Sahara Splendor

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Sahara gasped, and he felt he was being swallowed up in her huge, liquid eyes. Madigan chided himself for revealing so much about a past that was no concern of hers, but before he could toughen up his voice and change the subject, a small, leathery hand was clasping his.

  “I’m truly sorry, Dan,” she whispered. “It must be hell to stay on where your family met such a tragic end.”

  He coughed to clear the tightness from his throat. “Apparently Spade saw something in my abilities—or had too much invested in my upbringing to cast me out,” he added with a humorless chuckle. “To his credit, he allowed me to prove I was capable of working into my father’s position. Put me in charge of the accounts as well, when he realized I had a head for figures and knew how to keep my mouth shut. Can’t say I would’ve had that opportunity so quickly, had I moved on.”

  “And it didn’t hurt that Miss Jenny’s sweet on you.”

  “That’s none of your business,” he snapped. “I’ve worked my butt off to become Spade’s manager, and no laundry girl’s going to make light of it.”

  Sahara slipped her hand back onto her lap, hiding a smile. Like most men, Dan Madigan got chatty when his own accomplishments were the topic, and he’d revealed some interesting insights about himself. Jennifer Spade’s romantic inclinations were well known, and Dan was hardly in a position not to propose to her, was he? Yet he’d snapped shut like a bear trap when she mentioned it.

  Getting caught in the stable had been more fortuitous than she’d anticipated: not only had she escaped the Spade ranch with the manager’s help, but she’d gained a valuable perspective on Daniel Madigan’s private life, too.

  Not that she’d need it. By the time this know-it-all accountant pointed his buggy back home, she’d be giving Miss Zerelda the slip. Horatio Spade and his accomplice had cornered her once, thanks to her traitorous brother, but the three of them would never see her again.

  “Come on out, Sahara. Nice try, but I know you’re in there.”

  Sahara swore softly as she felt herself being tipped right-side up. This empty flour barrel had been the perfect means of escape: Madigan had mentioned she was a first-rate kitchen assistant when they arrived at the bordello, so when she volunteered to help Zerelda’s Negro cook with breakfast, it was only natural she’d get sent to the storeroom for food. A glance out the back exit had revealed an alley that ran behind the saloons and other bawdy establishments—deserted at this early hour—and the barrel beside the door had been fate’s way of saying she was free to go.

  She’d quickly turned the wooden keg onto its side, slid in, and pulled the lid shut. It was a little powdery inside, but once she’d braced herself against the staves and thrown her weight to get going, she’d been too exhilarated to care. Nobody would notice an old barrel rolling between the cases of empty liquor bottles, beer kegs, and trash the saloonkeepers had discarded, so all she had to do was make it to the end of the alley, brush herself off, and hide until Zerelda stopped looking for her. Why, it was as easy as falling off a—

  The whump and a familiar chuckle brought her back to reality. She was guessing Madigan’s boot heel had stopped her, and when the lid was lifted off, his wicked grin made her want to disappear between the barrel slats into thin air.

  “Got to hand it to you, Miss Caldwell. You rolled three blocks before Blondella missed you in the kitchen,” he said. “Good thing I stayed for breakfast, huh?”

  He was in a jovial mood, so perhaps he’d listen. “Have a heart,” she pleaded. “We both know Spade’s got no more reason for marrying me than I’ve got for wanting him. Who’d be the wiser if I disappeared? Zerelda could say a customer kidnapped me, or—”

  “Miss Roberts knows better than to let that happen,” he replied sternly. “Believe me, girl, we’ve seen his wrath and you want no part of it.”

  He was offering her a well-formed hand, still acting friendly but obviously unsympathetic. “If Spade’s so terrible, why are you forcing me to—what did I do to deserve this?” she protested. “Not my fault Bobby’s mouth’s bigger than his brain!”

  Madigan grabbed her shoulders, lifted her out of the barrel, and then kicked it aside. Every point she made was true, but truth meant nothing to Horatio Spade when he saw something he wanted. “I’m doing my job, Miss Caldwell,” he explained as he set her down. “Things go better for everyone when each of us does what’s expected. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? Tell me another one!”

  She jerked herself free of his grasp and stalked down the alley, sending little clouds of flour into the air with each angry step. As Dan followed her, he knew Sahara’s pluck would be her salvation, yet it would also get her into trouble with her husband if she didn’t learn to curb that impulsive tongue. He wished there was a way…

  But only a fool defied Horatio’s orders. He’d learned that lesson at great expense—came within an inch of his life when his wishes clashed with those of the imperious Mr. Spade—and as he flexed his shoulder muscles, he reminded himself that a grimy little hired girl could cost him everything he’d worked all these years for. Sahara was sweet, in her way, but she wasn’t worth that much.

  Madigan strolled into the steamy, bacon-scented kitchen and took the place set for him at the end of the long table, avoiding his ward’s wounded, accusing glare. Zerelda and her girls treated him like family—he practically was, considering he’d first tasted love in the arms of a plump little dove upstairs, so long ago he could hardly remember. This was Spade’s favorite sporting house, the finest female entertainment Atchison had to offer, and preferred customers often ate with the ladies before making the long trip back to their ranches.

  He took three flapjacks from the loaded platter and passed it to the sleepy-eyed redhead beside him. “Long night, sweetheart?”

  “Not as long as something else I can think of,” she purred. “How ‘bout a shave and a bath, and then we’ll see what comes up?”

  Dan chuckled. “I guess my appearance could use some attention. Made the drive into town a few hours before I was expecting to.”

  The whores, who’d hung on his words, now studied Sahara, their expressions ranging from condescending curiosity to disdain. Wildfire couldn’t have spread faster among them than the news that Horatio Spade intended to marry this pitiful excuse of a girl. She was staring fixedly at her heaping plate, her unwashed hair concealing most of her face as she devoured a strip of bacon.

  Poor Sahara, she’s like a prairie chicken in a flock of peacocks. They’ll show her no mercy this week, he thought with a sigh.

  But it was nothing compared to the discomfort she’d suffer on the ranch until she learned enough social graces and little tricks to get by on. The madam and her ladies could school her on those subjects better than any man could—and hopefully prepare Miss Caldwell for what was expected of her in Horatio’s bedroom, as well. He didn’t envy her one bit.

  “When you’ve finished your breakfast, I’ll be waiting in the next room,” Zerelda said as she rose from the table. “Fanny, I’d like your assistance, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young woman across from her replied.

  She had chestnut hair and a dewy complexion that set her apart from the hardened, more garish whores, and when she glanced up, Sahara was stunned by eyes the color of cornflowers…eyes that focused in different enough directions to be distracting. But when Fanny smiled, she felt the first spark of genuine warmth since…well, probably since her mother died.

  “I imagine she’s having your bath water brought in,” the dove explained quietly, “and then we’ll be measuring for your new clothes, and—well, we have a lot to do before Saturday.”

  Sahara almost choked on Fanny’s genteel way with understatement. “Let’s get started, then. Anything’s better than being stared at like I was some sort of animal.”

  Chapter 3

  Zerelda Roberts was a slight, soft-spoken woman whose rose-colored gown and pearl brooch made her look more like a governor’s wife than a madam
. Her dark waves were pulled into a becoming upsweep held by alabaster combs, and her gentle eyes matched the lustrous, wedge-shaped gray streak that tapered back from above her right brow. Sahara wondered if she dyed that streak to make it so perfect, but she didn’t dare ask.

  From her steamy tub full of bubbles, she surmised that the decorous Miss Roberts was nobody’s fool, and that she should indeed listen to this woman’s advice. There would be other chances to escape, but meanwhile she could learn much about deportment and enhancing her appearance—frills Mama had had no time for as a dirt farmer’s wife, and social graces Sahara had considered too prissy for words, until it seemed her life might depend upon them. If anything, Zerelda was more insistent than Madigan about kowtowing to Horatio Spade’s every whim.

  “Let’s be very frank,” the madam was saying in her cultured voice. She’d just finished shaking her head over those rumpled calico dresses and was now assessing Sahara with unflinching honesty. “Horatio has sent me the proverbial sow’s ear and is expecting a silk purse by week’s end. Mr. Madigan tells me you cooked and did laundry. Hold out your hands, dear.”

  Reluctantly, Sahara obeyed.

  Zerelda sighed. “At least you don’t bite your nails.”

  “Not likely, when they usually have lye soap or manure under them.”

  The madam grimaced. “And your hair needs trimming—Fanny, bring in some of Blondella’s chamomile rinse, will you, dear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” came the reply.

  “And you haven’t a stitch of proper clothing, and your posture’s deplorable, and—”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to be such a disappointment, but I didn’t exactly ask to become Spade’s wife,” Sahara blurted. “I have no idea what the man sees in me, and I’d rather not find out.”

  Zerelda lifted an eyebrow. “He really did win you in a card game?”

  “From my brother, who was very drunk.”

  “Men are such animals,” the little woman muttered. Then she gestured for Fanny to wash Sahara’s hair, her expression sobering. “I know quite well why Horatio fancies you, dear, and now that I see Dan didn’t exaggerate your circumstances, I feel obligated to educate you about some rather…distasteful facts of life. Time enough for that later, though. I can imagine that bath feels rather pleasant.”

  “Heavenly,” Sahara sighed. “A far cry from splashing in a rough wooden tub, trying to finish before the hands catch me.”

  Zerelda softened visibly. “I’d forgotten how embarrassing that can be. Soak as long as you’d like. The scented oil will soften your skin, and your baths may well be the most pleasant part of your stay with us. No wonder you ran off,” she murmured as she walked toward the door. She grabbed up Sahara’s clothes and turned, her eyes as hard as granite. “Don’t try it again, though.”

  After all the wheedling with Dan Madigan, begging him to see reason, Sahara accepted the madam’s command without arguing. Something about the woman spoke of hard-won success after a life of degradations and perhaps a poverty as painful as her own. She was still in the doorway, resembling a fragile summer flower in her elegant gown; yet her spine was straight, and her lips were pressed into a line as she watched Fanny massage the sweet-smelling shampoo into her hair.

  “I suppose you’re a virgin?”

  Sahara’s jaw dropped, and before she could find a reply, the madam was shaking her head, leaving. “Lord, not that, too,” she breathed. “Spade really owes me for this one.”

  Her innocence had never felt like a liability before, but here in this richly decorated bordello it made her even more of an oddity, she supposed. A few of the hands had given her lewd suggestions about what they would teach her if she prettied up a bit—which seemed the perfect incentive for shoveling more manure. Sahara had no idea what she must look like to decent people, because she hadn’t held a mirror for months. Perhaps she truly was hopeless.

  She glanced at Fanny, who was lifting a pitcher to rinse her hair. “Do you suppose anything worthwhile will shine through, now that we’ve lathered away the layers of grit?”

  “I’ve already struck gold,” the young woman replied warmly. “You have a most unusual hair color, a reddish-blond that will really shimmer after a few of these chamomile treatments. And personally, I think your tawny skin’s pretty even if it isn’t fashionable. Don’t let Zerelda’s assessment scare you. She’s just worried about pleasing Mr. Spade.”

  Closing her eyes, Sahara tipped her head back and relished the warm, silken sweetness Fanny was pouring through her hair. Her scalp was tingly, and she felt refreshed, even though she’d spent most of the night bouncing in a buggy. She couldn’t ignore the constant theme of everyone’s conversation, though. “What’s so horrible about Spade?” she asked softly, and when she saw her attendant’s mouth clap shut, she added, “Please—tell me everything. I don’t like the man, and I hope you ladies won’t let me marry a monster, even though Madigan insists there’s no way out of it.”

  Fanny sighed and stood up, her ministrations complete. “I only know what I’ve seen and heard from the others,” she said quietly, “because when Mr. Spade and his men come here, he makes a point of excluding me from his party. It seems my eyes annoy him.”

  How any man could turn this lush young lady away because her brilliant blue eyes weren’t aimed quite straight was beyond Sahara. She accepted a towel and stood up shyly, aware of the dove’s scrutiny. “I—I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Miss Caldwell. That’s not to say I don’t have men who ask only for me,” she replied with a coy smile. “Men who’re far more considerate, and too interested in my other attributes to care about my wayward eyes. In this business, you count yourself lucky for such favors.”

  As she finished drying, Sahara wondered how anyone could stand to be in this business, because Fanny’s roving gaze over her nude body was torment enough, without having all manner of men sizing her up several times a day. She clasped the towel ends behind her, glancing around the small room. “My clothes seem to have disappeared.”

  “Miss Roberts disposed of them. Until the dressmaker comes, you’ll be wearing some of mine.” Sahara’s face must have mirrored her dismay, because then Fanny added, “But don’t worry about being mistaken for one of us by the customers. Word’ll spread that you’re Spade’s intended, and you’ll be safe from everyone but him. After you dress, I’ll start your education.”

  The whore stepped out to fetch some clothes, leaving Sahara to towel her hair and wonder again what she’d done to deserve this fate. She certainly couldn’t escape now, naked, so she was at the mercy of her rather unorthodox teachers. No doubt people in town would return her to Zerelda’s immediately, expecting a reward for retrieving Spade’s bride-to-be, so she might as well make the most of these precious days before the wedding it seemed she couldn’t avoid. Damn that Bobby—and damn that Madigan for not taking her to the train station like any decent man would!

  She wasn’t aware Fanny had returned until she heard the dove chuckle. “You have hot spots in your cheeks, Sahara. Thinking about the gorgeous man who brought you here?”

  “Not in the way you mean,” she muttered. She stepped out of the bubbly bathwater and quickly donned the lacy undergarments Fanny was handing her, wondering why anyone went to such expense for clothing that got covered up with shoe-length skirts and…

  “Yes?” the dove asked quietly.

  Sahara gave her a sheepish smile. “These must be as soft as wildflower petals. I—I didn’t know they made unmentionables in fabric that felt so much like—like nothing!”

  “They’re silk. Another small advantage of working in the finest parlor house in town.” The young woman’s smile hid something from her as she slipped a cream-colored blouse over her arms. “You’ll have your share of fancy little nothings once you’re Horatio’s wife. Hurry now—there’s something you should see upstairs.”

  “Something about Spade?”

  “Yes.”

>   Curious, Sahara stepped into the flowing, forest green skirt she was offered, and then quickly combed her wet hair before following a mischievous-looking Fanny into the hallway.

  “You’ve got to promise you’ll be quiet. Not a peep!” the whore warned as they ascended the carpeted stairs. “This is how we initiate our new girls, to get them over their shyness so they won’t run out on their first customers.”

  Sahara stopped on the top step, doubtful, but Fanny came back to grab her hand. When the dove swung open one door of a massive armoire in the hallway, she feared she was to be stuffed inside and locked up, but instead the young woman stepped in beside her, parting the feathered gowns and filmy garments hanging on either side of them, and then she closed the door.

  The shadowy silence made her edgy. Why on earth would a whore bring her into such an airless, confined space, unless—

  “Remember—no noise! If you so much as gasp, our secret’ll be out,” Fanny instructed. “Our customers wouldn’t like it if they knew about this little booth. Then again, some of them might request it. Ready?”

  For what? Sahara’s throat went so dry she couldn’t respond, and when her companion slid a small section of the wall to one side, her mouth dropped open. The armoire had no back, and a peephole about the size of a brick now gave them full view of a whore’s bedroom, where the statuesque redhead she’d seen at breakfast was entertaining Dan Madigan.

  Of all the decadent—Sahara turned away abruptly, shocked by the sight of their nude bodies. Fanny had known this was going on when she’d lured her up here!

  “You’d best take notes,” the woman beside her murmured. “Camille and Mr. Madigan make far more enjoyable teachers than Spade will. He’ll want you to be bold and brazen, Sahara—one whimper and you’ll be doomed. And take it from me, you’ll not see a prettier picture than Dan Madigan making love. A fine example of the male graces, no matter how you look at him.”