Her Colorado Man. Cheryl St.John

most of the time.

      She was spittin’ mad.

      Wes finished his meal and polished off another mug of beer. It was fine brew indeed, with a dark full flavor like nothing he’d enjoyed before. “I believe this is the best beer I’ve ever had.”

      Mariah nodded in her suspicious way, her wide blue gaze not lifting all the way to his. “Spangler Brewery makes the finest lager in the country.”

      “The children drink it, too,” he remarked.

      Something more flashed in her gaze when she directed it to him that time. Had he made her feel defensive? He hadn’t meant to. “Some outside our culture find it an outrageous custom,” she replied. “But we don’t know anything different.”

      She had lustrous fair hair fastened in a loose knot atop her head, and skin as pale and smooth as the Chinese women who worked the laundries in the gold camps. Each time she looked at him, a rosy-pink hue tinted her complexion.

      She was angry. Angry and wary, and he couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t even positive why he needed to make this trip and insert himself as John James’s father, but he’d been pulled.

      And after seeing the expression on the boy’s face, after meeting him, he wasn’t sorry. Not a damned bit sorry.

      “Can I see Yuri?” the boy asked.

      “Sure.” Wes glanced aside at the boy’s mother. “As long as your mama approves, we’ll go outdoors later.”

      “How many dogs did you have?”

      “Eight fine sled dogs,” he replied. “Plus the occasional pups.”

      “Where did they sleep?”

      “They camped under the stars with me,” he replied. “Most usually I set up my tent and we all shared it. Keeps the snow from drifting over us during the night.”

      “You sleep right out in the snow with no house or nothing?”

      “No houses out in the Yukon wilderness between towns and tent camps,” he replied.

      Two more children sidled in beside John James to listen. A girl and a smaller boy. “What did you eat?”

      “These is my cousins, Emma and Paul,” John James told him. “This here’s my papa.” The pride in his voice tugged at Wes’s heart. “He delivers mail in Alaska.” He turned back to Wes. “What did you eat?”

      “Pleased to meet you,” Wes said to the wide-eyed children, then replied to John James’s question. “Sometimes I cut a hole in the ice and caught salmon for our suppers. Ate a lot of dried fish and dried meat during the day. In fair weather I found duck eggs and snared rabbits.”

      “Wasn’t you scared of coyotes and mountain lions?” John James asked.

      “No mountain lions, but I was always on the lookout for wolves and bears.”

      “Did you ever shoot a bear?” Paul asked.

      “Yup. One time I had a good shot on an elk. Was looking down the barrel of my rifle when I heard branches snapping behind me. The elk bounded off.” He gestured with a rapid swing of his arm. “I turned around to see a silver-tipped grizzly heading straight for me. That bear must’ve been twice as tall as me. At least he looked it from where I stood.”

      “What did you do?” one of the boys asked.

      A few more children had joined them and now the adults had turned their attention to his story. One of Mariah’s male cousins leaned against a doorway. Others stood nearby listening as attentively as the youngsters.

      “I quick ran behind a tree and kind of circled it to buy some time. The bear followed and swiped at me. I didn’t know how well I’d do shooting at it up close like that, but I fired. First shot didn’t faze him.”

      “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