Oklahoma Wedding Bells

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?”