Oklahoma Wedding Bells. Carol Finch

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      Beside her, Muriel muffled a chuckle with a cough. Josie wasn’t sure which quality—her independence, frank speech or contrariness—amused her friend more. She had witnessed examples of each since they had become acquainted and formed their sewing partnership three weeks earlier. At twenty-one, Muriel was well on her way to perfecting those characteristics herself.

      As Josie’s older brother was fond of saying, a man who tangled with an independent, free-spirited woman had no idea what he was getting himself into. Nevertheless, Noah had married Celia, who was no shrinking violet.

      Orson’s buffalo-size shoulders slumped dejectedly as he curled and uncurled the brim of his sweat-stained hat in his meaty fists. “Maybe if we spent a little more private time together—”

      Josie thrust his mended shirt at him. “No, Orson,” she said as gently—but firmly—as possible. “I’ll accept payment for repairing this garment, but I can’t accept your proposal. It wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m very sure that you’ll be much happier with someone else.”

      As had happened often in the past three weeks, her rejected suitor turned to the brunette beside her and flashed his best smile. If Josie or Muriel rejected a man’s proposal, he’d immediately transfer his attention to the other woman, as if they were interchangeable. Which served to prove that a man wasn’t very particular about whom he acquired for his wife. One female was as good as the next, and Josie refused to let herself forget that.

      There were a few exceptions, she conceded. Her brother actually loved Celia.

      At twenty-three, Josie had become exceptionally cynical because of several unpleasant experiences with overeager single men who had hounded her before—and immediately after—land runs.

      “How ‘bout you, Miz Wilson?” Orson asked hopefully. “We would suit well, too, I believe.”

      “Thank you kindly, but no, Orson,” Muriel replied politely. “Like Josie, I fancy being on my own, and I’ve learned to take care of myself. I’m chasing my own rainbows and I’m not ready to settle down.”

      “But you can double the amount of land—”

      “No, thank you,” Josie and Muriel said in unison. “Good luck staking your land claim.”

      After Orson glumly paid the fee, crammed his mended shirt under his arm and walked off, Josie came to her feet to work the kinks from her back. “I think I’ll hike into town for lunch. Want to come along?”

      Muriel tucked the patched jacket in the knapsack where they kept their sewing supplies, then tossed the bundle into the tent she and Josie shared for their protection. “One hundred proposals and counting,” Muriel muttered. “And not one that interests me.”

      “Maybe we’re too particular. Or shrewish,” Josie remarked as she walked alongside her friend. “Getting to know one another doesn’t appear to be a prerequisite for marriage in this territory. But I wish men would wait at least a week after making our acquaintance before proposing.”

      “That didn’t bother Rachel Winters or Annabelle Mason.” Muriel smirked, her golden-brown eyes sparkling with humor. “They paraded up and down the streets in fine fashion to snag husbands. Neither of them knew their new grooms for more than a day before getting hitched. Though I wonder why they didn’t want to wait until after the run to wed. They could have staked their own claims and combined them with their husbands’ to double the size of their property.”

      “There are opportunists galore milling about,” Josie insisted as she led the way up the tree-choked riverbank to reach the bustling community. “But I don’t blame the former saloon girls for trying to improve their situations, even if they hurried along their weddings. Extra land was the least of their concerns. They are in their late twenties, from the looks of them, and likely have endured a hard life. They were searching for an escape, while we are chasing our dreams of claiming homesteads of our own.”

      “Mercy me,” Muriel muttered when they reached the edge of town. “There is that infuriating Captain Holbrook again. He’s always bossing folks around and running off the Sooners that sneak in to claim prime land before the day of the race.”

      “I’m all in favor of routing those greedy settlers who are trying to cheat their way into acquiring the best property!” Josie insisted emphatically.

      “So am I,” Muriel agreed. “But Holbrook’s domineering attitude riles me. He snapped at me, just because I wandered over the borderline while trying to avoid a clump of men tossing proposals left and right. The captain is too much the authoritarian and too full of himself, if you ask me.”

      Josie glanced back and forth between her friend and the commander of Fort Reno, who was in charge of maintaining control of thousands of people who filled the town to overflowing, and was obliged to protect the Indians on the soon-to-be-opened land. “Has the captain insulted you or made improper advances?” she asked worriedly.

      Muriel thrust out her chin, causing tendrils of dark hair to ripple around her face. Her thick-lashed eyes threw sparks. “He accused me of leading men on, is what he did!” she huffed irritably. “You know perfectly well that I can’t help it if ten cowboys decide to follow at my heels and toss out proposals simultaneously. The same holds true for you.”

      That had become the story of their lives the past three weeks, Josie acknowledged.

      “I’m trying to avoid men, not attract them.” Muriel snorted, and added spitefully, “I’d like to see that stuffed shirt of a soldier down on bended knee. I would smack him on the head with a skillet to punctuate my rejection.”

      Muriel’s burst of temper befuddled Josie. She was also curious why the handsome captain cast Muriel the evil eye as he reined his horse toward her. With his shiny brown hair, brown eyes and muscular physique, Grant Holbrook was not unpleasant to look at. At age thirty or thereabout, he held a position of authority, and was highly regarded by his men. Why Muriel and the army officer provoked each other so easily was beyond Josie.

      Captain Holbrook halted his roan gelding beside them and looked down from his advantageous position. He nodded politely to Josie, then focused a hard stare on Muriel. “What? No string of men trailing behind you today, Miz Wilson?” he said, and smirked. “Off day, is it?”

      Muriel tossed him a caustic smile. “I sent them away because I’ve decided the only proposal I’ll accept is from you, Captain. I don’t want you to have to compete with the others, since it’s obvious you are so short on charm. Of course, my answer would still be no.”

      “I wouldn’t ask,” he assured her crossly.

      Muriel hitched her thumb toward Josie. “Then maybe you prefer blue-eyed blondes.”

      “Don’t drag me into whatever personal feud you two have going,” Josie protested. “I, for one, will be relieved when the day of the run arrives so all these unattached men will have something better to do with their time than make a last-minute grab for a wife.

      “I even passed out mail-order-bride magazines and matrimonial newspapers last week to divert attention from us, for all the good it did,” she added. She stared earnestly at Captain Holbrook. “Can’t you do something about the constant harassment? Muriel and I are tired of wading through would-be husbands to reach our destinations.”

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