Oklahoma Wedding Bells

Grant nodded somberly. “Another treaty discarded for the sake of white expansion. Sometimes I’m ashamed to be white.” He glanced curiously at Sol. “How many acres did the Cheyenne and Arapaho lose this time?”

“Over six hundred thousand.” Sol scowled resentfully when he thought of how the tribes had been forced to take their land allotments and relinquish the rest of their reservation to the government for settlement. “Not counting their land in Colorado and Kansas the government confiscated years ago.”

“And I’m stuck in the middle of this, just like you are,” Grant mumbled in frustration. “It’s hell trying to protect the tribes and their allotments before the white mob descends to claim the surplus land.”

The captain expelled an agitated breath. “I’m holding more than a dozen Sooners in the stockade because they sneaked in to set up camps along the creeks on the wrong side of the starting line, and refused to leave. With your help, I’ve flushed out nearly a hundred early birds, but I don’t have enough soldiers to patrol the area to keep those blasted Sooners honest.” He snorted and said, “Now there’s a contradiction in terms if I ever heard one.”

“I’ll continue to do what I can to help,” Sol promised. “I carry my special trader’s license to prove I can cross the territory as I please. If I see more illegal squatters, I’ll contact you. I can also question my tribe about the location of other whites illegally encroaching on their land.”

“Good,” Grant said. “I’ll run off as many as I can, and you do the same.”

“If I flash my marshal’s badge it won’t be easy to gain trust and gather evidence of fraud among these would-be settlers,” Sol reminded him. “But I can alert you to their location so you can take a patrol of soldiers to rout the squatters out.”

“I appreciate whatever help you can give, Marsh—I mean Tremain.”

Sol eyed him warningly. “The last thing I need is a careless slip of the tongue alerting folks that I’m in law enforcement.”

When half a dozen men leaning negligently against the supporting posts of the porch outside the Saddle Burr Saloon noticed their conversation, Sol reached into his vest pocket to retrieve his special trader’s license.

“We’re drawing attention,” he told the military commander quietly. “Look over my license thoroughly, then nod your head. I want those men to think you’re checking the authenticity of my credentials.”

Grant took the license and studied it closely. “They look like hired guns to me,” he murmured, his head bent in supposed concentration. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“That’d be my guess,” Sol agreed. “I want to know what scheme is about to play out, who the gunmen are working for and why they chose this particular area to make the run.”

“We’ll have to confine our future conversations to out-of-the-way sites to avoid suspicion,” Grant said, returning the license with a clipped nod.

Sol tucked away the paper. “We’ll meet tonight at seven o’clock at Shallow Springs, south of the garrison. Find out what you can about those men without contacting them directly.”

Grant inclined his head in an authoritative manner for the benefit of the suspicious-looking group watching. Then he flicked his hand to shoo Sol on his way.

With a mock salute, Sol led his string of horses down the middle of the street—and drew the attention of the other crowd of men, who were fawning over the two women Grant had pointed out earlier.

From the corner of his eye, Sol surveyed the group outside the saloon, while pretending to assess the two women. Until the shapely blonde turned her head toward him, and sunlight gleamed on her thick, curly hair. The lustrous strands seemed a fascinating combination of sunbeams and moonbeams, and when she tilted her face up to him, Sol forgot all about the hired guns outside the saloon. Luminous eyes the color of forget-me-nots locked with his, and the jolt of awareness that sizzled through his body shocked the hell out of him.

According to Grant, this alluring blonde was the more tolerable companion. Holbrook insisted the stunning brunette was the devil’s sister, or at the very least a first cousin. Sol spared the fetching dark-haired woman a cursory glance, then his gaze settled on the blonde again as he halted his string of horses in the middle of the street.

“Anyone interested in prize horseflesh to make the land run?” he called loudly. “Only a half-dozen left today. Get one while you can!”

Four of the fawning admirers hurried over to examine the horses at close range. The other men continued to hover around the women like puppies on the trail of fresh milk—until the objects of their rapt attention pivoted toward Eugene’s Café of Fine Foods. Sol smiled appreciatively as he studied both women’s backsides, encased in formfitting breeches and shirts that accentuated their curvaceous physiques to advantage. As if they didn’t already stand out in a crowd because of their bewitching facial features, he mused.

Sol didn’t consider himself a connoisseur of women, and he had no time for lasting attachments. Still, he could easily understand why men salivated over the brunette and blonde—who looked to be about twenty-three, give or take a year. The brunette, he guessed, was a year or two younger.

“Keep my proposal in mind,” a tall, gangly sod buster called to the women before they disappeared inside the café.

Sol focused on the crowd gathering around him. Within five minutes, he had sold two horses. Then he continued on his way, and by the time he reached the opposite end of town, had made the last of his sales. The closer to the day of the run, the faster he depleted his supply of well-trained horses.

After stopping at the Silver Dollar Saloon to wet his whistle, he decided to return to the property where his cousin Red Hawk lived, so he could replace the horses he’d sold. When Sol reversed direction on the street, he noticed the two women emerging from the café. He decided that if he was in the market for a bride—which he doubted he’d ever be, since his duties left him roaming around as if he had wanderlust—he could flip a coin and be satisfied spending time with either of the attractive females.

Of course, he predicted both ladies were holding out for the best offer, to ensure the best financial security. He’d seen it happen before—and after—the other two land runs. Women were as opportunistic as men were, he reflected cynically. Everyone, good and bad alike, had a hidden agenda.

Damn, Tremain, he mused. You’ve spent too many years associating with murderers, swindlers and thieves. He needed to socialize with a better class of people before his skepticism swallowed him alive.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t well received by new acquaintances after he mentioned his mixed heritage, so he didn’t bring it up often these days. He wondered if the blonde and brunette would consider him poor marriage material if he disclosed his background to them.

Not that he cared what they thought. He had more important things to do besides ogling attractive females wearing trim-fitting clothing that defined the lush shape of their hips and the enticing curves of their legs. He’d be in the area only long enough to complete his assignment, before moving on to the next one in Indian Territory.

His thoughts disintegrated when a fresh batch of would-be suitors gathered around the two women. Sol did his best to ignore his fierce physical attraction to the blonde. He turned away, refusing to be lumped in the same category with every witless, hot-blooded male in town.

Chapter Two

Josie gnashed her teeth as she led her contrary sorrel, with his striking flaxen mane and tail, away from the camp after supper that evening. The stallion was not the horse she had originally planned to ride in the high-speed race during the run.

Unfortunately, the gelding she had trained had stepped in a prairie dog hole while she was exercising him, and had injured his leg. She’d been forced to resort to the high-strung animal that had bucked off her brother a few weeks earlier. Noah was still hobbling around with an injured back.

“Behave, Rooster,” she cooed to the flighty stallion. “You’ll get your chance to run at breakneck speed this evening, so have patience.”

“I agree with your brother,” Muriel said as she brought her docile dapple-gray mare, Bess, alongside. “That horse is cantankerous.”

“He’s also all I have,” Josie muttered, pulling herself into the saddle while Rooster pranced in a tight circle and tossed his head. “He runs like the wind … once I get him pointed in the right direction.”

“You think Rooster won’t come unglued when the soldiers fire off the cannons and shoot their rifles to signal the beginning of the race?” Muriel scoffed. “You should have bartered with that horse trader we saw in town today. You could have selected a mount with a better disposition.”

Josie recalled the green-eyed, raven-haired man whose five o’clock shadow was about three days old. He’d seemed nine foot tall sitting astride his horse—and was likely well over six foot when he wasn’t. She couldn’t figure out why the powerful-looking horseman had captured her attention immediately. After all, she was fed up with men and their constant badgering.

“There’s no guarantee the horse trader’s stock would be better behaved than Rooster,” Josie contended as she pulled on the reins to bring the stallion under control—if that was possible.

“If you don’t watch out, you’ll end up like your brother, or worse,” Muriel warned. “You will be forced to accept a marriage proposal, because you won’t be in any condition to make the race for a homestead by yourself.”

“Thank you, Miz Gloom and Doom,” Josie muttered caustically. “And let me point out that if you don’t brush up on your riding skills, you won’t stay on your horse long enough to claim any property.”

Muriel expelled an audible sigh. “You’re right. I didn’t get to ride as much as I wanted while working such long hours and tending Mother.” She got that determined look on her face that Josie had seen often. It was like staring into a mirror. “But I’ll die trying to stake a place of my own,” she declared.

Josie winced. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that for either of us. As for tonight, let’s ride along the—”

Pistol shots rang out in a copse of nearby trees, cutting her off midsentence and spooking her flighty stallion. Her head snapped back when Rooster reared, then plunged forward, galloping headlong across the rolling hills—inside the boundary to territory that was off-limits until the day of the run.

“Josie!” Muriel shrieked, as her own horse jumped sideways, then shot toward the sandy creek bank.

Josie yanked back on the reins as hard as she could, but Rooster lowered his head and raced across the prairie, where belly-high grass waved in the evening breeze. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted that Muriel hadn’t been bucked off, thank goodness. Josie decided to quit trying to control Rooster and let him have his head.

Wasn’t this what she expected of the stallion during the race? She wanted him to run in a high-speed gallop so she could outdistance the other settlers and locate the best land. Then she’d place her stake in the ground to claim her one hundred sixty acres. The trials and frustrations she had dealt with the past three weeks would be worth it.

Keeping that in mind, Josie nudged Rooster in the flanks and held on to him for dear life. She’d always thought she had a way with horses, but had to admit that not all her whispers of encouragement and tempting treats affected Rooster’s unpredictable temperament. The horse lived to run, like the untamed mustangs—and she’d better clamp herself to him like a barnacle to a ship or she’d end up in worse condition than her brother!

Sol glanced up sharply when he heard the unmistakable thunder of hooves. His mount, a sleek buckskin stallion named Outlaw, pricked his ears and shifted beneath him. The string of fifteen horses Sol had picked up at Red Hawk’s cabin milled around, tugging restlessly on the lead rope he held.

To Sol’s amazement, he saw the same blonde he’d encountered in El Reno flying over the hill on a powerful sorrel stallion. With its contrasting flaxen mane and tail, which matched the woman’s long, shiny hair, the twosome would capture any man’s attention. The horse equaled Outlaw in strength, speed and stamina, but was running out of control, and the blonde was in danger.

Sol hurriedly tethered the lead rope to the extra horses around the nearest tree. He gouged Outlaw in the ribs and raced off to intercept the woman at the mercy of the runaway stallion.

He held his breath when the flashy-colored sorrel leaped a creek. Sol expected the rider to go flying, kerplunk, into the water. Miraculously, with her arms wrapped around the horse’s neck, she stayed on board—this time at least.

Scowling at the blonde’s idiocy in mounting such a spirited horse, Sol slapped Outlaw on the rump, demanding his fastest gait. Their path intercepted the rogue stallion on a steep downhill slope. Sol snaked out his hand and grabbed the reins in an attempt to stop the animal.

Wild-eyed, the sorrel reared up, jerking Sol off his horse and unseating the woman. She fell backward with a thud and groan—and Sol landed directly on top of her, forcing out her breath in a whoosh. His thigh wedged intimately between her legs and his chest slammed against her breasts.

She shrieked, panicked and shoved him aside. But their arms and legs were in a hopeless tangle, so they were knotted together as they rolled pell-mell down the hill. When they finally came to a dizzying stop on level ground, Sol was sprawled on top of her—a position he admitted held provocative appeal for him.

The same didn’t appear to hold true for her.

She struggled again to push him off her, but suddenly her eyes rolled back in her head and she wilted. Sol watched her flushed face turn an interesting shade of blue, then pasty-white.

“You okay, miss?” he asked as he rose onto his hands and knees above her.

Her ample breasts heaved while she struggled to draw breath—and couldn’t. Sol grabbed her arm and jerked her over his knee, to whack her between the shoulder blades until she began breathing again.

“Stop—whack—doing—whack—that!” she wheezed, then squirmed away from him to fall back on the ground.

Sol watched her inhale several shuddering gulps of air. But his attention kept dropping to the top button of her blouse, which had come undone during their downhill tumble, exposing her enticing cleavage.

“You okay now?” He tried to focus on her rattled condition, not her enticing physique. It wasn’t easy. She had sensuous curves in all the right places. And he had been trained to be exceptionally observant. Now that talent was working against him.

Forget-me-not-blue eyes zeroed in on him, narrowing into an accusing glare. “I was okay before you jerked me off my horse and threw yourself on top of me!” she huffed indignantly.

“I didn’t unseat you,” he contradicted. “Your devil horse did that when he reared up. Then he yanked me off my horse.”

“It’s what you deserve for roughing me up,” she muttered as she twisted gingerly from side to side to assess her condition. “You’re that horse trader I saw in town today, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “And you’re that blonde with wedding proposals galore. Find one to your liking yet?”

“No.” She rose unsteadily to her feet, rejecting his offer of support. She brushed grass off her breeches and glared at him some more.

“Not to worry, there are several single, wealthy shopkeepers and hotel owners in town, in case your slew of cowpunchers and plow-boys don’t meet your high expectations,” he assured her, then smirked.

She jerked up her head, causing the coil of shiny, spring-loaded, silver-blond curls to dangle above her left ear like a lopsided fountain. She took a challenging step toward him. He noticed she was tall for a woman—five foot five inches of feminine defiance, to be specific. Since he was six-two, he held the height advantage. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop her from standing toe to toe with him, refusing to be the slightest bit intimidated.

“And what is that supposed to imply, Mr. Horse Trader?”

The woman was bristling with indignation and bad temper—all directed at him. And Grant swore the brunette had a worse disposition? Ha! She had nothing on this sassy blonde, who hadn’t even bothered to thank him for risking his neck to save her gorgeous hide.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said sarcastically.

Her chilling glare could have formed icicles. “For what?”

Sol did a double take. “For saving you from disaster, of course. That devil sorrel didn’t look like he planned to slow down until his legs gave out or he launched you off his back. Whichever came first.”

“Which is the whole point of the exercise,” she insisted in a scathing tone.

“What exercise?” he scoffed caustically. “Catapulting off his back to see how many bones you can break at once?”

“No, I have to be able to hold on while Rooster runs hell-for-leather if I want to stake my claim in the run.”

“Lady, the only claim you’ll stake is a cemetery plot if you ride this animal.” Sol flashed her a stern glance. “You need to buy one of my horses. They are trained for riding, not green broke like this unruly stallion.”

She tilted her chin and scoffed at him. “How convenient that you just happen to have a string of mounts for sale. And you call me an opportunist? Ha! That’s a laugh.”

To his surprise, she became huffier by the second. She nearly stood on top of him, despite the fact that she was a head shorter and at least one hundred pounds lighter than he was. “I will have you know, Mr. Horse Trader, that I am not trolling for a husband in this sea of would-be settlers. I’m here to claim land for a ranch of my own, so I can raise horses and cattle. I don’t need a man lording over me and getting in my way. I do not need to be saved from the sire of my future horse herd … and you stay off me!” she shouted as she stabbed her forefinger into his chest.

Sol tried to pay attention to her lecture while she was yelling at him, he really did. Nevertheless, his betraying gaze zeroed in on her lush, tempting mouth. She had plump pink lips that he hungered to taste. The thought prompted him to lick his own lips in anticipation.

Apparently, he’d been too long without a woman, if this firebrand aroused him and sent his thoughts skittering off in the wrong direction. She was all sharp claws, biting teeth and prickly criticism, as spirited and contrary as her stallion. Not to mention wildly attractive—if a man could convince her to use that sassy mouth for something besides delivering scornful lectures.

When she lifted a questioning brow, Sol blinked and scrambled to find his place in the one-sided conversation. He finally gave up and said, “What?”

She cast him a withering glance. “Never mind. You men are all alike. You can’t get past outward appearances to pay attention to anything as inconsequential as intelligent conversation.”

She pivoted around to hobble toward her horse, which was trying to pick a fight with Outlaw. The two stallions laid back their ears, snorted and pawed the ground.

It reminded Sol of his confrontation with the blonde.

“I suppose I don’t need to know you by name.” She tossed the comment over her shoulder flippantly. “I can think of plenty to call you, even if you refuse to provide the one you were given at birth.”

Which was not the name he used now, he reminded himself. He had been born in a Cheyenne camp, not in white society.

Why did she want to know his name, anyway? So she could tattle to the El Reno city marshal that he had attacked her? Which he most certainly had not … but he was thinking about it now.

Before she could walk between the two stallions and get trampled, Sol let out a sharp whistle, startling Rooster and bringing Outlaw obediently to him.

“The name is Solomon Tremain,” he said as he grabbed Rooster’s trailing reins, then handed them to her. “And you are?”

She climbed slowly onto the horse and grimaced. Obviously, she had sustained some sort of injury during her fall and his subsequent collapse on top of her.

“I’m Josephine Malloy.”

He nodded in recognition. “You’re Button-Eye Malloy. I’ve heard your name mentioned in several tent communities hereabout. You’re the mender of shirts and the breaker of hearts, or so I’m told. I expect you’re doing a thriving business to earn extra money. The brunette I saw you with in town must be Patches Wilson.”

The blonde stared him down, making grand use of her elevated position on her demon horse. “At your service, Tremain,” she said loftily. “Is there anything I can sew shut for you? In that, I can be bought for a fair price … but for nothing else.”

He had to hand it to the minx, she gave as good as she got. He liked teasing her, just to watch those expressive eyes flash blue fire. He also liked the way her chin shot up in defiance. Not to mention the way she squared her shoulders, refusing to feel threatened, preparing herself for an oncoming challenge or debate. There was nothing docile or dull about Josephine Malloy.

“Maybe it’s best that you don’t accept any of the marriage proposals tossed at you,” he advised. “I’m guessing you’d be as difficult to live with as your contrary stallion.”

Josie studied the swarthy horse trader as he mounted the muscular buckskin, the coal-black mane and tail of which matched the color of Tremain’s thick, shiny hair. She had to admit there was something intriguing about the man. He moved with the controlled grace and agility of a powerful predator. She reluctantly noted how his dark breeches, shirt and leather vest clung to his powerful body, accentuating his muscular physique. She didn’t want to show the slightest interest in this man. Or any man, for that matter. She had more important things on her mind.

When Josie managed to drag her gaze off Tremain, she noticed his stallion behaved much better than Rooster did. “On second thought, I’ll trade you straight out. My stallion for yours,” she bartered impulsively.

He threw back his dark head and barked a laugh as he settled himself comfortably on his horse. His sea-green eyes, rimmed with thick black lashes, danced with amusement. Josie blinked in surprise when she saw the dimples creasing his bronzed cheeks. Tremain was actually quite handsome, in a rugged, earthy sort of way.

Not that she cared, of course. He could be God’s gift to women and she wouldn’t want him. She didn’t need a man to complicate her life right now—maybe ever. The idea of a husband ordering her about, as if it was his natural-born right, didn’t sit well with her. She wanted to avoid restrictive ties, so she could take complete control of her destiny and focus all her efforts on staking a claim for a homestead.

“Outlaw is worth a half-dozen horses like your cantankerous mount,” Tremain insisted as he reined toward the string of waiting mustangs on the hill. He cast her a pointed look. “And you are not supposed to be out here, not even to exercise that ill-mannered animal.”

“But you can be?” she challenged, as Rooster followed after Outlaw—probably looking to pick another fight, knowing him.

“I have a special trader’s license, Josephine,” Sol said, glancing at her over his broad shoulder. “You don’t. Since you are trespassing, I might decide to tattle to Commander Holbrook. He can lock you up with the other sneaky Sooners and you can watch the run from behind bars.”

“But you won’t if I what, Tremain?” she asked suspiciously. “If I offer to provide some sort of services to you?”

His rakish grin did strange things to her pulse, for reasons she couldn’t account for. More than a hundred men had tried to court her since she had set up camp beside the boundary line for the run. Yet this ruggedly attractive rascal appealed to her. Why? She couldn’t say. She wasn’t sure she even liked the man. Still, there was something about him that intrigued her—and that made her wary and defensive.