Sahara Splendor

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “I promise you,” he whispered, “that I’ll never betray what you’ve revealed as your deepest desires. As far as I can see, our two wills can mesh perfectly, rather than interfering with each other. If you’ll love only me, forever and beyond, my purpose in life will be to stand proudly behind you…to watch you soar, Sahara. Most men would scoff at such a notion.”

  “Most men couldn’t conceive it.” She closed her eyes, feeling his sweet, warm weight upon her even as her soul reached toward the highest stars. “If that’s truly the case, my answer’s yes. Yes, Dan, I’ll marry you.”

  He clutched her, awed beyond speech. Seeking her mouth with his, Madigan sealed yet another bargain with more than a mere handshake—it was his word of honor as a man, a husband! And when Sahara stirred beneath him, answering his need while arousing it once more, he swore to himself that she would always come first, this woman who had made him a whole man at last.

  Chapter 16

  “Elizabeth, please! We’ll take you somewhere safe,” Sahara pleaded the next morning. “I can’t stand the thought of you here alone—and with a baby coming!”

  Mrs. Kent managed a wistful smile and looked at her with doelike brown eyes that were rimmed with grief. “I know you mean the very best for me, Miz Spade,” she said in her soft drawl, “but this farm’s been home for too long, and I can’t abandon Alonzo’s dream to make a go of it. So if you’ll have your men unload my supplies, and send me some more of those fine Morgans and mules first chance you get, I’ll be just fine. Proud to work for a lady like you…proud to cook for your passengers.”

  “But if the Indians come back—”

  “They’re fightin’ for a home, same as my man was…same as, me,” she said quietly. Then she brightened, running a timid hand along the sleeve of Sahara’s gown. “Such a fine red dress—it’s no wonder Mr. Madigan’s got eyes for you, honey. Go on now, and don’t you worry about me. Alonzo taught me to shoot straight, and it takes more than a few liquored-up Indians to scare Elizabeth Kent off!”

  Such grit made her heart swell with admiration, but damn, it was scary to leave this woman at the mercy of those murdering redskins! Sahara glanced at the others, who were loading their luggage onto the coach and the wagons. “I’ll have the army post some protection here, and I’ll hire you a few men to handle the field work and the stage stock.”

  When she saw her buckskinned express messenger lifting the strongbox from the boot, she motioned him over. “Mr. Bean, have Charlie and Tom unload the new supply allotment and stack it in the kitchen, please,” she said as he set the box down beside her. “And while Madigan and I deal with the army, I’d like you to ride ahead to Junction City and telegraph Mike Glascock for more stock, and hire this lady the best help you can find her.”

  Luther nodded, and while he hailed the two freight drivers, Sahara counted the quarterly pay plus a generous raise into Mrs. Kent’s trembling hands.

  “But that’s way more than—”

  “Everybody gets more, from here on out,” Sahara said as she closed Elizabeth’s fist around the money. “And the first store I see that has dresses for mothers-to-be, I’ll send you some. How about a red one to go with that pretty black hair?”

  Elizabeth looked ready to bawl, but instead she threw her arms around Sahara and hugged her with a strength that made her gasp. “The baby and me, we’ll be fine. You’ll see—when you stop here on your way home,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll be thinkin’ of you, Sahara. Godspeed.”

  “And I’ll be thinking of you,” she mumbled. It was awkward, having this woman make over her, because she’d enjoyed such limited female affection through the years that she didn’t know how to accept it. By the time the teams were hitched up and she was settled beside Madigan in the coach, she was smiling, feeling almost good again.

  “Looks like you’ve made quite a friend,” Dan commented as he waved out the window.

  “Amen to that. And we’ll do our damndest to keep her safe, too.” Her first inclination was to reach for his hand, but with Jenkins and the two Pruitts watching from across the coach, she forced herself to sit at a respectable distance and keep her grin under control. “Be thinking about our tactics for when we reach the fort. Surely we can make the military see how advantageous it would be for them to prevent any more Indian attacks. The war’s over. They should have plenty of manpower at our disposal, considering the quality of what we deliver to them.”

  Hearing the sly, unshakable determination in her voice, Madigan had to chuckle at the little schemer beside him. Even if she didn’t open her mouth, her low-cut crimson gown and glistening hair would have them scurrying to do her bidding, hoping for the favor of Sahara Spade’s smile.

  And he knew that if he cut the deal she wanted without costing Spade Express a lot, she would favor him with much more than a smile. It was enough to keep Dan pondering the possibilities all the way to Fort Riley.

  As the high, wooden gates to the military compound swung open to admit them, Sahara gazed out the stage window, enthralled by the ceremony of it. Soldiers stood at attention, shoulder to shoulder, all the way to the main buildings of the fort as her coach passed by. She grinned at them, finally waving in her excitement, and they returned her enthusiasm with crisp salutes. They looked so strong and efficient in their blue uniforms!

  Perhaps Luther and Fergus had done the right thing by telegraphing ahead: it lent an air of dignity to the occasion that she couldn’t have mustered had she arrived unannounced, in dusty pants and a shirt. She was Mrs. Horatio Spade, after all, and she was here to make demands and negotiate about supply shipments.

  The large diamond ring she hadn’t worn since the wedding felt cumbersome on her hand when she glanced at Madigan. It was part of her costume for this most important role, however, and she would play Lady Spade to the hilt to buy protection for her station employees. When Dan smiled suavely at her, she sensed that he, too, was ready to take center stage.

  The coach stopped with the squeal of the brake as Fergus McGee sang out to the team, and Sahara held her breath. Phineas Jenkins was watching her and Madigan, his pudgy, bespectacled face a closed book, but Roxanne and little Mitch were smiling with open admiration.

  “You’ll do us all proud,” Mrs. Pruitt exclaimed. “You’re not just requesting protection for Elizabeth, you know. You’re ushering in an era of safer passage for all of us who will settle the West!”

  Her words rang with conviction, with the nobility of this errand, and Sahara straightened her shoulders. “You’re right,” she murmured. “Perhaps they’ll show you around the compound. I don’t know how long it’ll take to unload the supplies and complete our negotiations.”

  Fergus opened the coach door and grasped her hand, his gray eyes gleaming silver as he assessed her. “Ye’re a fine sight, lass. Looks like the top dog’s away, so Ziegler here’ll try to buffalo ye—known for that, he is—but ye’ll have yer way with him. Just wait him out. Make him sweat.”

  Those, too, were stout-hearted words—until Sahara saw the man in question awaiting them on the porch. Major Ziegler stood as tall and straight as a tree, his tanned, leathery face framed by a thatch of dark gray hair that was going white at the sides. With his hands clasped behind him and his expression fixed in a superior sneer, Ziegler looked more likely to frost over than to perspire.

  But he would not intimidate her!

  After he confirmed that his superior officer was in Washington, and introductions were exchanged, Sahara took the chair the major offered her in the office. She wasted no time getting down to business. “In light of Mr. Spade’s passing, Mr. Madigan and I thought it prudent to visit the stage stops and military outposts we supply. Have you any requests or questions about our freight agreement?”

  Ziegler tented his hands beneath his nose and studied her like a fox contemplating a chicken. His creaking chair finally broke the silence as he turned to address her partner. “You’re the Madigan who signs the vouchers and receipts, I assume?”


  Dan stiffened, smelling a trap. Ziegler was bent on making them blunder, planning to fluster Sahara into mistakes with his trick questions. It was time to bring this secretive arrangement into the open so that nothing got lost in hints or innuendo. “If you saw my name, sir, it was forged. Until Horatio’s death, I had no knowledge of these supply and livestock agreements with the military.”

  Sahara blinked, but sensed Dan’s attitude was a cue and continued in the same vein. “And if you think I’ll keep dealing with you at the expense of my express company, as my husband did, you’d better think again,” she piped up. Seeing his steely eyes narrow, she then lowered her voice. “I don’t blame you for these agreements, sir. But in light of the way they’ve left my station keepers strapped, I can’t allow them to continue.”

  Ziegler grunted. “As you’ve said, Mrs. Spade, the terms of these deliveries aren’t of my making. Nor are they my concern. Are you suggesting you wish to stop supplying us altogether?” he demanded haughtily. “Such an attitude is as unfortunate as it is un-American. Why, your late husband would kick at his coffin lid if he knew you were—”

  “It’s the lady’s American spirit that brings us here,” Madigan interrupted tersely. “And since playing upon a widow’s grief hardly befits a man of your station, I advise you to stop it at once.”

  The major’s mouth snapped shut. Sahara, too, resented his belittling tone, but sparring with this highhanded officer would get them nowhere—especially since she sensed Ziegler might have been involved in setting up the supply arrangements, perhaps without his superior officer knowing about it. It would explain his arrogance if he were cashing in somehow.

  And he wasn’t the only one who could appeal to a sense of honor and duty…Sahara let herself go limp against the chair, assuming the weak-kneed attitude this man was obviously thinking he could cow her into. “Are you married, sir?” she asked softly.

  Ziegler scowled. “No, but—”

  “Then, what of your dear mother? Is she alive?” The major ran a hand through one snowy sideburn. “Yes, she’s a feisty old soul who lives in Iowa—”

  “Imagine her horror if she were to arrive at the Spade station nearest here—on her way to visiting you, perhaps,” Sahara added plaintively, “and she found the station keepers’ charred, dismembered bodies scattered behind the house, still smoldering. Surely you recall the cloying stench of death, Major Ziegler, the gruesome tangle of corpses—men you knew. Men who fought for your survival, who gave their lives and left their families so you could fight another campaign. Would you want your mama to witness such a terrible sight?”

  Ziegler looked paler than before. “Of course not! No woman should be subjected to such carnage.”

  “Well, I was!” Sahara stood suddenly, driven by the power of the spectacle she was describing. “The smoke was still rising from their blackened bodies, and two of them were so mutilated they were scraped into the same makeshift coffin,” she recounted in a quivering voice. “Perhaps the war hardened you to such harsh reality, but I’ll see those poor men—men who were fighting loyally, doing their duty—in my dreams for a long, long time, Major.”

  She turned to face him, and felt the first tears dribbling down her cheek. “This is no sob story. This was the scene that awaited us yesterday at the station, after Indians overran it. And how in God’s name Mrs. Kent can go on, in light of such brutality and the child she carries, is beyond me, sir. But she plans to. I’ve never met a stronger woman in my life.”

  Ziegler shifted in his chair, his gaze shifting between her and Madigan. “And why are you telling me this? I thought we were discussing supply shipments.”

  “Because you should’ve prevented such a disaster! The fort was established to protect the area’s homesteaders and people traveling west!”

  She wasn’t sure she could lay such a burden entirely on Ziegler’s shoulders, but while she had his attention, Sahara certainly intended to try. “I lost three valiant men, not to mention a corralful of fine horseflesh and mules. And if you can sleep, wondering if those Indians’ll come back for Elizabeth Kent and her baby, well—you’re colder than those savages’ hearts! Far colder than your mama would have you be.”

  “Mrs. Spade, calm yourself,” he said as he raised a hand in protest. “I—I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  As the officer talked in a slightly more contrite tone than before, she turned toward Madigan to give him a purposeful wink. It was fine to appeal to this man’s soft spot, but even so, he wouldn’t deal seriously with her.

  Dan had watched his crimson-clad partner melt with the heat of her emotions, yet he knew her tearful outburst was more than a ruse. She’d faced yesterday’s catastrophe with astounding inner strength, so now Sahara was allowing herself to feel the helpless horror she’d been holding in check for Mrs. Kent’s sake.

  He stood up and took her lightly in his arms, frowning at Major Ziegler. “Mrs. Spade is merely asking you and your troops to do your job, sir. We came with your usual allotment of supplies and food—more, if you need it—but our wagons remain loaded if we don’t have your word that our stations between Atchison and Fort Harker receive full-time military assistance.”

  Ziegler’s jaw dropped. “And where do you think I’ll get the men for that?”

  “They made a fine show as we came in,” Madigan argued. “Surely they could be put to more pertinent use than parade duty here at the fort.”

  “Parade duty?” The major rose abruptly, but restrained his remarks when he saw that Sahara was still shuddering against Madigan’s chest. “I can understand your demand for more direct protection—and I’ve repeatedly requested more soldiers! But our military advisors in Washington are still licking their wounds. When we recount the horrible toll of Indian attacks out here, our eastern leaders claim we’re exaggerating. Compared to the Civil War, they say, a few skirmishes with redskins on painted ponies should be child’s play.”

  Dan had heard about this attitude every time Horatio returned from a trip to the capital to drum up government contracts—and army protection—for the freight he hauled. But the woman in his arms wouldn’t accept this excuse, and she shouldn’t have to!

  “My offer stands,” he said as he lightly stroked Sahara’s back. “Either we receive your assurance that army protection will be provided immediately, or we leave the fort with your food still on our wagons.”

  “But we’re already low on—where will we get adequate rations before we run out?” he spouted. “You can’t just leave with our—”

  “Perhaps you should worry more about what’ll happen when your advisors out east hear about the deal you and Horatio had going,” Dan hedged. Sahara patted his back, and he fought a grin: he didn’t know Ziegler was making money from the supply arrangement, but the sparks in the old goat’s eyes seemed to support this theory.

  “We’re not raising our price,” Madigan pointed out, “and we don’t particularly wish to send you elsewhere for food and horses, after such a longstanding relationship with Horatio. But if our station keepers don’t receive your regular; full-time protection, your superiors will be appalled to learn just how much you’ve been overpaying Spade for basic necessities. It smells like quite a scandal from where I stand, sir.”

  Actually, it smelled like wildflowers watered by Sahara’s tears. She pulled herself free of him to dab her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, facing Ziegler, waiting for his reply.

  Several minutes passed in a stony silence, but Sahara recalled McGee’s words about waiting the major out, now that Dan had so skillfully made him sweat.

  Finally he released a long breath. “All right, I’ll assign the men you’ve requested to your home stations—”

  “And to the swing stations in between,” Sahara insisted. “I don’t relish the idea of losing any more livestock to those redskins.”

  Ziegler let out an exasperated oath. “Oh, all right, but—”

  “And we’ll see that on paper,” Madigan cut in. “I
require a full accounting of all our transactions, even if Horatio didn’t.”

  As the major sat down and yanked a piece of stationery from his desk drawer, he sneered at Madigan. “Mighty presumptuous for a bookkeeper, aren’t you?”

  Dan felt a smile spreading slowly over his face. “Just taking care of business,” he replied. “When Mrs. Spade made me her partner, the job became much more than facts and figures to me. And now you’re dealing with her, I’m sure you’ll appreciate my respect for Sahara and her wishes. She’s an extraordinary woman.”

  Ziegler grunted. Then, with an illegible flourish, he signed the document he’d written and handed it to Madigan. “Dismissed,” he muttered.

  Chapter 17

  The stop in Junction City raised Sahara’s spirits. She and Roxanne selected three roomy, summer-weight dresses—one of them a cheerful red calico—for Elizabeth Kent, and included several lengths of cloth for diapers and baby clothing in the box she was sending to the farmhouse. When they spotted a set of combs decorated with red ribbon roses, Sahara lovingly tucked those into the package, as well.

  “She needs something that’s just pretty for its own sake,” Mrs. Pruitt agreed. “Lord knows I couldn’t endure such an isolated life. It was bad enough getting by without Wendell in Kansas City these past weeks. I—I believe I’ll buy some stationery and write him that we’re on our way.” She looked at her son, who had returned from wandering wide-eyed around the general store. “And, Mitch, why don’t we buy you a slate and a primer? By the time we get to our new home, you could be writing your letters! Papa will be so proud.”