Sahara Splendor

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Did we?” he challenged.

  Sahara heard exhaustion and disappointment in his voice, and knew she was responsible for some of it. She stepped in front of him, looking him squarely in the eye. “My idea was a good one, you know. Those women trusted me—they went along with you because they assumed you were part of my plan, didn’t they?”

  “Well, yes,” he admitted.

  “So we brought a hundred-some lonely men and women together. That’s good for them, and it certainly surpasses my expectations.”

  Dan studied her lovely face, noting a fulfillment he wished he were feeling now. She was coming as close to

  an apology as her feisty pride would allow, yet it wasn’t close enough. By God, she would know the agony he’d felt these past weeks—would pay for the way she stuck a knife in his heart and then twisted it by looking so damn comfortable in Andy’s embrace! “And what about Glascock? Did he get what he wanted?”

  Sahara chose to ignore his implication. “He took to Elizabeth the moment he saw her,” she whispered. “Thank you so much for bringing her, Dan. He—he wants a family and—”

  “Do you love him, Sahara?”

  She gasped when Dan grabbed the edges of her shawl and yanked her against him. His eyes burned into hers, demanding an honest response, and for a moment she was afraid of the man who held her so tightly to his chest. “NO!” she blurted, “but in time I might’ve. And what about you, Madigan?” she shot back. “Just couldn’t keep your hands out of it, could you? Did you get what you wanted from all this?”

  Something stirred within him, something he’d missed while dealing with more than fifty finicky, mewling, bitching women, none of whom could hold a candle to the spitfire in his arms. But he couldn’t tell her that. It would make things too easy.

  “I derived a great deal of satisfaction from arriving with so many women to fulfill your worthy mission, yes,” he replied in a chilly voice. “But after traveling halfway across the country for the one woman I want—the woman who walked out on me—I can’t be satisfied until she does the coming back. Seems a small step to take, don’t you think?”

  Madigan released her with just enough force to send her stumbling backward, and then headed for the door. “I’m getting a room in town. I need sleep and decent food and a hot bath,” he called over his shoulder. “After that I’ll probably stop in at Miss Lillian’s Library. A man needs to keep current on his reading, you know.”

  You arrogant son of a bitch! Sahara fumed as she watched him stride to his horse. Let him heap all the blame on her! Let him play the martyr and then bait her by alluding to the company he’d keep if she didn’t come around in time!

  Go ahead and play your little games, Madigan, she thought smugly when he galloped out of the camp. You’re not the only one who’s picked up a few tricks in a whorehouse.

  Chapter 33

  That evening Madigan found himself the center of attention as he sat at Miss Lillian’s bar in clean trousers and a shirt, freshly shaved. Word had gotten out that he was the illustrious Sahara Spade’s husband, so the ladies were plying him with questions and flirtatious remarks as they kept the plate in front of him filled with cheese, pickled herring and other delicacies from the generous lunch the saloon provided.

  “You really brought fifty women all the way from Kansas?” one of them piped up.

  “Do you think they’ll all marry?” another girl asked. “Surely some of them are plain, or—”

  “Or just plain old, being war widows!” the curvaceous blonde beside him chirped. “What’ll they do if the men won’t have them? It’s for damn sure they couldn’t take our jobs!”

  Dan chuckled at the high-pitched prattle her last comment caused. Beneath their talk ran an undercurrent of jealousy as green as Miss Lillian’s gown, and he didn’t have the heart to mention that several of their favorite customers had paid deposits on brides. “Even if every one of them finds a man,” he began suavely, “there’ll be plenty of loggers left who prefer the kind of no-strings attention you girls specialize in. Why—”

  The solid, purposeful jingle of spurs on the floor made him glance at the mirror in the ornately carved back bar. A short fellow in a black duster and hat had just entered—a stranger, judging from the way the madam’s cheroot stopped before it got to her mouth. The girls grew quiet, watching the newcomer approach, in such awe of the dangerous aura this rough-cut character exuded that they backed away to leave him a space at the bar.

  Something struck Madigan as odd about this man, besides the fact that his hat and duster seemed a couple sizes too large and obscured his face and build. He got quite a jolt when the clanking of the stranger’s heel on the brass footrail revealed a shapely boot—and a stockinged, feminine thigh above it!

  Dan’s glance flew upward and locked into a pair of green eyes that glittered with mischief. “Sahara!”

  “Nice of you to notice, when you have so much other company to choose from,” she replied smoothly. It was all she could do not to snicker, but she hadn’t spent hours preparing for this encounter only to have him stare at her. “Whiskey, please,” she instructed the bartender.

  She unbuttoned the duster to fish a coin purse from her bosom—a bosom that was riding rounder and higher than usual above a black leather corset only a whore would sport. “What the hell’re you doing?” he demanded.

  “Paying for my drink. It’s free lunch they provide here, not free booze.”

  “But you’re supposed to be at the dance, meeting the women who—”

  “Believe me, Dan, those lumberjacks and ladies don’t need me to break the ice. Besides,” she added in a sultry voice, “my outfit hardly suits the role of chaperone, now does it?” With a shrug, she let the duster tumble to the floor and sent a twitter through the group of girls who were hanging on their every word.

  Madigan could only stare. He recognized the decadent getup Horatio Spade had suffered heart failure over, only now because Sahara was wearing it with such willing bravado, she sent a wave of heat through him that nearly knocked him off his bar stool. The Northwest agreed with her: her bronzed skin had mellowed to a delectable peach, and the gawkiness Miss Jennifer used to sneer at was now a prime example of well-rounded womanhood that put every other lady in the place to shame. Slowly, teasing him, she removed the black hat to let her strawberry hair float down in a cloud of gossamer curls.

  Curls? Dan was at such a loss he could only mumble, “Isn’t that Tom Underwood’s hat?”

  “Was,” Sahara corrected. She coyly drew the derringer from the top of her black stocking and stroked the trigger to emphasize her point. “Mr. Underwood made the mistake of underestimating me. You’re not that foolhardy, are you, Madigan?”

  “Me? If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I can never second-guess you, Sahara.” He pulled his gaze from her to address Miss Lillian, who was watching them with jaded interest. “I—I believe we’ll be needing a room—”

  “Just pay the lady,” Sahara stated. “Eager as you were this morning to catch up on your reading, I’m surprised you’re not already buried in a…book.”

  Hoots of high-pitched laughter echoed around them, and Dan hastily slapped a bill on the bar so that he could get his wife out of the spotlight.

  “Pay her again. She has to make a living, you know, and I’m not one of her regulars.” Sahara tossed the shot of whiskey down her throat, grasped the bottle by its neck, and then headed for the stairs that led to the curtained, partitioned rooms lining the walls of the upper level. Her strut made the corset creak provocatively with each swing of her leather-clad hips, and the jingle of her spurs rang with each measured step until Madigan thought he’d go insane.

  He tossed another bill down and hurried up the stairs, feeling terribly adolescent with all those whores and the barkeep watching him. He entered a small, boxlike compartment only a heartbeat behind his wife and drew the curtain quickly. The room was barely big enough for the bed, designed for quick pleasure rather than
privacy, and he felt as though everyone downstairs was straining to hear each word and telltale creak.

  “And what the hell was that all about?” he rasped.

  Sahara surveyed him calmly, and then took a swig from the whiskey bottle. “Wasn’t it you who said you’ve traveled fifteen hundred miles, but that I’d have to do the coming back?” she asked. “Well, this is a memorable comeback, if I say so myself!”

  “You didn’t have to play the whore!”

  “I thought that’s what you wanted, considering where you said you’d be, Mr. Madigan,” she replied.

  “I suppose that’s how you’ve been entertaining Glascock and his men.”

  “Certainly not! If I couldn’t lure you back, why would I waste my time trying to—”

  “And what’d you do to your hair?”

  Sahara’s mouth snapped shut so fast she nearly bit her tongue. Madigan was scrutinizing her, hands on his hips, as though his sense of humor had deserted him somewhere between here and Atchison. That would be a shame, considering the way she loved to hear him chuckle against her ear. “Roxanne helped me use her curling irons.”

  Dan raised an eyebrow. “Mrs. Pruitt’s in on this? Surely she didn’t condone your coming into town dressed like some floozy!”

  “Actually, she helped pour me into this thing, because I agreed to help her choose some lacy new underwear for her wedding night. She and Charlie are getting married, you see.” Determined not to cave in, Sahara took another sip of the fiery whiskey and propped the bottle on her thigh. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it.”

  Dan felt himself soften when her chin quivered. Dammit, this had nothing to do with her hair or the little act she’d put on to lure him up here…in fact, her loose, shimmering curls made his fingers itch to caress them. She was standing with one shapely, booted leg cocked on the edge of the bed, resting the whiskey bottle defiantly atop her garter, and although that black corset appeared painted onto her lithe body for the sole purpose of driving him wild, he could recall the frightened little girl who’d been forced to wear it for another man.

  How far she’d come since he first met her…how much farther she could go, with no help from him. And that’s the last thing he wanted. He’d traveled all this way partly to spite her, but that seemed a foolish motive now that he could lose her to any number of randy lumberjacks.

  He stepped toward her slowly, reaching for the curls that seemed to be calling his name. Their incredible silkiness reminded him how empty he’d felt without her, and when his pulse quickened, he knew he’d always be a victim of her impish wiles—and knew she wouldn’t be Sahara without them. “Honey, if I could buy Spade Express back for you, I would. No matter what the cost.”

  His admission was a sweet victory, but not nearly so satisfying as the way he was gazing at her, touching her. “I suppose it’s some consolation that the Holladay line’s said to be floundering financially,” she replied. “We surely contributed to that, anyway.”

  Madigan heard a glimmer of hope—we, she was saying—and stepped closer. “I tried to locate Nelson Billings, to negotiate myself out of the corner he forced me into, but I hear he’s disappeared. Seems he had the sale contract delivered to Holladay before it was discovered that he withdrew several thousand more from the company coffers than he paid me.”

  This twist made her chuckle. “He’s probably holed up in Europe somewhere, living high.” Sahara paused to study him, thinking how much warmer his tawny eyes were than Andy Glascock’s darker ones. “How did he hook you, Dan? What stunned me most about the sale was that you didn’t ask me about it. And I knew you hadn’t forgotten my wish to never sell Spade Express.”

  Forcing his hands to remain on her shoulders, Madigan prayed he wouldn’t say the wrong thing now that his wife was in the mood to listen. She’d asked the key question behind their misunderstanding, and although the warm musk of her revealing attire begged him to forget about Spade business, Sahara would never forgive him for satisfying his needs before he satisfied her curiosity.

  “He started off by insisting the railroads would put us out of business—”

  “And he’s right. Realizing that is what won me Horatio’s other assets in the first place.”

  Dan nodded. Her innate intelligence set Sahara apart from every other woman he knew, and he dared not ignore it again. “When I refused to even consider his offer, he upped it—and raised it again every time I insisted you wouldn’t sell. When I explained that only you could decide the fate of your express company, and invited him to the room to talk with you, he stooped to implying—loudly, in a saloon full of well-heeled gentlemen—that I was less than a man if I needed permission from my wife to accept two million dollars.”

  Sahara’s temper flared. She could imagine Dan trying to remain rational and businesslike—trying to include her in the dealings, only to be made out as a henpecked fool. No man would tolerate such an assault on his pride! And she herself knew how pride could lead to some regrettable moves and consequences.

  “But the clincher was when Billings resorted to threats,” he continued quietly. “He promised to undercut us with competing routes and lower fares until the company died a prolonged, painful death…knowing you’d pour your cash reserves into keeping Spade Express alive, because you loved it.”

  She let out a sad sigh. Poor Dan had done his damndest in her behalf, and she’d assumed he betrayed her, without letting him explain. “Holladay’s done that to too many other companies to call it a bluff, hasn’t he?”

  Dan lifted her chin, delving into her shining jade eyes with his. “I couldn’t stand for that to happen, after the way you won the trust of your employees, and I didn’t want you to watch your company choke in his stranglehold, either. So I took his damn money, and after your lecture in the dining room—which I fully expected and deserved—I explained the unfortunate necessity of the sale to your station keepers on my way back to the ranch.”

  “Oh, Dan, I…” His eyes were pleading for her to understand and forgive him, and how could she not? It took one hell of a man to beg her to stay and then to apologize to her employees for selling out—what an awful task!—after she’d stalked out of his life in a childish huff. She’d acted more like Miss Jenny having a hissy-fit than she cared to admit to herself. “I owe you a huge apology, you know it?” she continued meekly. “I was so set on having everything my way, that I—well, I can probably never repair the damage I did to our marriage. To us.”

  Her eyes shone with tears she’d be too proud to shed, so Dan glanced away to let her regain her composure. He’d forgotten that one black-stockinged leg was propped on the bed’s edge, and the suggestiveness of her stance stirred him. He let his hand drift down her supple arms to follow the alluring curve of her hips, locking her gaze with his as he wedged a finger beneath each legband of her tight black corset. Slowly he brought his fingers around to her front, reveling in the satin of her skin, and then in the secretive whisper of the coarse curls hiding beneath the leather panel that made this garment so damned provocative. The lacings that crisscrossed between her breasts strained with her rapid breathing, and he feasted his eyes upon her flushed loveliness for several moments before he could find the strength to speak. “Actually, there may be a way to repair the damages…”

  Sahara soared, feeling giddy and triumphant and extremely female as her handsome husband rubbed against her. It would be a little strange giving in to him here, where Miss Lillian and her girls were surely speculating about why they were now silent, but if that’s what it took to please Dan Madigan, it was a small price to pay. “You need money?” she asked coyly, hoping to prolong the flirtatious banter she’d missed so much. “It cost you a small fortune to bring my ladies here, even if the loggers sent you—”

  “It’s got nothing to do with loggers or ladies or money, and you know it,” he replied in a husky whisper. “I came after one thing, Sahara, and I won’t quit pestering you until I get it.”

  “And what’s—”
>
  Madigan cut her off with a searing kiss that made her head spin. His hands were everywhere, molding to her hips and breasts, while his mouth moved over her face and neck until she was panting for mercy. He caught the bottle she nearly dropped when she grabbed ahold of him, and after another thoroughly mind-muddling kiss, he raised up.

  “Now, tell me what you and Glascock have been up to,” he commanded raggedly. “Did you ever wear this for him?”

  Sahara gasped when his hand slithered between her legs and grasped her firmly, pinching her most intimate parts in a leathery grip. “No! I—”

  Again his mouth came down on hers, and he fondled her until she felt flames licking at her insides. She’d meant to seduce him into an apology, and once again he’d turned her efforts to his own advantage!

  “Did he ever kiss you this way?” came the next demand.

  “No, I—” Sahara managed to chuckle despite the rising fires that threatened to consume her. “Andy’s too much the gentleman. I prefer a man who takes what he wants instead of tiptoeing around, sounding me out.”

  With a low growl, Madigan clutched her against the part of him that had lain dormant for lack of interest these many long weeks. Her body heat enveloped them in an intoxicating leather scent, and she was beyond playing hard to get: Sahara was taking his shirt off him without bothering to unbutton it, writhing against him with little whimpers that drove him over the edge. She clearly needed a cooling off before—

  Sahara shrieked when Madigan pried his finger into the top edge of her corset and then poured whiskey down it. It was shock enough for the alcohol to trickle down her spine, but when he also splashed it down the crack of her cleavage, grinning devilishly, she cried out. “What the—”

  “I refuse to make love to my wife with an audience downstairs,” he explained as he tossed the empty bottle onto the bed. “I suggest we hightail it to my room before that whiskey dries, so we can peel that corset off you. You know how leather shrinks and stiffens after it gets wet.”