Widows, Whiskey and Willow Switches

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.

She gritted her teeth as he caught up. That damned mustang he rode was almost as fast as Sampson. Her parcel was just a few hundred yards. She just had to push her stake into the ground ahead of him. Such an easy thing. She hadn't considered that someone else would race her to her spot.

Dust flew behind her as she drove her horse faster. She should have gone easier on him at the beginning. He was an unbeaten quarter mile racer, but he was growing tired despite the easy pace she'd set for most of the ride. The marked spot beckoned and she barely let him slow before she flung herself from the saddle and pressed her stake into the earth.

The handsome man set his stake at the exact same time and she let out an infuriated scream. She'd been so damned close! She turned her ire on the man facing her, wanting to wipe that smug grin from his face.

+++++

"Get your dirty cowherd ass off my land!"

The woman cursed a blue streak and he was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to turn her over his knee. "The way I see it, it's our land. We set our stakes at the same time."

Truthfully, there were many reasons to turn her over his knee. Being out here by herself without a man to protect her, that flying dismount from her horse that nearly stopped his heart, her cursing... He'd probably come up with a few other reasons before supper.

"If you were a gentleman..."

"If you were a lady, you wouldn't be out here by yourself." He jerked her hat off her head, cursing softly in admiration when a mass of curly reddish blonde hair fell into tangles down her back. Her skin was pale as milk and she had the slightest dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Poisonous green eyes fringed with dark lashes glared at him as she snatched her hat away from him. She was going to break a tooth if she didn't stop clenching her jaw.

"I'm a widow. I believe that precludes the idea of me being a lady, sir."

"I'm sorry for your loss." He took his hat off to pay his respects. He might want her off his land, but he wasn't so crass as to disrespect her. When she wasn't cursing him, her voice was low and pleasantly modulated. She sounded like she'd had a stiff belt of whiskey after rolling out of someone's bed.

"Thank you." She turned to loosen her horse's girth and let him loose to graze. "Now, what will it take for you to find another claim?"

Hoofbeats sounded behind them and his hand flew to the Colt in his holster. He spun around to face the threat as he heard the click of a lever behind him. The woman strode forward and stood at his side, a heavy Winchester in her hands. She stroked the barrel like it was an old friend as two riders in Army uniforms rode up.

"You two made a good claim here. I'm Lieutenant Davis Marshall. May I have your names, Mr. and Mrs..." He looked at them, questions in his eyes.

"We are not married, Lieutenant. I don't know this man."

"I see." The officer stroked his moustache and sighed. "May I ask who set the first stake?"

The woman would definitely need the services of a dentist before too long. Her jaw clicked and she scowled. "We set our stakes at the exact same time, sir."

Caleb had honestly expected her to lie. It had been obvious she had her heart set on this parcel. "Lieutenant, I believe the lady and I can work things out on our own. We will return tomorrow to file our claims."

"Very well." He stared at them as he turned his horse. "We haven't had too much fuss with claim jumpers yet, but keep an eye out for trouble."

"Yes, sir." She waited until the officer rode away and pulled up her stake as she whistled for her horse.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving." She caught the reins as the horse moved forward and vaulted easily into the saddle.

He stepped in front of her, his arms spread to stop her horse. "Why? I didn't figure you for a quitter."

"I'm not. I'm also not an idiot. I'm not fool enough to think I can fight you over a piece of dirt. There are others." She touched her heel to her horse, making him sidestep. He caught the reins to keep her still.

"None so nice, though."

"No, but it isn't your problem. Let go of my horse, please."

He'd always liked a lady with pretty manners. She screamed like a wildcat as he pulled her from the saddle and tossed her over his shoulder. Looking around for a good place to have their discussion, he spotted a fallen tree near the creek. A convenient sapling would provide the rest of what he needed for their talk if she proved to be stubborn.

Unfortunately, she cussed like an old trail cook. He'd have to make it clear that such behavior was unacceptable. Tossing her face down over the tree, he tugged at the knotted rope she'd used to hold up her pants and yanked them down over her hips. He hissed out a breath as her pale flesh was revealed. Tarnation, she had a pretty bottom. It would be even prettier after he turned it red.

His inattention cost him. She sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his forearm, biting down hard. Clenching his jaw, he pinched her nose until she had to let go to catch her breath.

"Biting will get you a switching," he warned.

"Go to hell, cowpoke," she hissed. Her teeth snapped again, bare inches from his thigh as he reached over to cut a switch from the sapling.

He caught her hands as she tried to scrabble away, her movements hindered by the trousers bunched around her knees. She screamed when he pressed them against her back, holding them securely as he brought the switch down on her upturned backside.

She heard a whistle of sound a second before a line of fire burned across her ass. She yelped in pain and fought to free herself from his grip. His large hand held her wrists easily as he pressed them into her back. The switch fell over and over, each stinging blow sending a shard of agony into her backside. Tears pricked her eyes when he brought that horrible switch down on the crease between her thigh and bottom, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry.

"I can keep this up all day, little widow." The switch fell to her thighs and she let out a soft whimper. "Apologize for biting, one more for cursing, and we'll be finished."

"Go to..."

The next blow delivered crossways across her bottom stole her breath and she choked on her own spit. "Ah ah," he warned. "Ladies don't curse."

He set the switch aside and massaged her abused flesh, his hand sending warmth deep into her body. She shuddered at his touch and realized he wasn't going to let her go until she said the words. All she had to do was choke out an apology and then she could escape.

The words came out in a rush. She had to say them fast as she could or they wouldn't come at all. "I'm sorry I bit you and I'm sorry I cussed." Closing her eyes in shame and humiliation, she waited for the next blow, but it didn't come.

He tossed the switch away and picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he sat down on the fallen tree. His large hands kept her still on his lap as he stroked her back. "Such a good girl," he whispered. "I'm proud of you for taking your punishment."

Such a good girl. I'm proud of you. Two simple sentences. Simple, yet so profoundly complex. No one had said such things to her since she'd been a school girl, studying hard so that she might someday become a teacher. Those dreams had gone by the wayside with her marriage to Matthew and his subsequent illness.

The tears started, soft trickles down her face until the daggerlike pain spewed forth in great, choking sobs. The strange man who had stolen her heart's desire and beaten her with a switch held her to his chest, his soft murmurs whispering in her ear as he petted her.

+++++

He let his future wife fall asleep in his arms, her rest heavy after the outpouring of grief. She didn't cry from the whipping. He had enough sense to know she was too stubborn for that, no matter that she'd apologized. It had been a grudging apology at best, but he'd take what he could get.

Hell and damnation, he didn't even know her name and he'd whipped her bare bottom. He'd count himself lucky if he didn't find himself on the wrong end of that Winchester come morning. He'd wake her in a few hours so they could discuss things.