Her fingertips marveled at the velvety skin of Dan’s behind while she nuzzled the wiry coils on his chest and breathed in his virile essence…so many textures to this man, so many things to learn about the one who’d introduced her to a Sahara she never dreamed existed. When she felt the contrasting slickness of the lash marks on his back, her hand stopped, hovering lightly. “Do these scars bother you? Do they still hurt?”
Madigan shrugged and stroked her cheek. “They itch sometimes,” he said quietly, “but I never see them, so I rarely think about them being there.” With a gentle finger, he raised her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “Do they bother you, Sahara? Jennifer saw them once and had such a fit that Spade ordered me never to go shirtless outside my cabin again.”
Scowling, Sahara grunted, “Consider the source. When I couldn’t stand any more of her highhandedness, I reminded myself that jenny-fur is merely the hide of a female jackass. It keeps things in perspective for me.”
A chuckle bubbled up inside him, and Dan hugged her close. Leave it to this feisty little sprite to see the heart of any matter—or person—and separate the reality from the myth. “I love you so much,” he murmured against her ear. “Thanks for being mine, honey.”
Sahara reached up to kiss him and found herself wanting him all over again. His lips told her that he, too, was considering another round of this wondrous pleasure they shared, so she gently freed herself from his embrace to tempt him anew. “Lie on your stomach, Dan. Bobby claims I give a mean massage when I put my mind to it.”
He did as he was told and reveled in her sweet, warm weight resting against his hipss…felt the tickle of the coils between her legs and the erotic trailing of her stiff nipples as she stretched out on top of him for a moment. Had she picked up these tricks watching the whores at Zerelda’s, or was Sahara just a natural at knowing what excited him? It didn’t matter. He was rock-hard, and he could never get enough of her.
As Sahara’s hands began to knead his neck and shoulder muscles, he let out a deep sigh. Back rubs were another of her talents, and he smiled when he realized she’d share them only with him from here on out. She gripped and released, her palms moving in slow, seductive circles down his spine. When the heels of her hands pressed a sensitive spot beneath his rib cage, he hooted with laughter and heard her knowing chuckle in return. “You’re a sly one, my Sahara.”
“You must like it. I don’t see you trying to shake me off.”
Madigan was ready to roll over so that she’d tumble onto the mattress and he could love her again, but then he felt the wet satin of her lips in the center of his back.
He held absolutely still. These were no ordinary kisses she was bestowing: Sahara’s mouth and tongue were following the trails Spade’s whip had carved so long ago. With soulful tenderness, she was lavishing her attention upon the disfigured skin as though it were the dearest, most desirable part of his body. A shudder of gratitude coursed through him—he felt damn near tears as he gripped the mattress and accepted her heartfelt affection for the gift it was.
Madigan couldn’t recall the exact day Horatio’s whip had inflicted these wounds, but he knew this was the moment the healing would begin.
Chapter 22
“By the authority vested in me by God Almighty Himself, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride, Mr. Madigan.”
Dan glanced at the cadaverous, black-clad preacher, clearing his throat. “Maybe I’d better wait. I wouldn’t want to offend a man of the cloth with my—”
“Nonsense. You’ve not waited to partake of this lady’s other delights, so why be coy?” the man intoned with a perfectly straight face. “God can only be pleased that you’re making your activities legal and permanent.”
Sahara laughed aloud. Reverend Graves had seemed so stern and forbidding—had stared pointedly at her abdomen when they breathlessly requested a wedding—she’d feared he was going to refuse them. She reached for Dan and shared a firm, satisfying kiss.
“Thank you, sir,” Madigan said as he placed money in the minister’s hand. “You’ve made this the happiest day of my life.”
“As well it should be. I’d give my eyeteeth to marry such a fetching young woman.” The preacher folded his pay into the pocket of his frock coat and actually winked at her! “Take care of your wife, Madigan. Because if you don’t, plenty of men in these parts would be pleased to take your place.”
“Amen to that,” Charlie Oswald chimed in. He waited for Bobby to sign the witness line of the marriage certificate, scratched his name below Caldwell’s, and then gave them a blue-eyed grin. “I wish you both a world of happiness. I’m grateful to you for hearing my side of that robbery story—and proud to be standing up with you today.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” Sahara mumbled, and she flushed when the mule skinner bussed her temple. Bobby gave her an awkward kiss, too, mumbling something about hoping she was happy. He was hung over when they found him this morning, and his surliness overpowered any brotherly sentiments he might have about this wedding.
“We appreciate your hard work and your honesty,” Dan stated as he shook their hands, and as they all walked toward the door, he gave Oswald a secretive smile. “I’d be obliged if you’d escort my bride to the hotel while I tend to a couple of very important details—like buying her a ring, and arranging an appropriate celebration for this evening. Seems like we’re going about this backward, but the preacher had a tight schedule today.”
Sahara squeezed her husband’s arm, beaming at him. “I wouldn’t change a thing. Neither of us hems and haws over decisions once we know they’re right, so spending weeks on grandiose preparations would’ve been silly. Especially since Graves saw through us anyway.”
His heart pounding with proud joy, Madigan grabbed her up in a jubilant kiss. “What kind of ring do you want?” he asked. “Name it, and it’s yours.”
“Surprise me.”
He grinned broadly. “I intend to do that every day, Mrs. Madigan. I’ll be back in a few hours, so get yourself ready for the finest dinner Denver can put on the table.”
As he strode down the street, Sahara watched him with a heart that was overflowing with love and joy and sheer giddiness. Mrs. Madigan, he’d called her! The name echoed like a happy song, a tune she’d sing all the days of her life. He was so handsome and bold and decisive—things could only get better and more prosperous now that they were partners in every sense of the word.
She felt Charlie watching her and chuckled sheepishly. “You probably think all this mooning looks pretty silly.”
“I envy you both. Madigan’s a far better match for you than Spade ever was.” His tanned, leathery face broke into a sincere smile as he offered his elbow. “‘Course, ever since you sashayed into Ira’s store to tell him and Tom what was what, I’ve had a hankering to court you myself. I hope we can still be friends, Sahara. I admire your grit, and it’s an honor to be working for you.”
“Why—thank you, Charlie,” she stammered. After enduring years of her brother’s taunts, and then Horatio’s threats, all these compliments from her men overwhelmed her. “I’m glad you steered clear of Underwood’s sneakiness. Hope the law catches him and strings him up.”
The mule skinner’s bent arm tightened slightly around her hand as he glanced around her toward Bobby. “I plan to look for him myself,” he said quietly. “Suspected things along the way…loaned him some money that never got paid back. Since Dan said you’d be resting here a few days before heading back to the ranch, I figured I’d try to draw him out.”
“You be careful,” Sahara warned. “If he’s underhanded enough to forge and steal and—”
“Bobby said he’d help. We’ll watch out for each other.” He stopped outside the doors of the hotel and patted her hand. “A new bride shouldn’t worry herself about such matters, Sahara. You just concentrate on making Madigan happy, and let the rest of us take care of things for a while.”
As he bid her a good afternoon and invit
ed Bobby for a beer, Sahara realized that her new husband was the only person she had to concern herself with for the next few days. Roxanne and Mitchell Pruitt had gone to their new home, and they’d seen Phineas Jenkins come in on another stage. The reporter planned to rest a day or so and post some stories to the press before continuing on to Salt Lake City, he said—and he’d contritely thanked Sahara again for bringing him to his senses before he could do little Mitchell harm. And with Fergus and Luther jailed, and her brother and Oswald searching for Tom Underwood, she had time to adjust to her new title…Mrs. Daniel Madigan!
With a giddy grin to the hotel’s doorman, Sahara went upstairs to prepare for the most glorious evening of her life. She would wear the mint green gown Miss Zerelda had ordered for her, the dress that first made Dan look at her like she was all woman when she’d descended the stairs at the ranch. She would indulge in a long, hot soak and wash with her wildflower soap and lavish lotion upon her skin; and by the time her husband came for her, her hair would be swept up, and she’d outshine every woman west of the Mississippi!
Daydreaming of how she’d extend her hand so that Dan could place a magnificent ring on it, Sahara grinned and rang to have hot water brought to the room.
“Not to be nosy, but did I hear you say you’ve just married Sahara Spade?”
Madigan looked up from the display case full of jewelry that sparkled like a collection of rainbows to see a stocky, prosperous-looking gentleman smiling at him. He’d noticed the man entering the store as he’d given the jeweler instructions on how to complete Sahara’s ring. His chestnut hair and beard were neatly trimmed, and he wore an expensive vested suit with a glittering gold watch chain draped across his girth. “Yes, I did,” he replied with a grin. “You speak as though you know her.”
When the man stroked his mustache, a large diamond winked on his finger. “She’s a celebrity—the newspapers featured quite a story about her and the way she’s improving the Spade Express stage line,” he commented suavely. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Madigan. Heartiest congratulations.”
Dan shook the sturdy hand extended toward him, his guard up. “And you are—?”
“Billings. Nelson Billings.” The man assessed him with dark brown eyes that missed nothing. “I hope I’m not sounding presumptuous, but you see, I’m an agent for Ben Holladay’s express line here in Denver, and it’s my job to keep abreast of the competition. Let me say outright that I admired Horatio’s acumen for all the years I knew him, and that my initial skepticism about his young wife’s taking over has now been replaced by sincerest respect. She sounds like a rare woman indeed.”
“She is.” Madigan turned his attention to the gangly jeweler, who was coming out of the back room with a small velvet box. For a moment he hesitated to inspect his bride’s ring while this garrulous competitor looked on, but Billings showed no sign of leaving—and he certainly wasn’t the type who’d steal it later. Dan couldn’t shake the feeling that Holladay’s agent wasn’t here by coincidence—but what a ridiculous notion! Marrying Sahara must’ve sharpened his sense of protectiveness.
Dan opened the box and whistled appreciatively. “Excellent. The diamonds set the emerald off to perfection, and now it matches the choker we discussed. She’ll love them.”
When the jeweler bowed slightly and went to fetch the necklace, Billings stepped closer. “A lovely choice. From the description in the papers, that gemstone will be outshone only by her vibrant eyes.”
Scowling slightly, Dan snapped the box shut. “And just where did you read this glowing report?” he demanded. “If every man who sees her takes such an interest, I’ll have to—”
“Mr. Madigan, I assure you I have no designs on your new bride,” Billings said with a low chuckle. “I believe the two stories I saw were penned by a chap named Jenkins—”
Phineas! The reporter had apparently outdone himself in print to compensate for the trouble he’d caused aboard Sahara’s coach.
“—and to prove my best intentions, why don’t I procure copies of the articles and meet you in the tavern across the street?” he continued, gesturing toward the store’s front window. “You can complete your business here, and we can talk over a drink—my compliments. Say, twenty minutes?”
Billings seemed so earnestly apologetic he could hardly refuse the offer. And Sahara would enjoy seeing the pieces Jenkins wrote, and hearing whatever information he could glean from a chat with their chief competitor’s agent. “All right, twenty minutes.”
With a courtly nod, Nelson Billings excused himself, and when the shop’s bell tinkled with the closing door, Madigan turned again to the jeweler. “What do you know about that man?” he asked.
The jeweler’s skinny shoulders rose briefly. “He and Mr. Holladay are married to women whose tastes for the exquisite keep me in business, sir.”
“Ah. I’m in good company, then.” Madigan reached inside his vest and counted out an astounding amount of cash, feeling a deep glow of satisfaction. “Thanks for your timely service and candid reply. My wife and I will cherish these pieces for many, many years.”
“I appreciate your business, Mr. Madigan. Visit us again when you return to Denver.”
Madigan tucked the jewelry boxes into the inside pocket of his frock coat, enjoying their soft solidity. He could envision Sahara’s face lighting up when he presented her with these elegant gifts, and as he thought about the evening he’d planned, he breathed deeply. Sahara was a dream come true—a fantasy he’d dismissed as beyond his reach, now firmly within his loving grasp—and he’d never felt more contented with his life.
He could while away hours thinking of how he intended to please his wife, but Dan got his grin under control and strolled across the street instead. Inside the small yet elegantly appointed tavern, he spied Billings’s portly form through the haze of cigar smoke and joined him at a small table near the rear of the crowded room. A crystal decanter and two snifters awaited him, and his competitor poured with a jovial smile.
“Here’s to your long and happy marriage,” Nelson toasted, and after their glasses rang together they sipped the fiery-smooth brandy. “Sporting of you to join me, Madigan, when you surely have lovelier company to keep.”
“She’s primping,” Dan replied.
Billings stroked his beard, chuckling, and then pulled two folded pages of newsprint from inside his coat. “There’s obviously more to your beloved than a pretty face. This account of her recent trip across Kansas reads more like a fairy tale than a journalistic piece.”
“She has a way of charming people. Even reporters.” He briefly skimmed one article and then the other, pleased that Phineas Jenkins had emphasized his wife’s fairness, compassion, and pluck as she dealt with her employees’ hardships and the army officers along the way. Grinning smugly when he saw himself mentioned as Sahara’s partner, he glanced up at Billings. “I bet Ben Holladay wishes he had such a woman for an ally rather than a competitor.”
“Precisely what I was thinking.” A slow smile warmed the man’s face. “So without further ado, I’m proposing a merger. Anyone can see the advantage of—”
“Forget it. Of all the holdings Sahara inherited, her express line’s her favorite.” Madigan looked pointedly over the top of his snifter, hoping Billings took the hint.
But the man’s grin only deepened. “How like a woman to regard her properties as she would her children. You and I both know that Sahara’s campaign to improve her station keepers’ living conditions cost Spade Express a bundle—”
“And worth every dollar.”
“—just as we realize that merging the two companies could only benefit us both,” he continued in a low, persuasive voice. “Think of the route miles and cities that Holladay now serves exclusively, adding its revenues to yours. Think, too, of the increased number of fares that your wife’s shining reputation would attract. You’ve married a gold mine, Madigan.”
“I’ve married a woman,” Dan insisted, emphasizing his refusal by setting
his snifter firmly upon the table. “A very independent woman, I might add. She’d never consider a merger.”
“Then, what about an outright sale? I’m prepared to—”
“Thanks for the brandy, but you’re wasting your time.” Madigan rose from his chair, chiding himself for allowing the conversation to follow such a course. He should be escorting Sahara to dinner instead of tolerating such poppycock!
Billings caught him by the coat sleeve. “One million dollars.”
“What? I just explained that—”
“If we can discuss this like the gentlemen we are, quietly and seated,” the agent spoke in a low, sonorous voice, “then perhaps every man in the room won’t be trying to overhear our chat. Perhaps you can return to your bride a hero, with an even more stunning wedding gift than you anticipated.”
Seeing that the customers’ eyes were all focused on him, Madigan’s throat went dry. Had he been set up? Had Nelson Billings gathered this elite clientele to witness the forging of the country’s most far-reaching business deal—and to mock him if he backed down? The tavern was extremely quiet now, as though every man within this high-ceilinged, smoke-filled chamber had a stake in what would transpire at the back table.
Slowly, Dan sat down. He pushed aside thoughts of Sahara waiting for him, beautifully dressed and anxious about his long absence, to concentrate on the bearded man across the table…a man who might be out to ruin his wife’s empire and reputation. Or a man who might be proposing the deal of the century.
“I’m listening,” he said tersely, “but if I sense for one minute that you’re out to defraud Spade Express or to mislead me in any way, I’ll walk straight out that door to the telegraph office, to inform Ben Holladay and the press of this highly questionable corner you’ve backed me into.”
“Fair enough.” Nelson regarded him calmly and took his time refilling their brandy glasses. He waited for the normal noises of the tavern to resume—or perhaps he wanted Dan to speak first out of nervousness, but Madigan held his tongue.
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