Sahara Splendor

by Charlotte Hubbard

  She was afraid to swallow or breathe, thinking the lovers would hear her through the glass. Slowly she forced her eyes toward the peephole again, telling herself this would soon be over, and that it probably was best to know what pompous, domineering Horatio Spade expected of her. She would only look at Camille, though, because to watch the ranch’s handsome manager cavorting in the altogether would surely set her up for disappointment when it was her husband’s fat, fish-white belly she was confronted with come Saturday night.

  And the henna-haired vixen was indeed a lesson in loveliness. She was tall and lithe, as pale as milk beneath her free-flowing tresses as she backed toward her bed, her face alight with an emotion Sahara guessed to be passion. Camille was amply endowed, with curving hips and long, shapely legs…and by comparison, Sahara felt like a stick figure. Surely she could never incite any man’s desires, and it was sheer torture to watch Madigan approach the—

  No! She wouldn’t look at him!

  Fanny snickered. “Don’t tell me you’ve never sneaked a peek at the ranch hands, or seen your brother naked.”

  “Of course not! What do you take me for?” she hissed.

  “Lord, I know women who’d line up for a look at Dan, and if you behave like a sheltered little—”

  “You’ve obviously gotten a few looks at him!”

  She could feel Fanny’s eyes piercing the stuffy darkness. “The only reason he’s not with me right now is because Miss Zerelda has me helping you. Camille’s enjoying a rare treat. She always has to entertain Spade and his cronies—I’ll show you their nasty little toys sometime—so she seldom gets to enjoy a nice man like Madigan. But if you insist on being a simpering little prude, there’s no point in staying boxed up in this booth. Do you want to get smart, or get out?”

  Spade and his cronies…nasty little toys…one whimper and you’ll be doomed. It seemed she had much to learn about the complicated relations between a man and a woman once their clothes came off, because nothing Fanny hinted at sounded like the sweet, tender act she assumed lovemaking to be. With a sigh, she looked through the small rectangular glass and sucked in her breath.

  Madigan’s backside was to her now, and above his taut, muscled legs and alluring behind she saw a broad, bronzed back that was crisscrossed by shiny scars. “My God.”

  “They say he made the mistake of slipping upstairs with Horatio’s favorite lady, and even though Spade was finished with her for the day, the thought of Madigan having her inspired a horrible scene. That was years ago, before I came here.”

  She cleared her throat, unable to take her eyes from the pale pink ribbons that rippled as Dan pulled Camille against him. “Those are lash marks.”

  “Yes. Claire’s were awful enough that she could no longer work here. Then she overdosed on laudanum, the pain was so bad.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more,” Sahara replied in a tight voice. For the hundredth time she wondered why Spade chose to marry her, when he sounded like the type who’d have a couple hands lasso her and haul her into his room if it was only her body he wanted. Sharing such a beast’s name seemed even more odious than staying on here, selling herself for Zerelda’s profit, but of course that wasn’t an option she’d even consider.

  The sight of Madigan embracing the redheaded whore made an odd, ticklish sensation burn inside her, in places she didn’t know existed. His strong, bronzed hands moved lovingly over Camille’s pale skin, and when his lips overtook her eager, upturned mouth, Sahara stopped breathing. Dan’s blond-streaked hair was rumpled, and his muscles flowed with the beauty of a golden wheat field rippling in the wind. When his kiss deepened and then followed the curve of his partner’s jaw, she felt little starbursts of excitement, as though Madigan’s mouth were caressing her.

  “She looks so…smug about this,” Sahara breathed. “Surely she’s enjoying him.”

  “Maybe. Usually it’s an act, though. You train yourself not to feel anything, because most men are selfish, hard-hearted lovers. And the decent ones won’t give you a thought once they leave.”

  There was a pause, accented by Fanny’s accelerated breathing. The armoire was unbearably stuffy, and when Camille lowered herself onto the bed, coaxing Madigan between her willowy legs, Sahara thought she’d explode with the wicked, piercing curiosity that suddenly raced through her veins.

  “If I don’t get out of here, I’ll scream,” Fanny muttered, and suddenly there was air and light and the flocked wallpaper of the hallway. The only thing that remained of what Sahara had witnessed was her galloping heart and the certainty that those two proud, impassioned bodies were now one.

  “Careful, or those big green eyes will pop right out of your head.”

  Sahara felt her face go hot, and Fanny laughed. “At least you’re normal, Miss Caldwell. For a minute there, you had me wondering if you even liked men. We’d best go downstairs before Zerelda comes hunting us.”

  Chapter 4

  A little while later Madigan came downstairs feeling superbly satisfied. A hot meal, a hot bath, and a hot woman had improved his outlook immensely, and now it was time to return to his duties at the Spade ranch. Camille and the other ladies were in their rooms dressing for the day, so only the glossy tables and scarlet upholstered chairs awaited him in the front parlor. It was an opulent gallery—too much fringe and gaudiness for his liking—that bespoke Miss Zerelda’s success and her elite clientele. Hat in hand, he peered around the corner, looking to bid the madam goodbye.

  But it was Sahara he saw, seated beside a window. In the lace-filtered sunlight, she glowed like a polished topaz, her hair freshly cut and combed, her tawny cheeks assuming the blush of a ripe peach when she saw him and then looked away.

  He was no better than Spade if he allowed this travesty of a wedding to take place.

  Dan gripped the brim of his Stetson, searching for words to erase the disappointment and pain from her face. He wished to God she’d swear at him and shove him outside, the way she had last night, but she sat almost primly, shimmering in her sunlit, borrowed clothes.

  “What do you think?” a quiet voice asked behind him. “Can we possibly have her up to Spade’s expectations by Friday?”

  Dan turned to gaze intently at Miss Roberts. “Use that money I gave you to put her on a train—to anywhere,” he whispered urgently. “You and I both know she’s doomed, and we know what he’ll do to her. I can’t—”

  “Found your conscience, eh?” Zerelda asked with an arched eyebrow. “Your change of heart touches me, Mr. Madigan, but before you go all soft and mushy, think about the consequences. Horatio might not stop at a lashing for you this time, and he’ll close my doors and do unspeakable things to me as well if either of us fails to deliver our part of the bargain.”

  “There’s got to be a way! We—”

  “Are you protesting in Sahara’s behalf, or your own?” The madam’s upturned face bore its usual benign gentility, yet her words rang with quiet, pointed sarcasm.

  “You know damn well I deplore the way Spade treats women! Why do you care whose behalf—”

  “Because in the end, no matter what you decide to do, it’ll cost somebody’s hide,” she replied quietly. “Will it be yours, or Miss Caldwell’s? It won’t be mine.”

  Utterly frustrated, he stuffed his hat on and strode out the door, not daring to look in at Sahara again. Zerelda was right: if he even hinted to Spade that this marriage was a mistake, the old goat would suspect he had designs on the girl himself, and well he knew what a fatal mistake that would be. He could still hear the whistle of the whip slicing the air and feel its gut-wrenching sting cutting into his back. No woman in the world was worth that much pain and degradation.

  And no woman deserved it, either.

  That’s where the blade meets the grindstone, isn’t it? he chided himself as he entered the livery stable. You hardly know Sahara, except to know she’s not your type, but she’s getting to you. Making you think of somebody besides yourself for the first time in years.
An eye-opening experience, isn’t it, Madigan?

  Lord, where had this ghost of his conscience come from? It was awfully weak, that voice in his head, but all the way to the ranch it pricked him. Sahara had performed her assigned chores so efficiently she could also cover her brother’s butt, and he’d turned on her. It was Bobby who deserved to suffer…and as the miles of dusty road went by, Dan devised a plan that would have Caldwell insisting the wedding was off, rather than himself. High time the boozing young braggart took responsibility for his mouth—and for his sister—even if it meant losing his job and being publicly humiliated. A small price, compared to what Sahara would sacrifice once Spade vented his perverted passions on her.

  “What kinda fool do ya take me for?” Bobby demanded with a sardonic laugh. He paced a few steps around the darkening barn where Madigan had cornered him, moving like a cougar who smelled a trap. “Ya thought I’s too drunk—too stupid—ta know what I’s doin’ when I bet my sister away, didn’t ya? Hell, I hooked her up ta the gravy train, and myself along with her! I’ll be Horatio Spade’s brother-in-law, Madigan! Best bet I ever lost in my life!”

  Dan swore at himself for not anticipating Caldwell’s attitude. The wiry ranch hand gesticulated as he talked and paced, driven, by the nervous energy that characterized everything he did. His carroty hair and freckled face caught the rays of the sunset, making him appear even more fiendishly dedicated to seeing Sahara married off to the boss, suggesting that he’d lost the wager on purpose when he sensed Spade’s interest in his little sister.

  “There are things you don’t know about Spade’s…history with women,” he stated. He pulled two slender cigars from his pocket and offered one to Bobby, hoping a good smoke would steer this maverick down a different trail. “He has a taste for whips and shackles, Caldwell. Could you live with yourself, knowing you forced your sister to suffer constant fear of being bruised and cut by his lash?”

  Bobby shrugged. “A man’s way with his wife is his business. ’Sides, Sary’s quick enough ta dodge him and start sweet-talkin’ the meanness out of him. She’s smart that way.”

  Inhaling deeply, Madigan then let the rich smoke escape in a slow stream. The cagey little bastard before him was deaf to any pleas for decency, so there was only one other alternative he might consider. It was a risky, expensive move, but when he recalled Sahara’s innocent loveliness as she sat by the window, he had to try. “How much would it take to change your mind, make you retract your bet?” he asked in a deep, deliberate voice. “I could set you up in another state, where Spade can’t touch you. Give you a few years’ living money, to do as you please with, if you take Sahara with you.”

  Caldwell stopped in front of him, his eyes narrowing. “What’s it to ya, what happens ta Sary and me? Ya got your fancy duds and fine meals on china plates, and a highfalutin job as Spade’s right-hand man. Ya got the hots for my sister?”

  “She’s a sweet, hard-working—”

  “She ain’t for sale! Keep your pants on, Madigan,” he threatened, advancing with a menacing glare, “‘cause if this deal goes sour, I’ll hold ya personally responsible. I done my brotherly duty, marryin’ her off ta—”

  “You claimed she played fast and loose, and when Spade finds out she’s a wide-eyed innocent, he’ll—”

  “And how would you know that?” Caldwell challenged. “Ya been sniffin’ around where your nose don’t belong?”

  Madigan threw his cigar down and mashed it with his boot heel. “I know a whore when I see one, and Sahara’s a comely little thing who’ll get crushed by a crude old codger like Spade, in more ways than you or I care to imagine. His first wife was so banged up they had to keep the casket closed at the visitation, Caldwell. You want that for Sahara?”

  “I want ya ta mind your own frickin’ business. This conversation’s over.” Caldwell spun on his heel and stomped out toward the bunkhouses, muttering.

  “You’re a fool to think Spade’ll do you any favors,” Dan called after him. “To him, you’ll always be a stable boy.”

  Bobby laughed sarcastically over his shoulder and kept walking. “We’ll see about that, Madigan. If I’s you, I’d be concerned about my job.”

  He swore and kicked a nearby bale of hay. He should’ve known Caldwell would be too full of himself to comprehend—or care about—the ugliness he’d sold his sister into. Bobby saw the fine white house and the fancy carriages, and he watched Jennifer and Spade parade about in their fashionable clothes each evening before dinner; and he saw himself becoming part of that world by association.

  Spade would never go along with that. He’d laugh in Bobby’s speckled face and send him packing—arrange an “accident” on one of the far-flung ranges—if Caldwell persisted in his social climbing. Madigan hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to tattle about this little chat, because Horatio got especially nasty when hands tried to win favor by putting their superiors in a bad light.

  Dan buttoned his collar and slid the turquoise clasp up his string tie. Spade was expecting him for dinner, wanted to hear all about the trip to Zerelda’s and how his bride was behaving herself. As he walked toward the stately white house with its pillared porch and green shutters, he searched desperately for the words that would change Spade’s mind. If the portly express baron suspected Sahara had pleaded for her freedom, or that Dan was speaking in her behalf, Caldwel’s comment about losing his job might not be too far off the mark.

  But the burden was on his shoulders. Zerelda Roberts intended to work miracles to keep Spade happy—a position he could understand—so there was no one else to side with him. He stepped slowly up the porch stairs, considering the faults and shortcomings Sahara had, things Spade wouldn’t want to hear. Yet all he could recall was the gleam of this morning’s sun on her red-blond hair, her teasing wit, her desperation when she knew he was abandoning her.

  He was so lost in his dreary thoughts he didn’t notice Jennifer hurrying toward him until the door banged and she yanked him aside by the elbow. “Dan, you’ve got to do something!” she whispered breathlessly. “Daddy’s so wrapped up in this—this asinine wedding that he won’t listen to a thing I say! You’re the only one who can talk some sense into him!”

  How could he have overlooked Spade’s spoiled daughter as an ally? No doubt her indignation was entirely self-centered—life on the ranch revolved around Miss Jenny’s whims and desires most of the time—but he could use her influence to their mutual advantage. Her coal black ringlets bobbed with her agitation, and her porcelain china doll’s face was puckered in a pink-cheeked pout he knew well.

  Dan placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, which were bare above the provocative fuchsia gown she wore tonight. “Now calm yourself, Jenny,” he crooned. “Let’s get this talked out before your father comes hunting us. He hates to wait dinner.”

  “You sound just like him—saying this is one of my hissy-fits!” she spat. “Well, I’m telling you, Dan Madigan, he’s lost his mind over some—some shit-shoveling little fortune hunter who isn’t fit to walk up these stairs! I won’t have it!”

  She was shaking like a cat just hauled out of a watering trough, and Madigan swallowed a laugh. “Those are rather drastic descriptions of the girl who’s been entrusted with your laundry and meals, and has performed her—”

  “She’s after his money! Why else would she agree to marry him?”

  So the infuriated Miss Spade was concerned about another young lady spending her inheritance. He carefully considered what she’d been spouting at him, because she would be his best clue as to how her father should be approached. “Your daddy didn’t tell you he won her at poker, and that she had no say about marrying him?”

  “That’s absurd and you know it!”

  “I was there. Saw Bobby place Sahara as his bet, and saw your daddy win the hand fair and square,” he replied quietly. “I’m not saying I like it, any better than you do; but we both know how hard-headed he is, and we’ll need good, solid reasons to sway him, rather than hyst
erics.”

  Jennifer was drinking in his words, her expression rapt, and then she threw herself against him. “You’re absolutely right, Dan. Oh, I knew you’d see it my way and make things all better again.”

  He held her for a moment, knowing it was his best method of dealing with her. “Now, tell me what’s gone on since I went into town. Surely the sky hasn’t fallen in the past twenty hours.”

  She pressed against him with a tortured sigh. “He’s been like a man possessed,” she lamented. “First thing this morning, he sat Pearly and me down and started listing all the champagnes and meats and special dishes he wants for the wedding, and he sent Uriah off to buy lumber for a dais and dance floor, to be built out back of the house. He expects me to plan a reception the likes of which our friends have never seen, Dan, and they’ll be laughing at us from the moment they arrive. Why, that little beggar’s only fit to scrub clothes and follow Pearly’s orders in the kitchen! She’ll be an embarrassment to us—and she’s not even my age!”

  “And you’ve pointed these things out to him, I suppose?”

  “Somebody had to! He’s blind and deaf to anything but his own ridiculous notions,” she gasped. “I’ve never seen him this way, grinning every time he thinks nobody’s looking. I’m truly concerned about his mental state.”

  It was no surprise to Madigan that his employer was caught up with the tender young morsel he was about to devour. Spade knew Zerelda would work wonders, and he had every right to be excited about having a full-time, legitimate woman catering to his whims…and perhaps that was the key.

  Dan gently pushed his companion away. “Let me talk to him after dinner, Miss Jenny. Perhaps after a good meal, over cigars and brandy, I can persuade him to reconsider. He’s often taken my advice about running the ranch and the express business, so maybe he’ll understand how ludicrous this wedding looks from another man’s perspective.”

  Jennifer’s long, dark lashes fluttered demurely as she gazed up at him. “I just love the way you walk in and take control, Dan,” she breathed. “The smartest thing my daddy ever did was to make you his foreman.”