“They will.”
He stepped toward her, and her heart skittered wildly. He’d kept his seductive remarks and talk of marriage to himself for the past two weeks, but with less than six days before Madigan’s deadline ran out, the muscular bull of the woods was exuding a powerful male confidence as he stopped a few feet in front of her.
“You’ve done a wonderful job on these houses,” he said in a low voice. “The men’re itching to see them, you know.”
She nodded hesitantly. “They can, any time they want to.”
Andy reached for her and slowly removed the ribbon that held her hair at the base of her neck. Lovingly he combed through it with long, tender fingers, all the while gazing expectantly at her. Outside,the men were talking as they walked to their day’s assignments in the forest, but their voices were distant, muffled by the fir trees that whispered seductively in the breeze. Glascock smelled like breakfast—a homey, husbandlike scent that startled Sahara as he urged her closer.
“Have you heard from Madigan?”
“N-no.”
“Do you want to?”
Sahara’s throat went so dry she couldn’t swallow. Andy was combing her hair over her shoulder, letting his thumb graze her cheek as he awaited her answer. “I want this to be right between us, Andy.”
“And it will be.”
She closed her eyes against a wave of longing that threatened to sweep her into the arms she knew wouldn’t let her go until he’d made love to her, made her his. “But I’m not sure the mistake Dan made with my express company justifies bigamy. It’d be like spitting in God’s eye.”
Glascock chuckled. “Are you sure it’s God you’re worried about, little girl?”
Sahara stared up at a giant of a man who gazed down at her with an expression that glowed with love…and with a hint of something she couldn’t read. He started chuckling again, but it was tenderness rather than derision she heard.
She smiled, relaxing a little. “Maybe I’ve finally realized that a husband can be more trouble than he’s worth,” she teased.
“Maybe the third time’ll be the charm.”
How was it he always had the last word? She watched his face lower to hers, felt full, soft lips ply her mouth with a lingering kiss that left her desperate for more, until Andy gently pried her arms from around his neck and stood up straight again.
“I dream of the day we marry, Sahara,” he murmured. “I want nothing more from this life than to wake up with you in my arms, and to watch you grow round with my child.”
She felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs, so light-headed she was as he walked to the door. When he turned to tell her goodbye, Andy was grinning provocatively.
“Six days, honey. I hope you’ll be ready, because by then I’ll be beyond control.”
Saturday, September twenty-first, Sahara thought, and her fears flickered like a campfire caught in a crosswind. If she acknowledged her feelings for Andy Glascock today, her passions might blaze out of control and destroy them both. A decent woman didn’t take a new husband until she’d severed all ties with her previous man…and why didn’t Madigan write? His answer, yes or no, would determine the line she would walk.
It irritated her that a man who was hundreds of miles away had this noose around her future. Set me straight or set me free…
Weeks ago she’d stated her case, and he’d kept her dangling helplessly. How long would Andy tolerate her ambivalence? How many more hours did she have before the winsome bull of the woods swept her off her feet and out of control? In the twenty-first, she reminded herself with a bleak sigh. I gave Dan plenty of time. And I gave Andy my word.
Through the window she saw the crews heading for town after the day’s work. The men would do their usual bathing and drinking and carousing, not returning until tomorrow when they’d slept off their revelry, and their absence would be a relief. Each one of Andy’s loggers had toured the two houses last Sunday and pronounced his eager approval.
“Just waitin’ for the wimmin now, with bated breath,” a feller named Jethro had pronounced.
“Yeah, it’s prob’ly the bait on your breath keepin’ ‘em away!” one of his buddies teased back.
They were making themselves at home in the two parlors evenings, listening to Roxanne play her piano or discussing the latest newspapers they’d found in town, and although these activities were precisely what Sahara had had in mind for her common rooms, their congeniality only made her feel worse about the scarcity of female companionship she’d be providing. Her houses represented a substantial monetary investment; but these men had sunk time and sweat and hope into her project, and they had more to lose if it didn’t succeed.
Now that the saws were still and the men who felled these mighty trees were gone for the evening, the silence around her was complete. Charlie had escorted the Pruitts into town, and Sahara had declined their invitation to go along so that she could have this time alone to decide once and for all where she stood with Madigan and Andy. Strolling among the tall, green trees, inhaling their fresh scent, she tried desperately to absorb the serenity of the surrounding forest.
There was a time, not so long ago, when she would’ve jumped at Andy’s proposal without a second thought—just as she’d seduced Madigan at her wedding reception, to escape a husband whose motives sickened her. She’d behaved so rashly, and more than once her reckless ways had gotten her into trouble…trouble that Dan had always managed to turn to her advantage.
Where was he? Why hadn’t he responded to her urgent letter?
Sahara stopped beside the brook, leaning against a rough Douglas fir that whispered to her as its uppermost branches flirted with the early-evening breeze. And in the deepening shadows, as the wisps of fog began to curl around the massive tree trunks like ghostly cats, some answers came to her.
Most likely, Dan knew about her letter even if Jennifer had intercepted it, because Miss Spade would’ve taunted him with it. Set me straight or set me free…
Ordinarily, Madigan responded to her requests immediately, and this long silence seemed to indicate that she’d hurt him so badly, stomping out of that Denver restaurant, that he was letting her suffer the same pain she’d dished out. Never before had he ignored her, and Sahara now realized that this was the ultimate rejection. Madigan had left her to stew in her own juices, and as the twilight fell around her, she experienced a deep emptiness like she’d never known.
It was humbling, to be cast aside.
It was miserable, to know that because she’d chosen to put hundreds of miles between them, he’d decided not to come running after her.
Hanging her head, Sahara slumped against the tree and wept over the mess she’d made of things. She’d been better off as hired kitchen help, without money or ambitions. She’d been too stupid to know how much
she needed a firm, guiding hand…a hand like the one that now rested upon her shoulder.
Sahara sniffled loudly, grateful that Andy wasn’t a man to poke fun at her crying or to take advantage of her muddled state. It occurred to her that he could’ve bedded her anytime he chose to these past weeks, but that he’d allowed her a fair amount of time to clear her slate and consider his proposal.
She blinked away her tears to look up at him. “You didn’t go to town,” she commented in a quavery voice.
“I wanted to be with you.”
Sahara laughed ruefully. “You’d probably be better off at Miss Lillian’s. I doubt any of those ladies have ever treated a man more carelessly or thoughtlessly than I have.”
Glascock cleared his throat. “You talking about Madigan or me?”
“Both. I haven’t done either of you justice.”
“I see.” Andy’s broad, warm hand remained on her shoulder as he considered what she’d said. “We’ve all done things we’re not terribly proud of. We’ve all played ourselves false and hurt somebody in the process,” he said in a low voice. “And being older doesn’t necessarily make us any better a
t handling love, or the truth. But if we’re smart, we keep trying to get it right.”
She nodded, sniffling, and managed a smile when he placed his red bandanna in her hand so that she could blow her nose. “Nice as you are, maybe you’d do better with one of those ladies who’s on her way—”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Andy turned her and settled her against his tall, sturdy frame. His clean flannel shirt soothed her cheek. His arms enfolded her with a gentleness that placed no restrictions on her, and he said nothing.
Sahara felt a strong, steady heartbeat and the rhythm of his breathing calmed her until she was inhaling and exhaling along with him. “Timber beast” seemed a terribly inaccurate description when she considered how decent and kind he was, and for several minutes she leaned into him and let his serenity seep into her.
“How about if we sit down, so we’re on the same level?” he suggested quietly. “I…I think we’d better talk about some things.”
Sahara waited for him to lean back against the trunk of the tree, and then eased onto his lap. He radiated a warmth that chased away the evening’s chill, and she so rarely had the chance to see Andy, eye-to-eye that she studied him closely.
His neatly trimmed beard felt feathery-soft between her fingers. His eyes glowed with a compassion that seemed almost out of place on a man with his forestlike proportions. She sensed for the first time that Andy Glascock might be as much at war with himself as she was, and that he needed to discuss yearnings and dreams he dared not mention to his men for fear of appearing less than masculine.
But talking wasn’t what she had in mind as she gazed at the lush lips that had so often intrigued her. “Andy,” she whispered, her heart hammering faster. “Andy, will you kiss me?”
He blinked. “I might not stop.”
“I might not mind, if you take it very, very slowly,” she replied in a hoarse voice. “I have a tendency to rush headlong into things.”
Andy’s eyes roved over her face as though he expected her to change her mind—or wished she would. Then he brushed her lips softly with his, easing into a kiss that soothed her into a languid state where only his mouth and caress existed. Sahara pressed into him, demanding more fuel for the tiny sparks that ignited within her, yet the man who held her so closely seemed also to be holding her at bay.
He kissed her for long minutes, leaving her lips to nuzzle her hair or trace the line of her cheekbone back to her mouth. Andy’s affections were slow and purposeful, as though he were memorizing each feature of her face. Sahara let her hand drift down along the broad expanse of his chest, amazed at the solid, awe-inspiring strength beneath his woodcutter’s clothing. And when he wove her wayward fingers between his own, she realized he was holding back the passion he’d hinted at before, and holding hers back as well.
She raised up. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all,” he replied quickly. “I thought you wanted to take it slow.”
Sahara kept watching him, speculating. “Maybe I wish things were happening a little faster.”
“That’s for damn sure,” he muttered, and then he shook his head. “I’ve wedged myself into a tight spot, little lady, and sure as I carry you to that room behind the office where I sleep, the axe’ll fall.”
What could he possibly be talking about? It was September twenty-first—the deadline Andy set was nearly past—yet the bull of the woods had suddenly quit pawing the ground and lowing at her. Surely, after all these weeks of pursuit, he wasn’t getting cold feet. She was about to question him when the loud clanging of the dinner bell echoed through the trees. Andy scooped her up and strode toward camp, clasping her beneath her shoulders and knees as though he were rescuing her from a fire.
Fire! Surely the urgency of this late-night alarm signaled—but who was here to ring it? And why did she hear excited male voices coming from the bunkhouses?
Andy suddenly stopped and hugged her so hard the air rushed from her lungs, and then he claimed her in a kiss that tasted of dreams and longing…and goodbye.
When they broke through the trees at the edge of camp, Sahara saw a crowd of lumberjacks gathering by the dining hall. They appeared bathed and shaven and mostly sober, and many of them were pulling folded sheets of paper from their pockets as they murmured expectantly, gazing toward the path as though awaiting some sort of parade.
And indeed, Sahara heard the clatter of hooves and the creak and jingle of harnesses coming closer. The footfalls were too light and quick to be oxen, and then there was the familiar grunt of a large vehicle hitting a rut in the road, and then another.
“Hot damn, here they are, boys!” somebody called out. “Hold up your lanterns so’s we can see ‘em!”
A team of Morgans trotted into view, hauling a stagecoach Sahara recognized as one Horatio had kept in storage at the ranch. And here came another one, and another!
Her mouth dropped open, and she couldn’t speak. The men were gesturing for the drivers to proceed toward the boardinghouses, walking quickly alongside the moving vehicles as—women! poked their heads out the windows. Three, four…six stagecoaches, crammed with female faces and loaded down with luggage, rolled past as she gaped at them from Andy’s arms. Sahara started to confront him about this surprise, which he’d witnessed far too calmly, until a celerity wagon rumbled past, followed by a lone horseman.
She nearly bit her lip in half when she recognized the buff-colored Stetson and the tigerlike physique that could only belong to Dan Madigan.
“Ho-ly shit,” she whispered.
Chapter 31
Madigan stopped to gaze at the pair through a haze of sheer exhaustion: the tallest mountain of a man he’d ever seen was holding Sahara in his arms as though he were carrying her across a threshold.
So that’s how it is. I’ve eaten dust and herded these hens fifteen hundred miles to make you happy, and even though I got here on time, I’m way too late. Just goes to show what a fool a man in love can be.
He clucked to his horse and followed the freight wagon, hiding his intense pain even from himself.
But Sahara saw it, and suddenly her emotions cut loose like water over a crumbling dam. There were women here—dozens of them! And Madigan had obviously escorted them, which meant—
She glared at the timber beast who still held her in such an incriminating embrace, knowing damn well he was involved in this incredible piece of trickery—and that he’d pay for it, too!
“I—I can explain everything, Sahara.”
“It’s a little late for that!” she blurted, wrenching herself from his arms. “All this time I was so afraid—all this time you knew, and you kept sweet-talking me into—”
She hit the ground running, but turned to glower at him again. “You men are all alike! I swear to God I can’t trust a one of you, and I will get to the bottom of this!”
When she reached the clearing in front of the two houses, the stagecoaches stood in a semicircle, and loggers were gallantly assisting each passenger to the ground as though she were the woman of his dreams. The lamps in the crowd cast flickering lights on eager faces, male and female, and Sahara noted that the papers some of the men were holding were letters—with photographs!
Damn that Glascock! He’d shanghaied her mail before she even arrived in Oregon—had apparently sent copies of the ladies’ letters to Madigan while allowing his men to moon over their applications and pictures in the meantime. No wonder they never doubted the success of this project! And they’d managed to keep their conniving a secret even as she sweated bullets day by day in their behalf.
But she couldn’t remain angry as she watched the road-weary women succumbing to exuberant hugs and handshakes, some of them grinning with delight when plaid-shirted lumberjacks called out their names.
“Muriel! By God, you made it!”
“Louisa Caits! Over here, honey!”
Sahara’s heart swelled with the joy that was running rampant in the crowded clearing, and she knew she’d remember this bois
terous, noisy, wonderful moment forever. To enjoy it more fully, she stepped onto a nearby stump, clasping her hands in intense excitement as she looked out over the chattering clusters of men and women who’d anticipated this event with all the hope and determination and anxiety she herself had experienced these past weeks. Lord, but it felt good to see this dream coming true!
A final figure paused beside a stagecoach doorway across the clearing, and Sahara sucked in her breath. It couldn’t be—Sahara would’ve teetered off her perch had Andy not come up to steady her—but that raven hair and red calico dress could only belong to—
“Elizabeth!” she cried. “Elizabeth Kent! Oh, my God, is it really you?”
At the moment she stepped down, intending to shove through the crowd, two arms lifted her off the stump. “Make way!” Glascock bellowed. “Special delivery for Sahara!”
Her mouth dropped open. “You know Elizabeth?”
“No, but you obviously do,” he said with a grin. He was holding her against his massive chest as though she were a child, plowing steadily through the chattering crowd. “And the way you lit up, she must be mighty special.”
“Oh, Andy! She was staying alone at one of my stations—Alonzo had just been killed by the Indians, and—oh, my word, that baby’s going to be here any time now, isn’t it?”
Glascock’s chuckle rumbled against her. “I believe you’re right. She’s no quitter, though, to come this far on the faith of a friendship. Looks mighty nice in that red dress, too.”
It was the oversized frock she and Roxanne had sent from Junction City, and Elizabeth’s hair was done up with the red ribbon roses that matched it. She looked extremely tired, and very, very round; but her dark eyes remained fixed on Sahara’s, and her smile grew wider with each step Andy took. For a moment, they could only gaze at one another.
“It’s good you have friends in high places,” Elizabeth quipped quietly.
The three of them laughed, and then Sahara wiggled down to capture her in a careful bear hug while they giggled and talked at the same time.
Sahara Splendor Page 31