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

Chapter 7

The accusations came three days later, wrapped in gossip and galloping in on Joey’s horse.

“Boss, you ain’t going to believe what they’re saying in town,” the young hand burst into the dining room during breakfast, his face flushed with anger. “That saloon feller Vane. He’s telling everyone Miss Vance is some kind of fugitive. Says she’s wanted back east for theft and worse.”

All eyes turned to Clara, who set down her coffee cup with deliberate calm. “That’s absolutely false,” she said clearly.

“Of course it is,” Hank said loyally. “Boy, lower your voice and sit down.”

Joey sat, still agitated. “There’s more. He’s offering a reward for information about her. And he’s got some fancy lawyer papers he’s showing around town.”

“What kind of papers?” Caleb’s expression had gone grim.

“Don’t know exactly. But Mrs. Whitcomb was telling everyone after church that Miss Vance ain’t who she claims to be, and that harboring her could mean trouble for the Flying R.”

Clara felt the blood drain from her face. “Caleb, I swear to you—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But we need to understand what we’re facing.” He turned to Joey. “Is Vane still in town?”

“Yes, sir. Took a room at the hotel. Says he’s staying until justice is served. Whatever that means.”

Caleb stood decisively. “Hank, I’m riding into town. Keep everyone close to the ranch today, just in case.”

“I’m coming with you,” Clara said, also rising.

“That might not be wise.”

“These are accusations against me. I won’t hide while others defend my name.”

Caleb studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. But stay close.”

She wore her trousers to town — partly for practicality, mostly as a statement. She would not be intimidated into pretending to be someone she wasn’t. The main street seemed unusually quiet for a Sunday. Some people on the boardwalk nodded and greeted them; others deliberately looked away.

At the hotel, Mr. Peterson looked distinctly uncomfortable. Vane, it turned out, had stepped out. But Peterson had his own contribution. “Mr. Thornton— Mr. Vane has documents. Claims to represent her family back east.”

“What kind of documents?” Clara asked sharply.

“Legal papers. Says you’re not of sound mind, ma’am. That your family’s been searching for you, worried sick.”

“That’s a lie. My only remaining family is an uncle in San Francisco, who knows exactly where I am.”

“Well, ma’am, I’m just telling you what’s being said.” Peterson looked to Caleb. “Sheriff’s taking an interest, too.”

Sheriff Granger was a solid, no-nonsense man who had always treated Caleb with respect. He gestured for them to sit. “Figured you might be paying me a visit today.”

“Then you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Heard ’em and seen the papers.” Granger pulled a folder from his desk. “Vane brought them by yesterday. A power of attorney signed by a Richard Price of Boston, claiming authority over his cousin Clara due to her unstable mental condition. And a warrant for arrest on charges of theft.”

“They’re forgeries,” Clara said immediately. “My cousin’s name is Edmund Price. And I’ve stolen nothing.”

The sheriff studied her thoughtfully. “Can you prove that?”

“Can Vane prove his documents are legitimate?” Caleb countered. “Why would a Boston family authorize a saloon keeper from the Arizona Territory to act on their behalf?”

“Fair question.” Granger acknowledged. “One I’ve asked myself. But the papers look official. Right seals, right signatures.”

“Sheriff.” Clara leaned forward. “I left Boston to escape my cousin’s unwanted advances after my father’s death. Edmund threatened to have me committed to an asylum if I refused his proposal of marriage. I took nothing but what was rightfully mine.”

Granger’s expression softened slightly. “I’m inclined to believe you, Miss Vance. But I’ve got a job to do. These accusations are serious.”

“What do you suggest?” Caleb asked.

“Why don’t you write your uncle in San Francisco? Get him to confirm your story, maybe contact authorities in Boston to verify these documents.” The sheriff hesitated. “Until then, I’d advise staying at the ranch. Vane is stirring up sentiment against you in town.”

As they left the sheriff’s office, Clara’s thoughts raced. “We need to send a wire immediately. And write to my uncle.”

Caleb nodded, but his attention had shifted across the street. “Vane,” he said quietly. “With Mrs. Whitcomb and what looks like half the town council.”

Marcus Vane stood on the boardwalk outside the general store, deep in conversation with several of the town’s most influential citizens. As if sensing their observation, he looked up — and a satisfied smile spread across his face. He crossed the street toward them.

“Ah, Miss Vance. Or should I say, Miss Price?” He raised his voice so passersby could hear. “I’ve been hoping to continue our conversation from the other night.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Mr. Vane. Your documents are forgeries, and your accusations are false.”

“Strong words from a fugitive.” His smile never wavered. “Your cousin is most concerned about your welfare. He’s offered a substantial reward for your safe return to Boston.”

“My cousin is a liar and a would-be abuser.” Clara stated it flatly, and gasps rippled through the crowd that had gathered to watch. “Precisely the kind of delusional statement that concerns your family,” Vane said, his expression hardening. “Sheriff,” he called to Granger, who had followed them outside, “I must insist you take this woman into custody. For her own protection, and to answer for the theft charges.”

“I haven’t seen sufficient evidence to warrant an arrest,” Granger replied evenly. “Miss Vance is a respected employee of the Flying R with no history of trouble in this territory.”

“Then perhaps this will convince you.” Vane withdrew a folded paper from his jacket. “A telegram I received this morning from the Boston police, confirming an outstanding warrant for Clara Price, also known as Clara Vance.”

Granger took the telegram, reading it with a frown. “This appears legitimate,” he admitted reluctantly.

“It’s a fabrication,” Caleb insisted. “Anyone could send a telegram claiming to be the Boston police.”

“True enough,” Granger conceded. “Which is why I’m not making any arrests today.” He turned to Clara. “But I will need you to remain in the territory until this matter is resolved. Consider yourself under investigation, Miss Vance.”

“She’ll stay at the Flying R,” Caleb stated firmly. “I’ll vouch for her.”

“That’s acceptable for now. But I’ll be sending wires to Boston myself to verify these claims.”

Vane’s smug expression faltered slightly. “Sheriff, surely you can see this woman is dangerous. Morgan is clearly besotted and not thinking clearly.”

“Careful, Vane,” Caleb warned, his hand moving instinctively toward his gun.

“That’s enough,” Granger said sharply. “Both of you. Miss Vance will remain at the Flying R until I receive responses to my inquiries. Vane, I expect you to stop spreading accusations until we have confirmation one way or the other.”

The sheriff walked back to his office, effectively ending the confrontation. But the damage had been done. The townspeople watching were already whispering, casting suspicious glances at Clara.

“This isn’t over,” Vane said quietly as they moved toward their horses. “Your cousin is a very determined man, Miss Price. As am I.”

“Why are you doing this?” Clara demanded. “What possible interest could you have in me?”

Vane stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Let’s just say I recognize a valuable commodity when I see one. A woman with your unique qualities would be an asset in my business enterprises. Your cousin’s reward is merely a bonus.”

Caleb moved between them, his expression dangerous. “You’re mistaking my restraint for weakness, Vane. It’s not a mistake you want to make twice.”

With a final mocking smile, Vane tipped his hat and walked away, rejoining Mrs. Whitcomb and the others, who immediately bent their heads together in whispered conference.

The ride back to the Flying R was tense and mostly silent. Clara’s mind churned with implications, none of them good. It wasn’t until they were halfway to the ranch that she spoke.

“I should leave. Continue to San Francisco as I planned. This is bringing trouble to you and the Flying R.”

“No,” Caleb said firmly. “Running now would only confirm their suspicions.”

“But staying puts you at risk. If the town turns against you because of me—”

“Let them.” He interrupted. “The Flying R doesn’t answer to town gossips.”

Clara studied his profile, the determined set of his jaw. “Why are you doing this, Caleb? You barely know me.”

Caleb slowed his horse, turning to meet her gaze directly. “I know enough. I know you’re honest, hardworking, and brave. I know you face down prejudice and danger with more dignity than most men could muster. And I know that whatever your past holds, you deserve to face it on your own terms — not Vane’s.”

Something deep within her cracked open. “Thank you,” she said softly. “But this could get worse before it gets better. Vane seems determined, and my cousin, if he’s truly involved, can be ruthless.”

“So can I,” Caleb said simply, “when necessary.”

They continued toward the ranch, the shared danger binding them closer than any employer and employee had a right to be. Whatever came next, Clara understood with sudden, terrifying clarity, they would face it together. And when the danger found them again — as she knew in her bones it would — neither of them would be running.