
    “Guess I forgot about hot water,” Wes answered. “I was tickled there was no ice on top of the barrel. I’ll remember tomorrow.” Yuri, who’d waited outside the wash building, followed him back to the house.
    “Breakfast isn’t formal,” Henrietta said from where she stood cutting and wrapping a mountain of sandwiches. “Food’s set out on the sideboard in the dining room. Bring your dirty plate in here when you’re finished.”
    “Thanks, ma’am.”
    Wes joined the Spanglers vying for a spot in line and prepared himself a plate. Enjoying this many hot meals in a row, meals that he hadn’t searched for firewood to cook, was a treat.
    “What will you do after you ride with me to school?” John James asked. He had saved a chair next to him at the table.
    Wes had figured he could find a job in town, but if he was going to be living here, it seemed he should be working where all the family members worked. “I guess I’ll be looking for a job.”
    John James chuckled. “You don’t hafta look. There’s lot of jobs at the brewery. Right, Mama?”
    Wes glanced up to find Mariah holding a plate and a mug of coffee while she waited for one of the children to finish eating. Her attire drew his attention. She wore a brown pair of men’s trousers that outlined the shape of her hips and thighs and cinched her narrow waist. Immediately the vision of her shapely limbs and ivory skin entered his thoughts. The sight of her nakedness would never stop taunting him.
    “I don’t do the hiring,” she said as though relieved about the fact.
    John James’s cousin left and she slid onto a chair across from her son. She was as fresh and pretty as ever, with her skin glowing and her shiny hair knotted on