SAHARA SPLENDOR
Charlotte Hubbard
Chapter 1
June, 1866
Sahara sat bolt upright in bed, her sleep shattered by the slamming of the shack’s door. Bobby must be royally drunk to be shuffling around and muttering so loudly—
But there were two voices. And neither of them belonged to her brother.
The only thing between her and the intruders was a ratty old blanket draped over a piece of rope. In the main room, lantern light bobbed unevenly while the men continued their cursing, dragging something awkward across the floor. Sahara sat stock-still, her pulse drumming wildly. From beneath her straw mattress she pulled a pistol, and then she padded silently to the blanket and peered around its edge.
The two men were tossing a third one unceremoniously onto the broken-down sofa, and when his pale face caught the light, Sahara gasped. “What’d you do to my brother?” she blurted.
They pivoted. One was shorter and older, so portly his vest buttons threatened to pop, while his fine gold watch chain and rings gleamed in the dimness. “Were I in your place, Miss Caldwell, I’d be more concerned about what your brother’s done to you,” he said with a chuckle. “Get out here. Let’s have a look at my winnings.”
Sahara scowled, her mind alert now. Any other man she’d accuse of being drunk and in the wrong shack, but this was Horatio Spade, owner of the sprawling ranch she and Bobby worked on—and not known for his patience or sense of humor.
“Grab her, Madigan. She’s a shy little thing, but she’ll soon get over that.”
When the taller man stepped toward her, she thrust her pistol at him and stood staunchly behind it. “You’ve got no call to come barging in here at all hours,” she declared. “You brought Bobby home—and I thank you—but now you can be on your way.”
“It’s not that simple, Sara,” he said with a hint of whiskey in his laugh. “Seems Bobby’s pay ended up on the poker table, and by the time Mr. Spade here joined our game, your brother lost his horse and his gear, too. All he had left to win it back with was you, and well…”
Madigan nodded toward her groaning brother, but she didn’t take her eyes from the lean, tigerlike ranch manager, who was advancing slowly toward her. His sun-streaked hair fell rakishly over one eyebrow, and his dark eyes glittered in the light from his lantern. His white teeth flashed like the devil’s own lightning as he stopped a few feet away, assessing her.
“That’s the most outrageous lie I ever—”
“Sara, neither Spade nor I would presume to—”
“My name’s Sahara!” she snapped, cocking her gun. “Now get out of here before I—”
“Bobby told us that pistol’s broken. Only good for throwing at rats, until the trigger gets fixed,” Spade taunted.
That explained why both men were now chuckling as though she were a child holding a gun fashioned from a stick. If Bobby had told them about the trigger, he was no doubt drunk enough to reveal anything—drunk enough to bet his mount and his gear, but—
“If he was so liquored up, why’d you let him keep playing?” she demanded. “Any decent manager would’ve stopped the game.”
“Bobby refused to quit,” Madigan said with a shrug. “We reminded him that a hand’s not much good without his horse and his saddle—”
“Which were paltry wagers, compared to the offering of his sister,” Horatio said with a gaze that traveled slowly down to her bare feet. “Having seen you occasionally at the laundry house, or shoveling manure— probably when your brother was too hung over to complete that task—I was less than inspired by his wager of last resort. In fact, I was ready to dismiss the whole game as another poor braggart’s bluff, but now…well, in this light, you have some intriguing possibilities after all. Take her into town tomorrow, Dan. Tell Zerelda to have her ready for the wedding by Saturday.”
Her pistol clattered to the floor as she watched Spade swagger away, the door banging in his wake. “What on God’s earth is he talking about?” she demanded, aiming her gaze at Madigan now.
Dan fought a laugh. The scraggly, scrawny, sleep-rumpled waif before him seemed the least likely object of any man’s desires, yet he knew the king of the express barons had a taste for feisty women. “like he said, he nearly wrote the whole marriage idea off—”
“What could that man possibly want with me?”
“—but when you pulled that pistol on me and—”
“And I certainly couldn’t tolerate him!” Sahara spat, grimacing as though the very thought of Horatio Spade tasted terrible to her.
“—challenged him, even though your—”
“And he’s got a daughter my age!”
Dan stopped, clearing his throat. “Actually, Jennifer’s a year older than you.”
“That does it! This is the most ridiculous—you tell Spade I’ll have no part of this farce,” she stated, crossing her arms defiantly. “He has no right to order me around! Should’ve had sense enough not to go along with a drunken hand’s bet.”
“But he does. And he did.”
Madigan’s face was utterly serious now, and for the first time since he and Horatio Spade came stumbling through the door with her passed-out brother, Sahara realized she was in deep trouble. “You can’t expect me to—”
“Bobby’s your older brother. It’s his place—his responsibility—to get you married off,” Dan pointed out. Her eyes glowed with anger, and above her crossed arms a pale, rounded hint of femininity peeked out of her nightgown, which was one of Bobby’s old shirts with the arms cut off. Her slender legs twitched above toes she was flexing in agitation, as though she might attack him, kicking and screaming, any second now. He wouldn’t want to be in Bobby Caldwell’s boots when he came around, the way this little hellcat was heating up for a fight, but perhaps his boss had won a worthwhile wager, after all.
“It could be worse,” he offered quietly. “At least Bobby lost you to the richest man in Kansas, who’ll—”
“Get out!” she shrieked, and then she was rushing at him, shoving him toward the door with all her pent-up fury.
Madigan stumbled and allowed her to propel him outside, laughing. Then he turned, lifting his lantern so that it bathed her in its amber light. “No matter what you think of me, or how ludicrous your brother’s bet was, I’d be ready to head to town first thing after breakfast. There’ll be hell to pay if you cross Horatio Spade.”
He sauntered off, leaving her in the sudden dimness of the summer night. Then he turned, grinning again. “Maybe that’ll teach you to button your nightie, Miss Caldwell.”
“Bastard!” she hurled at him, and her hand flew to the open placket of the flimsy shirt. She’d given them quite a show, and it seemed Bobby, too, had been fine entertainment for that despicable duo on this hot summer night. If Spade thought for one minute she’d go through with his trumped-up wedding plans—and if Madigan thought she gave two hoots about crossing their hair-triggered employer—well, they could both jump head first into the two-holer out back.
However incensed she was with those braggarts, though, Sahara knew they hadn’t concocted this outlandish scheme. She stomped into the house and kicked at one of Bobby’s outstretched legs. “Sober up and talk. to me, dammit! You’ve put me in one helluva spot, and I want to know how you’re going to get me out of it.”
Bobby jerked, hiccuping, but then his soft snoring continued.
She grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him. “Hey—fire!” she hollered at him.
Her brother’s eyes flew open, and his freckled face contorted in fear. “What the—”
“Why’d you have to play cards with Madigan and Spade, of all people?” Sahara demanded. “In ten lifetimes you couldn’t hope to compete against the likes of
them!”
“I’s playin’ with the boys—honest!—when Madigan joined in,” he protested weakly. “And then when Spade come ta fetch him, the others sorta disappeared—”
“They were smart.”
“—and I took ‘em on alone! Won a coupla hands, too, till—”
“But you couldn’t quit while you were ahead,” she jeered. “You heard that jingle and you chased after it,
just like Papa. Do you know what you did to me tonight, mister?”
Bobby licked his lips, thinking. “Oh, yeah! Gotcha engaged ta the richest man on the plains, Sary! He balked at first, till I told him what a fireball ya was in the sack, but we’re set now! No more shovelin’ that damn—”
“I ought to shovel you,” she cried, and then she kicked his leg again. “Damn you, Bobby Caldwell, you had no right to think of such a bet, much less make it. But you were so damn drunk—”
“I had your best interests at heart, truly I did,” he whined. “It hurts me so ta watch ya slavin’ in that cookhouse, and breakin’ your back over a washboard till your fingers bleed from that lye soap. When ya realize that thanks ta me, you’ll not work another day in your life, you’ll know it was the best thing I ever done for ya.”
“You are the most worthless piece of—” Sahara stalked behind the raggedy curtain to dress, and then hurriedly rolled her faded calico dresses and another shirt and a pair of jeans into a bundle. Men! Always thinking they knew what was best, always expecting her to be so damn grateful when they messed up her life.
When she returned to the main room of the desolate little shack, her brother’s head was lolled back, and he was snoring loudly. There would indeed be hell to pay when Horatio Spade, baron of the Spade Express Company, discovered her absence, and Bobby richly deserved whatever havoc their employer wreaked upon him.
Former employer, Sahara thought smugly as she slipped out the door. She hurried from shadow to shadow between the bunkhouses and other outbuildings, grateful there wasn’t much of a moon. No more following Bobby from one backbreaking job to the next, making his excuses when he got liquored up, and doing his work to keep him from getting fired yet again. She was nineteen, certainly able to look after her own welfare—or more able than her brother was, anyway!
She entered the dark, musty stable, her hopes soaring. Once in Atchison, she’d find a decent job and—
The flare of a match made her gasp, and by the glow of the lantern he was lighting, she saw Dan Madigan’s maddening smile.
“Figured you’d be here bright and early, raring to go to Zerelda’s,” he said triumphantly. “You’re every bit the spitfire I took you for, Miss Caldwell. Spade’ll like that.”
Chapter 2
Spade can go to hell, and you can drive him there, she almost retorted, but something made her hold her tongue. No sense getting peeved at Madigan for anticipating her escape, when he could perhaps become a part of it. Why not accept his ride into Atchison, remaining in Spade’s good graces, and then run off when this know-it-all manager returned to the ranch? It surely wouldn’t be that hard to disappear from Zerelda’s whorehouse.
“Well, Mr. Madigan,” she said in her most diplomatic tone, “I hope Horatio Spade realizes what a competent manager he has in you, to anticipate my moves this way. Even though I don’t have much choice in the matter, my own respect for you has gone up a notch.”
As she climbed lithely into the buggy beside him, Dan studied her closely. Same stringy hair, same threadbare clothing…but where was the little vixen who’d shoved him outside and called him a bastard? “Thank you, Miss Caldwell. It’s good we understand each other.”
Sahara grunted. “What’s to understand? I’m caught between three men who think they’ve got my future all sewn up. How gratifying, to think such fine gentlemen as yourself and Mr. Spade have made my welfare their personal concern,” she added in a honeyed voice.
Madigan hung the lantern on its hook at the front of the buggy, chuckling. “I can’t trust you for a minute, can I? If I turn my back, you’ll be gone.”
“Trust is a mutual thing, Mr. Madigan,” she replied. “Anybody with a lick of morals would wonder about a man who’s taking a woman out in a buggy at two in the morning. How do I know you’re driving me to Zerelda’s?”
Dan clucked at the horses, and they started with a jerk. “What else am I going to do with you until daylight? Keep you at my place?”
“It doesn’t surprise me you’d think of that.”
His laughter echoed in the rafters of the huge stable as they pulled out into the starlit night. Miss Caldwell was miles ahead of her brother when it came to intelligence and wit, and the long ride to town would be the perfect opportunity to get as acquainted with her as he’d care to. Although he’d never heard any hint of it from the other hands, Bobby talked like his sister was a wild little wanton…and perhaps if she was cleaned up, he’d entertain the notion of finding out. But she might be nudging him toward that situation, so that she could report it to Spade and get him into trouble. She was wiley, this little waif who sat so straight on the seat beside him.
“Surely a girl who pulls a pistol on her boss’s bookkeeper isn’t afraid to be out with him after dark.”
“Nope. Just want to be sure you don’t get lost on the way to Atchison.”
“It’s the only way the horses know, and they’ve made the trip dozens of times,” he told her. “After all, where else is there to go except Atchison and the ranch?”
Sahara could name several places, each one an unpleasant memory because of Bobby’s talent for losing jobs, but she thought about Madigan’s observation instead. The Spade ranch stretched for miles in every direction, so it seemed like its own little universe out here on the Kansas plains. It was Dan’s perception of his
world that intrigued her. “So you’ve worked for Spade a long time?”
“All my life,” he replied quietly. The light from the swaying lantern revealed her thoughtful expression, and now that they were to spend the next several hours together, talking seemed much more pleasant than maintaining a superior silence broken only by the clop of the horses’ hooves and the creaking of the buggy.
“You see, my father signed on with Spade—met my mother here—so I’ve watched it grow from a horse ranch to the home base for the express empire, as Horatio gradually bought out his competitors. He’s got the sturdy stock to haul his stagecoaches, and the political connections to get the freight and mail contracts—”
“Not to mention the money. The man reeks of it.”
Madigan chortled. “That’s the finest perfume on earth, Sahara. You’d best get used to it.”
Why did marrying a wealthy old bull moose turn her stomach so? He lavished stylish gowns and fine food—the best of everything—on his daughter Jennifer, so he’d surely do the same for her. And how long could he live, after all? Still, the idea of becoming Mrs. Horatio Spade, enduring people’s snide remarks and whatever secret degradations her husband heaped upon her, made her squirm on the seat.
“So excited you can’t sit still?” Madigan teased.
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
He flashed his teeth when he laughed. “You’re very direct, Miss Caldwell.”
“Somebody has to be. Lord knows Bobby can’t tell a horse’s head from its tail-end most days.”
Once again Dan studied his ward, and it occurred to him that Sahara Caldwell, beneath her gritty clothes and deceptively petite build, was a young woman of great strength—a fortitude Jennifer Spade could never muster; a survival instinct most ladies didn’t need to hone because their men provided for them. An irresponsible braggart like Bobby would be difficult to claim as family, yet Sahara diligently performed her own tasks around the ranch and took his on, too, without a whimper. In the few months since the Caldwells had come looking for work, she’d proven herself so capable and industrious chat Pearly, the housekeeper, now trusted her to prepare food for the Spades and to launder Horatio’s shirts and Miss J
enny’s delicate, expensive clothing to perfection.
It was high praise in short time. And as he caught a glimpse of the roughened hands she was clasping in her lap, Madigan felt a pang for what he was about to do to her. He, more than anyone else, realized just how inappropriate this wedding was, and he suddenly wished he’d had no part of it. But Horatio had cashed in on Bobby’s foolish bet, and there was no getting around that now.
“I take it your folks are dead?” he asked gently.
“My father lit out for the gold fields a few years back,” she answered with a bitterness she couldn’t hide. “Got tired of wheat farming and living in a soddie, so as he rode off he tossed us some pretty promises about sending his riches home. We haven’t heard from him since.”
Sahara saw that he was listening intently, his face bathed in the golden glow of the lantern as he watched the road ahead. He was a striking man in his white shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbow, pleasant company now that he’d stopped his bullying. “And poor Mama passed on eight months later, birthing his stillborn child,” she continued softly. “Bobby’s no farmer, and by then we owed more than we were worth; so we took off. Been a lot of places since then, and none of them were home.”
Dan steeled himself against her subtle, stirring voice. With all the sob stories and excuses his hands plied him with every day, he knew a play for sympathy when he heard one. Yet Sahara gazed steadily into the night, dry-eyed. Were Jennifer Spade to tell such a tale, she’d have her hands all over him and her ebony lashes in a constant flutter. Miss Caldwell was clearly different, perhaps the most sincere, unaffected female he’d ever met.
“It’s tough, getting by without your folks,” he agreed after a few moments of silence. “My ma took sick one winter. Spade sent her to a sanitorium, and she never made it back; and after that Pa lost his purpose in life. Took to drinking too much with the hands—not good, when you’re the foreman—and one night after Spade called him on the carpet for his carousing, he couldn’t take any more. Shot himself.”
Sahara Splendor Page 1