Sahara Splendor

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Sahara sank down on the bench. Was there no end to the embarrassment she’d suffer from all her widely publicized dealings? “So if you knew, why’d you give me that hearts-and-flowers speech the other day?”

  “Because I meant it.”

  Once again she stared at him, watching for a sign he was bluffing…waiting for a punch line. But Andy merely gazed at her, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.

  “You came here of your own free will,” he explained softly, “and if any woman ever knew her own mind, it’s you, Sahara. I’m not one to make light of sacred vows, but your husband’s had plenty of time to write or come after you. Since good women’re in short supply up here, I can’t let one go to waste just because she’s got another man’s name.”

  “But that would be…bigamy.”

  “Some would say it’s big of me, to offer for your hand,” he quipped, “but I can look at those two men you married as practice for the real thing, under the circumstances. Lord knows, plenty of mistreated wives run west to start over under more dubious conditions, and I think the Lord wants the best for every one of them.”

  Sahara smiled wryly. “And of course, you’re the best.”

  “I could be, if you’d give me a shot at it.”

  How was it that Andy had the final word in every conversation, when she never realized she was losing ground until she saw his victorious grin? He wasn’t being the least bit flippant or smug about this matter. He was quietly stating the facts as he saw them, still leaving the decision up to her.

  “What preacher would marry us, knowing I’m legally bound to Madigan?”

  “What preacher would know? The News is the only paper that ran your marriage notice,” he pointed out, “and as far as I can tell, nobody but me realizes what’s on the back of your advertisement because they’re too fascinated with it to turn the page over.”

  “So it’s up to me…a matter of my own conscience, as long as Roxanne, Charlie, and my brother keep quiet?” Her mouth went dry at these ideas, and for a moment there was only the sound of her shallow breathing and the rough warmth of Andy Glascock’s hand holding hers.

  “That’s the way I see it, yes. And from what I can tell, they only want the best for you, too, honey.”

  It all sounded so simple. Madigan had let weeks pass without contacting her, and she’d certainly made her feelings clear when she demanded payment for Spade Express and told him she never wanted to see him again. Andy’s perspective sounded so practical—no more immoral than the way Dan had acted when Holladay’s agent bribed him.

  Yet when she looked at the brawny lumberjack, the only clear emotion she felt was confusion. If she married him, she still had to answer to all the men who’d invested in futures that wouldn’t come true from the looks of it. Surely Glascock realized what resentment he’d cause if he took a bride while his men went without. She could envision their scowls and mutterings each time they saw her beside him, the woman who’d promised them partners and then lost interest in her mission when she found a partner of her own.

  And what about Andy’s ambitions to own sawmills and steamships if it got out that she was already married? Such a secret would scorch his credibility like wildfire.

  Sahara stood up, removing her hand from his.

  “May I expect an answer soon?” he asked quietly. “I’m not the only man who’s noticed what a fine wife you’d make.”

  She gazed at him, realizing that she could count the things she knew about him on one hand—yet sensing he could make her very, very happy. “I’ll see you Monday,” she hedged. “Roxanne’s eager to visit the new houses and see your camp. We can talk about this some more.”

  “We’ll do more than talk, Sahara.”

  Charlie drove the two of them and Mitchell to the logging camp Monday morning, through a mist that hung densely around the thick, green forest. The moist air would clear as the sun rose overhead; some people would find this atmosphere depressing, Sahara supposed, yet the cooler temperatures and absence of flies were a welcome change from the summers in Kansas. From a distance came the hammering of a woodpecker, and as they followed the narrow trail higher up the wooded slopes, the sounds of axes biting into wood and the occasional protesting of oxen met their ears.

  When they rounded a curve, Mitchell piped up, “Lookit, Mama! It’s like a trestle for a train—but what a funny track.”

  “That’s a flume,” Charlie explained as the elaborate network of timbers and chutes came into view. It snaked up the hillside for as far as they could see, a troughlike structure that carried a constant, burbling flow of water. “The loggers built it so a stream way up there could carry logs down to the mill from places where oxen can’t haul them to the skidroad. Didn’t Bobby say he’d hired on as a flume tender?”

  “I think so. He’s been too busy to come into town and tell us about it,” Sahara replied. She watched with interest as two huge brown logs descended at a startling speed, roaring and splashing as they passed the graded curve alongside the trail. “He said it was his job to be sure the waterway didn’t jam up with stuck logs. Do you suppose that skinny little board at the side is where he stands to do his work?”

  “That’s the catwalk, yes,” her driver replied, “and every now and then you’ll see a little hut where a tender lives so he can supervise his section, even at night.”

  Roxanne leaned forward, clutching her son’s hand. “Here come three more logs. My, but they move so fast—” She shrieked as the spray splattered them, but Mitchell crowed with delight.

  “Wouldn’t it be fun to ride down on a log?” he exclaimed.

  Charlie turned to look at the boy, masking his own mischievous nature with a stern scowl. “Don’t even think about it, young man,” he warned. “You could get killed—and your mama would be sick with worry, even if you didn’t.”

  Sahara smiled at this exchange, thinking that Oswald and the two Pruitts were already sounding like a family. The constant thudding of axes and the whine of a saw told her they were nearing the camp. A sharp, smoky scent filled the air now, and a few minutes later they saw a licking, leaping fire being tended by men who stood poised with shovels, rakes, and buckets of water.

  “They’re burning the sawdust that’s accumulated,” Charlie commented. “Can’t risk any fires if somebody kicks over a lantern, you see.”

  Mitchell eyed him with a mixture of awe and skepticism. “How come you’re so smart about all this?” he demanded. “Did you come up here without bringing me?”

  The three adults laughed, and then Charlie replied, “Well, I did—mostly so I could set a time for all of us to visit today. And Mr. Glascock offered me work as a bull whacker, herding oxen to the mill with loads of big logs. If it’s all right by you, Miss Sahara, I’ll take him up on it. My ribs are mended, and I’m mighty tired of whiling away my time in town.”

  “It’s work you’re well suited to,” she agreed.

  “But watch your vocabulary!” Roxanne chirped. “Somebody we know tends to repeat everything he hears, and some of the names you and Tom called the mules on your freight wagons have already popped into our conversations.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Clean mind, clean mouth,” Charlie stated, although he winked at Sahara. “You ladies may be in for some tough talk up here among the ‘jacks. They work hard, they play hard, and they’ve got language to match. They aren’t called timber beasts for nothing.”

  “And you men may be in for more lectures than just mine after the women start arriving,” Roxanne shot back. Then she laughed softly. “But I can’t wait to move into the new boardinghouses. It’ll be so exciting, to watch these men meet nice women and start their families.”

  Mitchell, who had been gazing at the clearings and sheds at the fringe of the camp, looked at his mother with pensive blue eyes. “Were you excited when you met Papa?” he asked solemnly.

  Sahara’s heart tightened in her chest at the confusion and pain that prompted such a question. How well she recalled the desolate,
overwhelming ache when her father had abandoned them! But her slender, blond friend sat tall, her smile steady.

  “Yes, I was,” she told the boy, “and even though things didn’t work out so well, without your father I would never have had you, dear. That’s a blessing I’ll always be grateful for.”

  With a wistful little grin, Mitch snuggled against her, and they were quiet until they approached the gathering of low buildings Sahara had seen on her previous visit. It was a rugged, sometimes rude world they were invading, and she prayed that somehow her grandiose scheme wouldn’t heap misery and regret upon them all. What if eligible women never responded to her plea for brides? What if these hardy, trusting loggers had worked during their off-hours only to have their hopes dashed to pieces?

  Charlie waved to two fallers poised upon planks in a nearby tree, and called out a greeting to men who heaved at opposite ends of a crosscut saw, cutting a felled fir tree into sections. He seemed to know right where he was going, and a few moments later he was halting the horses near a stream she recognized. All rueful thoughts were forgotten when he announced, “If you want to see a truly pretty sight, Roxanne, just follow that trail into those trees.”

  She was off at a trot, clasping her son’s hand at first, but then dropping it in her eagerness to reach the two frame houses. Oswald walked beside Sahara, his voice low. “You had this idea just in time,” he said. “If ever a lady needed a mission to immerse herself in, Roxanne’s the one. Brings out the best in her.”

  “Are you one of her missions, too, Charlie?”

  The driver’s eyes twinkled sky blue. “More than I’d counted on. But I suppose getting domesticated’ll have its rewards.”

  “You’d rather be driving mules across the parched plain, or through a blizzard?” Sahara teased. She remembered how restless and suggestive this man was when she first met him, and she thought this softening suited him.

  Charlie was chuckling, and as they reached the clearing where the two boardinghouses stood, he stopped. They could hear the clatter of Roxanne’s shoes, along with Mitchell’s high-pitched chatter, as the two hurried from room to room.

  “If we marry, I might take her back to Kansas,” he said in a speculative voice.

  “If that’s what the two of you want, go with my blessings. Although if you decide to stay,” Sahara added in a thoughtful tone, “you could have the private quarters in one of these houses for as long as you felt comfortable there. Once our hens start arriving, it might be good to have a man guarding against foxes and wolves.”

  “And we’ve got a few of those,” a husky male voice replied behind them. Andy’s greeting was a grin, and with his sweat-dampened plaid shirt straining across his barrel chest, and a few wood chips in his beard, he looked as powerful—and as alluring—as any man she’d ever seen. “Good to see you folks. What do you think so far?”

  “Your men do marvelous work,” Sahara replied. A crackling heat shot through her when the logger’s broad hand came to rest upon her shoulder. What must Charlie think? Neither man seemed the least bit unnerved by the fact that she belonged to someone else, yet the idea of giving in to Andy’s winsome charm still didn’t set right, deep down.

  “Come see what they’ve done since you were here.”

  It was a summons rather than an invitation she could decline—just as she couldn’t yank away from Glascock’s grip when he took her hand. His strides challenged her short legs. Everything about him dwarfed Sahara, and she realized that if Andy ignored her misgivings, she was no match for him, physically. He wasn’t a brute, but she sensed there wasn’t a man in his camp he couldn’t whip if he saw the need to.

  With a fleeting glance backward, she noted that Charlie was approaching the house Roxanne and Mitchell were in, and then she was being guided into the other structure. Aromas of fresh woodwork and varnish greeted them, and the men’s progress astounded her.

  “Why, it looks nearly finished!” she exclaimed.

  “Give us a week and another coat or two of varnish on the floors, and they’re all yours.” Andy glanced around the large room they were in, his pleasure obvious. “Can’t wait to see this parlor lit up, buzzing with good talk. Through here’s your dining room, with the kitchen on the back side, and the private quarters you wanted. Got five big bedrooms upstairs, too. Just like you asked for.”

  Sahara walked slowly around as though in a trance, gazing at the smooth, clean walls and plank floors that would soon glimmer invitingly. By city standards the house looked plain, but compared to every place she’d ever lived this was a palace. She climbed the stairs, marveling at the slick-sanded ballustrade and the fine workmanship all around her. Along the hallway, five spacious rooms stood in silent expectation, nearly ready.

  “You don’t know what this means to me,” she said in a ragged voice.

  “I think I do.” Andy came up behind her and rested his forearms on her shoulders. He seemed to fill the room they were in with his brawny presence—which was both a comfort and a concern. “You’re trembling,” he murmured. “Please don’t be afraid of me, honey. There’s no cause to be.”

  Sahara hadn’t realized how her distress was surfacing until he mentioned it, and when a tear plopped down her cheek, she knew there was no hiding the doubts that had tormented her since her first disappointing visit to the post office. A crying jag the likes of Jennifer Spade’s was brewing, and she felt powerless to stop it.

  “Why is it women fall to pieces when they’re extremely happy?” Glascock mused aloud.

  She felt two thick, corded arms enfolding her, and heard the rhythmic beating of a heart as generous and kind as she would ever find—which was part of the problem. “I—I don’t know how to tell you—oh, Andy,” she said in a halting, anguished voice, “I haven’t gotten a single letter in response to my advertisements. What if…what if your men have gone to all this trouble for nothing? What if nobody shows up?”

  His face blurred through her veil of tears, yet Andy’s smile remained patient. “So that’s what’s worrying you,” he whispered. “Do you realize you’ve been avoiding us—afraid to smile—for days now, young lady? Come here, and let’s see what we can do about it.”

  With a grace belying his bulk, the logger lowered himself to sit against the wall, inviting her onto his lap with open arms. Sahara felt so childish and stupid, yet with Andy smiling up at her she was no longer afraid of any repercussions her failure might cause.

  “Aren’t you worrying a little too soon?’5 he asked her softly. “The mail takes time, honey. If my men’re—”

  “But it could snow in the mountains before the end of September,” she protested weakly.

  “—saying they want to make you some tables and cabinets and beds, then why get upset about—”

  “But surely by now we should’ve heard from women in Kansas and Colorado,” Sahara wailed.

  “—a little thing like the slow postal delivery. We go weeks on end without seeing mail up here, Sahara,” Andy continued, nuzzling her ear. He cuddled her against his massive chest as though he’d had a lot of practice soothing distraught little girls, which Sahara found endearing, if dangerous. “My men believe in your plan—and in you. No doubt in my mind things’ll work out the way you intended.”

  “But—”

  “No more buts,” he insisted, lifting her chin to gaze fondly into her eyes. “The only butt I care about is planted on my lap, and Pm not going to let this chance pass me by.” He stroked away two forlorn tears, his brown eyes deepening with a tenderness she could feel coursing through him. His lips parted. That delectable mouth, framed by his neatly trimmed beard and so lushly inviting, was lowering toward hers with a maddening, deliberate…breathtaking slowness that made her stare hungrily at him.

  “Kiss me, Sahara,” he breathed. “I have to know you want me, too.”

  She saw her fingers teasing the edge of his beard, felt the soft, male hairs tickling her until she longed to press her face into them. When she stroked the deep rose o
utline of his lips, he took her fingertip into his mouth, gazing at her with bottomless brown eyes that brought her insides to warm, pulsing life. Why couldn’t she resist this gentle, wayward giant?

  Sahara’s eyes fluttered shut, and she raised her face tentatively…damn him, he was making her go this final inch alone—an inch that could never be reclaimed or forgotten. She touched soft, moist satin and retreated. Then, with a moan, she surged forward and pressed her mouth to his.

  Andy’s response sent her pulse skittering like a white-tailed deer. His arms tightened around her as he claimed her lips again and again. He advanced with merciless thoroughness, teasing with his tongue and whiskers, opening and closing his mouth, mumbling incoherent endearments between kisses that grew more heated and insistent. There was no escaping him now, and she wondered if she wanted to.

  He pulled away and let his head thump back against the wall. “Oh, Lord, I have to have all of you, Sahara,” he rasped. “Please say it’ll be so.”

  She grasped for a straw of reason in her swirling, muddled thoughts. “But, Andy, your men have been trusting me to bring them women—”

  “And meanwhile they’re whooping it up in town Saturdays, sowing their last crop of wild oats,” he countered, his expression urgent. “I haven’t been able to look at another woman since you got here, honey. I’m ready for that walk down the aisle now.”

  She rose unsteadily from his lap, fussing with her rumpled skirts, her mussed hair—anything to keep herself from rushing shamelessly into his embrace again. “I—I have to notify Madigan that—”

  “Post that letter tomorrow. Tell him you’ve found a man who appreciates you and understands your western-sized dreams,” he challenged. “And tell him to respond pretty damn quick, too. We’ll be ready to move your things in here by next Saturday, and beyond that I’ll wait two more weeks, for the sake of your honor. Come September twenty-first, I’ll consider you fair game—free of entanglements, for all practical purposes. Agreed?”