Sahara Splendor

by Charlotte Hubbard

Chapter 13

  When they arrived at the next stage stop, Madigan was still pondering the challenge of Sahara’s words, and the challenge of the woman herself. Once again he was impressed with the easy way she endeared herself to the station keeper and his wife, telling them of their increased supply allotment and pay without lording it over them. He also recalled the sight of her holding a distraught Roxanne Pruitt and little Mitch to her breast while defending them with her pistol, and the way her drivers openly admired her pluck as well as her charm.

  Sahara Spade was a remarkable young lady, certainly capable of commanding the vast empire Horatio left her—except she didn’t know the extent of it. That was where he held the upper hand, and it was his most likely means of attaching himself to the inheritance he coveted, now that he knew how fate and Horatio Spade had cheated him. Dan didn’t want to steal Sahara’s holdings. He just wanted to help her control them, to share his expertise and…maybe even his dreams with the astute, delightful, wanton little creature whose green eyes and quick wit captivated him.

  He studied her over Mrs. Schmitz’s generous meal, contemplating how best to win her. When the Schmitz boys and Mitch were seated outside with their plates, the ten adults crowded around the trestle table to enjoy beefsteaks, fried potatoes, fresh garden beans, hot bread, and apple pie. Of the three women present, Sahara looked the least ladylike, yet she shone far brighter than the bashful Roxanne or Janice, whose hard, isolated life showed in her careworn face. The women were seated at one end of the long table to share their gossip, leaning eagerly into their conversation, but it was Sahara’s smile Dan found himself watching throughout the meal.

  She held his gaze for a moment before looking at her driver. “How long before we have to leave, Mr. McGee? Is there time to help Janice with this mountain of dirty dishes?”

  Fergus shrugged. “The schedule’s yers to set. We could check the axles and harnesses—and since Kevin Schmitz is a skilled distiller, we men can amuse ourselves till ye’re ready to leave.”

  “Thank you. We haven’t caught Janice up on the latest from Atchison yet.”

  Her compassion warmed him, yet Dan raised an eyebrow. “Do you and Bean have a habit of drinking on the job?” he asked. “Spade’s employment regulations expressly forbid such a thing.”

  The freight drivers, McGee, and Luther Bean exchanged a wary glance, and then Oswald spoke up. “Spade relaxed things a bit for us who make the entire trip without changing off,” he replied. “And you—or Mrs. Spade—can search our records, and you’ll find no mention of miscounted goods or money, or accidents, or injury to man nor beast, due to our refreshing ourselves now and then.”

  “’Twas Spade who supplied the whiskey—quality stuff,” Fergus added with a challenge in his eye. “But of course, we didn’t expect Sahara to think of it.”

  A cautious chuckle went around the table, and Sahara smiled. “After warding off our attackers, I expect you men could use a few belts, and the heat’ll evaporate the liquor out of you, anyway. Join them if you like, Dan. No harm in a little socializing with our new friends!”

  Her grin brought to mind the way spiked wedding punch had made her desperate for his attentions, and Madigan wondered if a little home brew might fortify him for socializing of a more personal sort. “Just wanted to be sure we all understood each other,” he said with an amiable shrug. “Actually, a swig of whiskey would be the perfect end to this wonderful meal. My compliments to the cook.”

  Janice gave him a grateful smile, and then the men rose as though on cue, to relax in the shade of the barn. The drivers all knew Mr. Schmitz and caught him up on stories of friends along the stage line as they passed a crockery jug around their circle. Since Dan wasn’t familiar with the people they discussed, he downed a few gulps of the fiery moonshine, nodding now and then, but his mind and eye wandered. Phineas, set apart by his suit and his refusal of refreshment, tried to strike up a quiet conversation about the Spade empire and its heir, but Dan knew better than to gossip with a journalist. When Sahara tossed the tub of dishwater out the back door, he saw his chance to further his own purposes.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “the boss and I need to confer about our delivery at Fort Riley.”

  As he stood up, Tom Underwood gave him a knowing grin. “You don’t impress me as a man who’d let a woman have the upper hand, Madigan—especially after all these years you’ve managed the accounts and the ranch. Going to show Sahara who’s really in charge?”

  He almost told the agate-eyed mule skinner to mind his own business, but he forced a smile instead. “Nope. I’m going to show her exactly how far she can go, and then watch her fly. I trust you boys’ll find enough to talk about that we won’t be interrupted.”

  As he approached the simple house, Madigan knew they were speculating about his intentions, but he didn’t care. His eye was on the open back door, his ear tuned to the quiet, feminine voices drifting out, to the one whose melody sang to his heart whenever he heard it, silly as that sounded. Sahara, too, would think such a sentiment ridiculous if he voiced it, so he tried to concentrate on Spade business as he peered in through the doorway.

  Sahara looked up from their conversation as though she’d been expecting him. “Yes, Dan?”

  Yes, Sahara. Say yes to whatever I ask, he thought as he gazed at her. “If you can spare a moment, it seems like a good time to look over some papers before we stop at the fort tomorrow. Once we get rolling, it’ll be too windy on top of the coach.”

  As she rose from her chair, wearing a secretive smile, Roxanne’s eyes widened. “I—I’m sorry if we’re intruding by remaining in your coach. Perhaps we should wait for the next stage—”

  “I’d be pleased if you’d stay with us,” Sahara said firmly. “Being an accountant, Mr. Madigan dwells on figures, and your presence won’t inhibit us in the least. Will it, sir?”

  “Not at all,” he replied, masking a grin when he heard the suggestive undercurrent of her remarks. He itched to lead her to the shaded bank of the nearby spring, but the others were already watching for signs of such a tryst. Instead, Dan ambled beside her as they approached the royal blue coach in front of the house.

  “And whose figure do you think I’m dwelling on, Sahara?” he asked quietly. “Are you implying I’m so uninhibited as to make love to you with five other people on the coach, and Charlie and Tom watching from behind?”

  “I’m not surprised you’d think of it.”

  “Me?” he protested with a laugh. “Who was begging for it beneath the trees while her reception guests—”

  “That was different,” she replied demurely. “My life was at stake, and I was trying to escape Spade. And now that my reputation’s on the line, in front of employees and passengers alike, your little hints—and your cow eyes over dinner—won’t get me to drop my drawers, Madigan. I meant it when I said we wouldn’t kiss and make up.”

  “Cow eyes? I—”

  “I’m sure everyone else was aware of them too. Now where are those papers you wanted to show me?”

  She was crossing her arms, looking up at him with a serious green-eyed gaze—which Madigan considered only a temporary delay. It was Sahara’s way to challenge him, and by the end of this little conference she’d be as desperate for his caress as she was for the information only he could give her. With that in mind, he scrambled up to get the saddlebags he’d secured on the roof of the stage. “Let’s sit inside. It’s shadier, and more private.”

  She entered the coach ahead of him, her firm little behind a further enticement as she stepped up into the shadowy, leather-scented carriage. Perhaps he could convince her to share herself as well as her holdings—

  “Why did you follow me, Madigan?” she demanded with a cool, assessing gaze. “Is it because you’re interested in me? Or because you want a piece of what I inherited, as your due for being Spade’s son?”

  Dan’s mouth went dry. Her sixth sense about people had brought her a long way in a short time, and he was f
ooling only himself if he assumed Sahara Spade wouldn’t catch him in a lie…a lie that could cost him everything he wanted. Alone with her at last, in this luxurious coach, Dan suddenly realized that the line he’d tossed at Tom Underwood rang truer than he thought: Pm going to show her how far she can go, and watch her fly.

  He sighed. “I wondered about that as I rode into Atchison,” he replied in a low voice, “and after hearing how you bungled with Lewis, I thought you deserved to be a laughingstock. But you turned things around, Sahara. Your men want you to succeed—and so do I now—because we can’t help but like you.”

  Her eyes softened somewhat, but she sat quietly, in that unnerving way she had, waiting for him to continue.

  “All right, I admit it—I felt like a cheated little nobody when I found out Spade sired me,” he said in a resentful voice, “and I was plenty mad at you. But when I saw those outlaws surrounding this blue coach, my only thought was that you might get hurt in the fracas. I didn’t give a damn about your money—well, all right, I do—but I guess I’m saying there’s more to it than that.”

  Sahara closed her eyes, wanting to believe him as he slipped his hand around hers. There was a lot at stake here, more than a furious Jennifer Spade, and supply deliveries to the army, and the future of a stagecoaching empire. Her heart might be involved, and it scared her to death. “What are you saying, Dan? What do you want from me?”

  More than anything, he wanted her saucy smile to reassure him she wouldn’t turn him away. But this was no time for flippant remarks. “I was going to coerce you into splitting your holdings, by keeping these papers to myself until you agreed to it,” Madigan confessed as he patted his saddlebags. “But you deserve better than that.”

  “Why?”

  Damn her for demanding a truth he hadn’t had time to think about! “Because you’re Sahara Spade!” he blurted. “Because—because you’re one of the wealthiest women around and you don’t give a damn about it, except that people are depending on you and you feel responsible for them. Horatio never cared that way, and…I guess I have a lot to learn about it myself.”

  Sahara gazed steadily at him, amazed at this outpouring from a man who’d once gone along with gambling her away—who’d laughed at her, and seduced her…but more than once had come to her defense. The air in the coach was hot and still, made moreso by · Madigan’s nearness and his earnest, tawny face. A rivulet of sweat ran down his temple, and she almost brushed it away; but one touch would distract her from the understanding they had to reach—before they could discuss business, and before the men came out to hitch up fresh horses. “Are you proposing a partnership, then? Spade’s designated heir teaming up with his blood kin?”

  Once again her ability to single out the real issue made him smile. “Yes, I guess that’s what I want.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  Damn her again! What did he have to do? “Sahara, I’m trying to be—”

  “My doubts aren’t directed so much at you, Dan, as—well…” She hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t hurt him. He’d bared his soul, and it seemed that she could do no less. “It’s just that every other man I ever trusted has turned on me. My father ran out, my brother betrayed me—”

  “Don’t forget me, Sahara. I took my turn at letting you down, too.” Madigan squeezed her sturdy little hand, hoping he didn’t sound presumptuous. “But think of the team we’d make. I know exactly how Spade’s businesses work—who runs them, and what the terms are. It’s your fresh perspective, your goodness, that will untwist Spade’s crooked deals, though. It’ll take both of us to keep things running.”

  She listened closely, hearing a new sincerity in the ranch manager’s voice and wanting desperately to believe in it. “And it’s my greenhorn notions—plus the fact that every man I deal with thinks I’m an easy mark—that cries out for somebody to balance the scales. Facts and figures are my best weapons.”

  She studied the tigerlike man beside her. Dan’s sun-streaked hair fell over his forehead above bottomless brown eyes that wouldn’t let go of her. His lips were parted in anticipation; the cockiness he’d displayed earlier was now replaced by an urgency that made her hold her breath. He was lithe and strong and capable—as he’d proven to Horatio Spade over many, many years—yet she couldn’t forget the stripes that crisscrossed his broad back…scars inflicted by his own father.

  Was she falling for Dan Madigan’s background, feeling sorry for him? Or was she making the only logical business decision by sharing her new empire with him? “All right, I think we can—”

  “Sahara, I understand your hesitation. My God, we’re talking about millions of dollars—”

  “—but if we work together, I intend to keep Spade Express for myself—”

  “—and we both know Miss Jenny’ll raise holy hell—”

  “—so let’s get those papers out and settle things, before the men come out to hitch up the horses, partner.”

  “—but you and I together can—huh?” Madigan blinked. Her catlike expression suggested he’d just missed something vitally important, but damned if he knew what.

  Chuckling uncontrollably, Sahara gave in to the urge to wipe the trails of sweat from his tanned, handsome face. “I just said we were partners, Dan. I keep full control of Spade Express, but we’ll share the decisions and split the profits from everything else,” she stated quietly. “Since there’s no lawyer present, we’ll rely upon a gentlemen’s agreement. Our word of honor, from here on out.”

  Madigan stared blankly at the honey-colored hand she was offering him, his heart hammering. “Gentleman’s agreement, my ass,” he whispered, and then he pulled her into an embrace that stunned them both.

  His mouth covered hers, sealing their agreement with a deep, liquor-flavored kiss. Sahara yielded herself, pouring her soul into every nuance, every moment they remained lost in each other.

  He pulled away to look at her, to be sure she was real. “You won’t be sorry,” he breathed.

  “I better not be, or we part ways.”

  “Sahara, I—” He gazed at the golden-red hair he’d mussed, at lips flushed from returning his kiss, at the sprinkling of freckles and teasing green eyes that shone with the wonder he felt welling up inside him. “Oh, hell! This is what I really mean to say.”

  Again he kissed her, pressing her into the padded leather seat with an intensity that threatened to consume him. Sahara wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in the closeness of his powerful body, in the whiskey-cedar essence that the coach’s heat magnified. This was altogether different from his playful advances in the buggy or his daring response to her behind Spade’s house. Dan Madigan was sharing himself as well as his physical desires this time, and the difference she felt astounded her.

  She pulled away with a gasp. “Mr. Madigan, that was quite a kiss.”

  Dan chuckled and stroked a wayward wisp of fiery blond hair from her forehead. “And that was quite a deal. You don’t know how much this means to me, honey.”

  Lovingly she stroked the rough, masculine ridge of his jaw. Here was a man whose early life had been as poor and lonely as her own, who had gained Spade’s respect in spite of it—and who suddenly knew the overwhelming joy of having the world at his command.

  “I think I do know,” she whispered with a tender smile. “Better pick up your saddlebags and get those papers out. Here come Fergus and Charlie with the horses.”

  Chapter 14

  They were soon on their way, behind a team of dappled gray Morgans, and Sahara’s heart galloped right along with the horses. She’d settled herself in the driver’s box between Fergus and Luther, partly to allay their suspicions about her business with Madigan, but mostly because this rush of excitement as they rolled along the open road was the most exhilarating feeling she’d ever experienced.

  “Do you always let them run first thing out of a station?” she asked the man in blue beside her.

  The Scot smiled. “It settles them quicker, and the
n I slow them down to conserve their strength for the haul to the next station,” he replied. “Then, about half a mile before we reach a town, I urge them into a gallop for our big entrance. Makes for a grand spectacle, aye?”

  Sahara grinned, loving his sense of showmanship as much as she thrilled to having the wind blow through her hair. She could feel Dan’s gaze from the stagecoach roof, but she kept her eyes on the six gallant horses and the reins—ribbons, McGee called them—which he kept loosely woven between his fingers.

  “How do you control the team?” she asked. “By the looks of it, you barely have a hold on the reins, yet when we circled behind the freight wagons during the attack, the horses knew exactly what to do.”

  He sat straighter, his muscled shoulder brushing hers. “Some of that’s the trainin’ they get at yer ranch, Sahara,” he answered, his gray eyes sparkling, “and the rest is finger dexterity. By tightenin’ or loosenin’ me grip on each set of ribbons, I tell the leaders when to start into a turn, or to slow down, and then tell the swing team and the wheelers what to do, as well.”

  “That’s really something,” she murmured. To her left, Luther stared out over the plains as though unimpressed with the driver’s expertise. “Does Mr. Bean ever take the reins? The way I understand it, the coaches travel all night, and you surely don’t go nonstop to Denver!”

  He glanced briefly at the express messenger and lowered his voice. “For you, lass, Fergus McGee’d drive to hell and back, with yer lovely face to take ‘im the distance. But aye, Bean spells me now and then—and any time ye wish to stop for a few hours’ rest, ye let me know. We’ll be slower deliverin’ the pay and supplies, but we’ll be in a much finer fettle for havin’ slept along the way.”

  His low voice enhanced a mood that was already fine, and for several minutes she rode silently, taking in the panorama of the Kansas landscape, which rolled like an endless sea of grass around them. She felt free out here, away from Jennifer and Bobby—and without the constraints of a corset or the hoops and frills current fashion demanded. Madigan, Fergus, and her other men didn’t seem to miss them, so why should she?