Chapter 1

April 21, 1889

Oklahoma Territory

Abby tugged her late husband’s jacket, 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.