Sahara Splendor

by Charlotte Hubbard

  The attorney laughed aloud, a high, nervous twitter that infuriated Miss Jenny into leaning across the desk, pointing at his slender, whiskered face. “Will you think this is so funny when I employ another lawyer?” she demanded. “How am I to survive with this—this serving girl constantly underfoot? She can’t be my step-mother; she’s younger than I am! And I can’t see—”

  “It seems to me you’ve been entrusted with some very productive property, Miss Spade,” Dulaney interjected with an indignant scowl. “Most young women—”

  “Who cares about those smelly old horses? This nobody has latched on to what’s rightfully mine and then killed Daddy as well! Can’t you see that?” Jennifer sprang away to pace, frantically fluttering her black fan. “I can only imagine the frightful bills she ran up for all her new clothes—which I’ll refuse to pay from my accounts!—yet she had the gall to wear those hideous black atrocities and a gun to his room—”

  “You must’ve been spying on us, to have arrived on the scene so quickly,” Sahara said dryly.

  “—and she’s been encouraging Madigan’s attentions ever since Daddy proposed to her!” Miss Spade babbled on. “Why, he should’ve left you at the whorehouse, where you belong!”

  She’d heard all of the ranting she cared to from this spoiled brat, so Sahara stood slowly to counter Jenny’s malignant gaze with an unruffled smile. “I have friends at Zerelda’s. I’d be happy to go back,” she stated calmly. “I knew you’d try to get rid of me—and so did your father—which is why he changed his will. So, if you insist on me leaving your house, I’ll take my horses and my breeding business elsewhere, as they’re part of Spade Express. Am I correct, Mr. Dulaney?”

  The lawyer’s eyes widened. “Why, yes, I suppose you are. The sole reason Spade raised horses was to supply his freighting and stagecoaching businesses.”

  “Which means,” Sahara continued slyly, “that you, Miss Jenny, will be left with vast acres of unproductive pasture, empty stables, and a dozen hands who’ll have no work. How will you make the payroll? How will you maintain this huge home, much less live in the regal manner to which your daddy has accustomed you?”

  Jennifer’s nostrils pinched with rage. “That can’t be! You wouldn’t dare—”

  “I don’t have to,” Sahara replied with a shrug. “I’m perfectly willing to keep the business here, if you’ll allow me a room, and the food any normal person requires.”

  “You presumptuous little—”

  Madigan grabbed Jennifer before this cat fight turned into a tooth-and-claws battle. Sahara had obviously swayed Spade into this arrangement for her own benefit—and he had to admire her for it—but there wouldn’t be a moment’s peace until Spade’s daughter accepted her lot.

  “Sweetheart, listen to reason,” he crooned as he clutched her shoulders. “Without those horses or the overland stages, we’ve got no immediate income. Sahara has generously offered to share her profits—”

  “You’re siding with her?” Jenny wailed.

  “I’m facing facts,” he said in a stern whisper. “Your father left the properties to you and the business to his wife. If you boot her out, it’s only a matter of weeks before the funds dry up…and before I’ll have to find other employment. If we work with Sahara—”

  “You’d leave me? After all my daddy’s done for you? After you’ve promised to—”

  Madigan sighed, wishing he’d never met Horatio Spade. “How would I support you?” he asked quietly. “I get a salary for managing a ranch and accounts that won’t exist if you send Sahara away. You’ve never lived at the mercy of another person’s generosity, Miss Jenny. It’s not terribly gratifying, but it’s far better than being broke. Poverty wouldn’t suit you at all, my love.”

  Her glassy eyes were fixed on Dan’s lean, tawny face, and Jenny was clutching his hands like a melodrama heroine who was pleading for the hero to save her from doom and despair. At least she was quiet now, which gave Sahara time to evaluate the situation more fully.

  She’d been a complete, utter fool. She should’ve told Spade that she wanted nothing from him, so she’d be free to leave now—but who could’ve guessed that the sight of her with a whip and a pistol would do him in? She should never, never have coaxed Madigan to make love to her, because his loyalties were quite clear as he smiled down at the simpering Miss Jenny. He’d vowed to free her from Spade’s grasp and had failed. And now, after declaring affections that made Sahara feel something for him, he was pulling out on her, saying Miss Spade’s welfare meant more than her own. “My love,” he’d just called her! This was a deep barrel of pickles she’d fallen into.

  But no one would deny her this inheritance.

  Mr. Dulaney looked at them with a tenuous smile. “Have we reached an understanding, then? Can you ladies settle this without my further assistance?”

  Jennifer’s eyelids lowered as she glanced at Sahara, grasping Dan’s elbow with a sultry smile. “Yes, quite.”

  Forcing her chin not to quiver, Sahara nodded to the attorney. “I believe we understand each other very well now, Mr. Dulaney. Thank you for your counsel.”

  The next day was payday, and as Madigan sat at his table on the front porch, he felt like a slave seated between two overseers determined to find fault with his emancipation papers. Miss Jenny was on his right, murmuring a spirited commentary about each man’s shortcomings as he approached for his money and mail. To his left sat Sahara, quietly accepting condolences. Gone was the usual male banter about which girls in town would see most of this cash, and Dan missed it. It was going to be a long two hours, and dinner afterward held no promise of relief.

  “…and here comes Mike Glascock,” Miss Spade was saying in a haughty whisper. “Daddy always said he spent too much time behind the barn, either with a bottle or with Lottie from the kitchen.”

  Glascock came forward cautiously when he saw the two women, removing his hat as he ascended the stairs. “Miss Jenny,” he said with a nod, and then he smiled shyly at Sahara. “Seems I was just toastin’ your marriage, Miz Spade, and now…well, I’m right sorry.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured. She studied the burly, dark-haired man as he signed beside his name on the pay sheet, knowing from living in the shack closest to the bunkhouse that his courtship of Lottie was more wishful thinking than fact. And that bottle he nursed—it was liniment for the sore muscles and sprains he endured while breaking the horses to harness and training them to respond to a driver’s instructions.

  Madigan broke the strained silence by handing him a battered envelope. “Your mail,” he said. “Looks like it had a rough trip.”

  Glascock’s eyes lit up, and he tore the letter open as though it excited him more than his pay did. “Yeah, well, it’s from my brother Andy, up in the Oregon forests,” he replied. His lips moved as he quickly scanned the page, and then he shook his head, grinning. “Same ole story. The work never ends—he’s the camp boss, you see—and he and the boys’d give ten years of their lives to meet up with some decent women. You know how it is, Madigan—I mean—”

  The horse trainer’s swarthy face got redder as he stumbled over his words. “Present company excepted, of course,” he stammered, “but there is a shortage of worthwhile female companionship out here in the middle of nowhere. I—I better shut up and take my pay, I guess.”

  Sahara couldn’t help smiling when Jennifer fluttered her black fan indignantly, which only flustered the hand more. He was honest and likeable, Glascock was, and she suddenly had an idea that would shift some of his discomfort over to the very deserving Miss Spade. “How long have you worked here, Mike?” she asked slyly.

  He squinted as he thought. “Nigh onto six years, I reckon.”

  “That’s a long time, and you do top-notch work. Starting next month you’ll be receiving five dollars more—”

  Jennifer’s gasp and shocked blue eyes told her an argument was brewing, so she quelled it by adding, “—no, make it ten. Spade Express would go nowhere without those M
organs you train so expertly.”

  Glascock murmured a startled thanks and took his pay from Madigan as though he thought it might be snatched back as suddenly as it had been increased. When he’d crossed the yard, Sahara faced the two sets of eyes that challenged her.

  “You can’t just up and—why, when the other men hear about this, they’ll all be demanding raises!” Jenny said shrilly. “Glascock no more deserves—”

  “If you ever troubled yourself to get near those smelly old horses,” she quipped, “you’d know Mike’s one of our best. And word around town has it that your father pays far less than other ranchers, which makes leaving us for greener pastures awfully tempting, I’d think.”

  She looked at Dan then, knowing she’d intruded into his domain, and a little smug that he couldn’t do anything about it. “Do you believe in rewarding hard work and loyalty, Madigan? As I recall, you haven’t received much recognition for your own years of service here,” she said, raising an eyebrow at her raven-haired rival. “So perhaps, since your position is more Miss Jenny’s responsibility than mine, she’ll see the wisdom of my thinking and increase your wages as well. Plenty of other places would value your skills.”

  Madigan’s fist hit the table, making the cash box rattle. “I refuse to be caught in the middle of—”

  “Shhh! Caldwell’s coming!” Jennifer whispered. “It won’t do for him to see us squabbling. Do you know he had the nerve to wake me last night and—”

  Madigan shushed her with a glare. It was all he could do to keep his mind on the job at hand, the way these two she-cats were bickering, and Bobby’s sly look did nothing to improve his mood. He’d combed his carroty hair and put on a fresh shirt, at least, but his darting eyes and insolent sidle were warning that Caldwell was about to play an ace he thought he had up his sleeve.

  “Afternoon, Miz Jenny—Sary,” he said with a nod. “You two fine ladies in your summer gowns certainly improve the scenery at this pay table.”

  Jennifer looked down her nose at him. “Was it you who kept throwing pebbles against my window last night?” she demanded. “Daddy should’ve let you go long ago, and if it were up to me, you’d be fired right here and now.”

  His jaw twitched. “Musta been somebody else. I’s catchin’ my beauty sleep all night.”

  As he signed for his pay, Sahara knew damn well he was guilty as accused. And when he flashed her the foxlike smile that always meant trouble, she straightened in her chair.

  “Sary, I hear tell the pay’s gonna go up,” her brother began in a knowing tone. “Could be it’s time ta consider that promotion we’s talkin’ about last week. Whadaya say, now that you’re the boss lady?”

  She looked him coolly in the eye. “Could be it’s time you worked someplace else, Bobby.”

  He jerked. “What? Ya got no call ta get uppity—”

  “As your sister, I certainly know how often I’ve had to finish your chores,” Sahara said above his ranting, “and getting gambled away and spied on hasn’t improved my opinion of you, either. Did you ever get your horse and tack back?”

  “Well, no—I—”

  “Mr. Madigan, do you object if I reclaim Bobby’s mount so he can get his sorry butt off this spread? I’ve seen about enough of him.”

  Dan found himself chuckling in surprise. “No objection whatsoever, Mrs. Spade. It seems you’ve made your point about paying loyalty, and he’s done nothing but cause me trouble.” He took a pen and wrote fired, june 12th, 1866 below Caldwell’s name on the sheet. “Clear your things out before dark, Bobby,” he instructed, and then he instinctively stood up to grab the fist that came at him.

  “You sonofabitchin’—”

  “If I have to call the other men,” Dan warned, “you’ll be lying down on your horse rather than sitting upright.” He gripped the struggling man’s wrist even harder, until Caldwell let out a stream of obscenities and jerked free.

  Jennifer jumped up to strike him with her black fan. “That’s the filthiest talk I ever heard!” she spouted. “If I see you on my property after sundown, I’ll have my men shoot to kill. You’re a disgrace, Mr. Caldwell!”

  Shielding his red cheek, Bobby dodged another fan attack by backing quickly down the porch steps. He looked as riled as Sahara had ever seen him, and she knew what his next words would be—and that he meant them.

  “You’ll pay for this—all of ya,” he muttered with a menacing scowl. “I’ve lost better jobs, and I ain’t sorry ta be leavin’; but I never figgered ya for a traitor, Sary. You’ll be seein’ me again, little sister.”

  “Good riddance,” Miss Jenny hissed as Caldwell crossed the yard.

  Madigan caught the slightest flicker of Sahara’s lips. Was it regret, or fear? “I’ll have Glascock keep watch, to be sure he leaves without causing any more trouble. Meanwhile, I’d not wander far from the house if I were you.”

  She nodded and swallowed the lump of pain that seemed to cut her breathing off. “I—I believe I’ll go in and tend to some things,” she mumbled as she rose from her chair. “Don’t wait dinner on me.”

  The entryway was shadowy and cool after the late-afternoon heat of the porch. Even though she didn’t feel particularly comfortable in Spade’s house, something drew her to his study so that she could be alone for a while.

  She’d just fired her big brother—sent her flesh and blood away as though she never wanted to see him again—and she felt extremely agitated. Bobby wasn’t a man she’d ever been close to, but he had honored his promise to Mama to look after her…

  “He lost you in a poker game, too,” she muttered, trying to regain a sense of perspective. Neither of them knew how to live like rich people, and she must seem terribly uncharitable—maybe even to Dan and Jennifer—after dismissing him without a hint of hesitation.

  But after a few moments of silence in the dim study, Sahara knew she’d done the right thing. Bobby didn’t know when to quit, and he’d make life here even more miserable, badgering her for one thing after another, if he stayed.

  She glanced about, taking in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes, the Oriental rugs, the glossy furniture, and oil paintings on the walls. Up until this week she’d tiptoed through the mansion as though it were a shrine, and now she practically owned the place—or at least held the reins of the Spade empire’s most lucrative business. A glance at the original Mrs. Spade’s portrait whetted her curiosity about the safe it concealed, and she got up to look at it. The combination dial whirled freely when she spun it…the metal door swung open before she even tried to discover the lock’s number sequence.

  Sahara paused. Why would a man like Horatio Spade have a safe that didn’t lock—and who else knew about it? As though guided by unseen hands, her fingers closed around a small, decorated lockbox—probably jewelry, she guessed—and then chose instead the thick, yellowing books stacked behind it. If these were ledgers, she had every right to know what they contained.

  She sat down in Spade’s leather chair and opened the top volume, which looked most recent. The pages were filled with a bold, legible script she recognized as Madigan’s, each entry and column aligned with crisp precision. Records of the monthly payroll, disbursements for household goods, food, and supplies for the ranch were here, as were notations for the Spade Express Company.

  Sahara studied these with special interest: the cost of maintaining the stagecoaches, teams, personnel, and more than forty way stations between Atchison and Denver was staggering. As she read on, she realized that with branches extending north through Salt Lake City to Oregon, and south to California, Spade Express coaches crossed more than half the United States! Not only did these figures confirm Horatio Spade’s boasts that his stage line was well maintained—the finest on earth, he’d claimed—but it drove home exactly how wealthy she was. And how responsible for a transportation network she could only imagine as she glanced at a map of it on Spade’s wall.

  She suddenly felt very small, and extremely uninforme
d.

  “Checking my mathematics?”

  Sahara jumped. “I—I just thought I should know about—I had no idea—”

  “How filthy rich you are?” Madigan entered the dim study smiling, the pay sheet and cash box in his hand. “I’m not sure how you talked Spade out of so much, but—”

  “It was his idea that the stage line should be mine. When I pointed out that Union Pacific would one day drive it out of existence, he agreed that I should have more. And after what you and Bobby put me through last week, Mr. Madigan, I earned every cent of it, too.”

  Her face was alight with a mischievous confidence, and though Spade’s huge chair and desk dwarfed her, Dan sensed she was as capable as any woman of overseeing Horatio’s pet project.

  “You have my sincerest respect and congratulations, Sahara,” he said as he went over to the safe. “It’s no secret that Spade Express would fold before its time, were Jenny in charge. I’d have been managing the overland business as well as the ranch to keep her solvent. Guess Spade did me one favor in his life after all, as I’ve got all I can handle keeping track of these horses and hands.”

  Dan sounded slightly put out—as any man in his place would, Sahara thought—that the company hadn’t been signed over to him. But then, they all knew how he could’ve secured it for himself, had he acted sooner. She watched him place the cash box in the safe, wanting to remind him how he could’ve easily been overseeing everything Spade owned, but she thought better of it. Miss Jenny was ripe for marriage to the point of rotting, and Madigan had his reasons for not picking her.

  That was small comfort now, though. Ever since she’d coaxed him into making love on her wedding night, he’d all but ignored her. Perhaps he found her as intolerable as Jennifer so overtly staking a claim on him. Zerelda said men didn’t like it when women forced them into compromising positions, but such wisdom had escaped her when Dan Madigan had ushered her into that grove of trees and unbuttoned her shoes.