April 21, 1889
Oklahoma Territory
Abby tugged her late husband's long duster, securing it against the chilly breeze. Today and tomorrow morning were for standing in the long line of families and single men waiting for the cannon in Fort Reno to fire. The race would begin at noon. Figuring out how she was going to stay on her homestead for the required five years while she improved the property could come after she set her stake into the rich soil.
She could envision how it would look. A tidy clapboard house with a shake roof and glass windows would sit on the rise above the creek, surrounded by protective spruce trees on the south and west sides. Her kitchen would face east to take advantage of the morning light, and she would be able to look at her kitchen garden as she worked.
The barn would sit a fair distance away; not so far to make chores inconvenient, but downwind and far enough to keep the bugs and odor away from the house. There would be a well, of course...
She pushed the thought away and settled back against a tree, the brim of her hat shading her eyes. The well was part of the massive list of things that needed done before the property could be called habitable. The creek would provide water until she got a house built. Even a three-sided lean to and some fence would count as improvement, giving her time to make plans and spend the summer building a stronger place to tide her over through the winter.
Sending a prayer heavenward for Matthew's soul, she pulled a bit of jerky from her bag and gnawed on it as she watched people line up. Her late husband had tried to give her all the knowledge he could, even as he worried himself sick over how she'd survive widowhood. He hadn't been the strongest of men, but he sure was the smartest. He'd had a knack for making things grow, including their savings. While most of their nest egg was still in their bank in Kansas City, a goodly sum was rolled into a well-darned sock sewn inside the front of Matthew's trousers currently covering her ample backside.
She'd thought they'd live in their little cottage on his family farm forever, but his brother and sister in law had had other expectations. Her lips thinned as she thought about the older couple. Between their demands that she turn over their savings so it could be 'managed' and Benjamin's immediate assumption that Abby would become his permanent unpaid employee in the family distillery, staying there was simply untenable. Her stomach still turned when she remembered the way Benjamin had looked at her.
Though she missed her distillery something fierce, she'd rather work in a brothel than stay with Matthew's unpleasant family a single moment longer than she had to. Thankfully, her lawyer had been her late husband's best friend and had promised to keep her money safe. He had no more love for Benjamin and Martha than she did.
Aside from his trousers, she had Matthew's oilskin duster, his shirts and boots, his hat, and his prized Winchester rifle. Matthew's horse, Sampson, grazed at the end of his tether, and she had a stray dog she'd collected on the journey, who had turned out to be rather fine at flushing birds and rabbits for their supper.
She'd do just fine on her own, thank you kindly. She'd told herself that she would return to dresses and petticoats when her homestead was completed, but after a month in trousers, she would miss the freedom.
+++++
Caleb sat with his back against a tree as the sun went down. The milling homesteaders squabbled over space in line like a flock of biddy hens. They all had too much to carry to make any decent speed toward their claims, whereas he had his stake, a map of the territory, and his horse.
His first order of business would be fence around his bit of Oklahoma paradise. After that he could buy cattle and maybe set himself to the task of finding a wife to take care of everything else. He'd had his eye set on the daughter of his former trail boss, but the brat had up and married some eastern fellow with soft hands and clean boots. It was just as well, though. Sara Mitchell had a bit of a temper and got shrill when she didn't get her way. He'd end up wearing out his hand on her skinny backside sooner or later. That girl had been too spoiled by half.
No, he wanted a woman with a few curves and a biddable temperament. She would cook and wait on him, while raising up a passel of strong boys. In return, he'd give her a home and see to her needs. She'd want for nothing, so long as she behaved herself and did as she was told. She would smell nice and be sweet and feminine. He dreamed of a pretty young thing he could take in hand and teach all the ways she might please him. She would be a porcelain skinned blonde and he would dress her up like a little China doll with French silk drawers and stockings with naughty ribbons. She would have wide blue eyes and would call him sir.
His cock thickened as he considered his ideal wife. With a curse, he pushed all thoughts of a woman aside. There would be time enough for that after he'd staked his claim and built the girl a house to fill with his children.
He already liked Oklahoma better than Texas, and definitely better than Boston. With proper management, this would be a fertile place and would support a nice herd of cows. After a few years of working for other ranchers, he was ready to settle down on his own spread.
He tipped his hat lower over his eyes to catch some shuteye, but something caught his attention. A young man in an oilskin duster rode up to a tree several yards away. His hat shaded his features and Caleb couldn't get a good look at the boy. He seemed to have a good sense of things, though, and settled some distance away from the other homesteaders.
The boy unsaddled his gelding, rubbing him down with a bit of grain sack. The animal's heavy bones bespoke draft horse blood, but he looked strong and fast. A mixed breed dog ambled up behind him, nuzzling the boy's trousers. He tethered the horse and hung a nosebag on the animal's halter before settling back against his own tree.
To Caleb's surprise, the boy pulled out a book and read as he chewed on a strip of jerky. He caught a flash of straight, white teeth when the boy tossed a scrap at the dog. The boy's eyes met his and he touched the brim of his hat before tugging it lower over his face.
That boy was the sort of man he wanted his wife to raise. A man wasn't a man who couldn't take care of himself and his belongings. A good education never went amiss, either. He said a little prayer for the boy's claim.
+++++
Thankfully, the handsome man across the clearing ignored her. She'd been afraid he would come over to chat, but he'd left her alone all night. Her voice was naturally low pitched and soft, but she knew he'd figure out she wasn't a man if she said more than a few words. She had to keep up her charade for the full five years, or every claim jumper between Texas and the Dakotas would be on her like fleas. Her first initial would be used on the claim paperwork to further disguise her identity.
She saddled Sampson, but didn't mount. There was still almost a full hour until noon and she wanted him to be fresh for their run. The claim she'd chosen was a good fifteen miles away -- too far for the families with their prairie schooners, but an easy distance for a man traveling light. Or a woman, as the case might be. She knew the exact spot her stake would go. All she had to do was outrun everyone else.
Her dog had gone off exploring, and she whistled for him as the time moved closer to noon. It would be a wrench, but she'd leave him if he wasn't back when that cannon went off. She pulled herself into the saddle and smiled as he trotted up, his teeth bared in a doggy grin.
"You'd better keep up, son. We've got a long ride ahead of us and I won't stop for stragglers." The dog yipped in response and sat on his haunches. Sampson did a little jig under her, and she calmed him with a few words and a gentle touch. His fine Morgan breeding made him antsy, but she couldn't chide him too much when he was taking his cues from her.
She wished she had another like him, but Benjamin had sold the draft mare who'd birthed Sampson. God forbid Benjamin have to admit to his fine Morgan stud making time with a work horse.
Homesteaders milled everywhere and dust filled the air, kicked up by running children and unruly horses and oxen. She pulled her bandana over her face. A little dirt was all well and good, but she had no intention of choking on it. The man across the clearing did the same thing and she cursed herself for the momentary surge of pleasure when he nodded in approval. She gritted her teeth when he brought his horse alongside hers.
"You sure you're up to this race, son?"
She tried to deepen her voice, letting it out in a soft growl that had fooled people before. "Yes, sir. I reckon I am."
"Got your claim all picked out?" He lowered his kerchief and spat to the side. "Gonna be a fair bit of work for a boy to do."
"I reckon so."
"Good luck to you then." The man tipped his hat and rode away.
She heaved a sigh of relief, thanking God he hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss.
+++++
The low boom of a cannon rumbled from Fort Reno, giving him no time to wonder about the woman dressed in man's clothes. She and that big horse of hers were a bare speck on the horizon before the cannon shot finished echoing. Several men on horseback chased after her, but she'd been ready for the starting gun. He cracked a rueful grin. She was probably looking for something close to the fort for safety, but a lone woman wasn't going to have any luck holding on to it.
He kicked his horse into a lope, following after her. He had a fair piece to go and there wasn't any sense wasting time wondering after some fool woman who thought she could hold a claim. He kept going toward his own choice several miles away, slowing only to chuckle over a few squabbles as folks fought over the few parcels close to the fort. He didn't see the woman in the oilskin duster, or her black horse, and realized she must have already gotten herself run off.
Shaking his head, he chuckled. The silly girl didn't have the sense God gave a peahen. He hoped she made it back east safely, but he didn't have time to worry about fool women. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a dust cloud on the road ahead of him. He'd lost time watching the other homesteaders.
Clicking his tongue, he urged his horse into a gallop and soon caught up to the lone rider. To his immense shock, it was the woman who had outdistanced everyone else. Her horse's easy lope chewed up the ground and she sat it comfortably, her gloved hands light on the reins. Despite the speed she'd used to outdistance the other homesteaders, her horse was fresh as a damned daisy, his neck arched as he mouthed the bit. Hell, he knew experienced cowpokes who couldn't handle a horse as well.
"Where ya headed?" he asked. His curiosity had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but this woman did things to him. He wanted to see what she looked like.
"A bit further." Her tone didn't invite conversation.
"I'll ride with you for a piece. Mine is just over that hill."
She stiffened in her saddle, making her horse jig sideways. He caught a glimpse of her stubborn chin as she glared at him from under her hat.
"Damnation! Blast it all to hell!" She hissed at Sampson, touching her heels to his sides. She bent low over his neck, ignoring the man behind her when he called out. She whispered pleas and promises to her horse, asking him for just a little more speed. All she had to do was sink that damned stake.
