She Was Being Sold for Wearing Pants, the Cowboy Said, “She Can Wear What She Wants With Me”

Chapter 3

“Yes. He believed a woman should know how to defend herself.” She looked away. “Fat lot of good it did me in Sage Creek. They took my gun before I could even reach for it.”

“Six against one is poor odds for anyone.”

They fell silent, listening to the night — the creek, a coyote mourning somewhere out in the dark, the soft shift of the horses. Clara found herself relaxing despite herself. There was something about this cowboy that inspired trust, and she had been wrong about men before, badly wrong.

“I could use some help at my ranch,” he said suddenly. “Bookkeeping, mainly. My former foreman handled it, but he moved on last month, and I’m months behind on the accounts.”

Clara stiffened. “Is that why you really bought me? For cheap labor?”

“No,” he said firmly. “That thought never crossed my mind until just now, sitting here learning what you can do. It’s an offer of employment, Miss Vance. Fair wages. Your own cabin. And you can wear whatever damn clothes you please.”

She studied him across the fire, the honest set of his jaw, the way he didn’t look away. “And if I decline?”

“Then I’ll see you safely to the next town tomorrow, one more hospitable to independent women, and wish you well on your way to San Francisco. That’s the whole of it.”

A steady job would replenish her dwindling funds. And something she couldn’t name told her the Flying R would be safer than riding alone through a territory where a woman in pants could end up on an auction block. “How much are these fair wages?” she asked practically.

He named a sum that made her eyebrows rise. It was fair. More than fair.

“And I’d have my own place? No expectations?”

“Your own cabin,” he confirmed. “Belonged to the foreman. The only expectations are that you do the job you’re hired for and don’t steal the silver.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Though I don’t actually have any silver.”

Despite herself, Clara smiled. It was the first real smile she’d managed since Boston. “I’ll consider your offer. Let me sleep on it.”

“Fair enough.” He stood and gathered his bedroll. “I’ll sleep on that side of the fire. You take this side. We’ll head out at first light.”

As she settled into her bedroll, rifle close at hand, Clara watched him through the dying flames. He had positioned himself with his back to her, giving her privacy. A small gesture. But telling.

For the first time since leaving Boston, she thought she might have found someone in this wild territory who would not demand a piece of her in return for kindness. Whether that trust was warranted remained to be seen. And in the morning, standing in the first gray light, she made the decision that would carry her north — and change everything — though she couldn’t have known it then.

“I’ll take the job,” she said. “For a month. Then we’ll see.”

He nodded, no triumph in his expression, no relief even. “Fair enough. The Flying R will be glad to have you, Miss Vance.”

“Clara,” she corrected. “If we’re going to work together, you might as well use my name.”