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

Chapter 8

Back at the Flying R, Caleb called a meeting with all the hands. Plainly, without embellishment, he told them everything — the false accusations, Vane’s involvement, the sheriff’s investigation. “Anyone who doesn’t want to be part of this can draw their wages and leave, no hard feelings. I won’t hold it against you.”

The men exchanged glances. No one moved.

Finally Hank spoke for all of them. “We’re Flying R, boss. Miss Vance is one of us now. We stand together.”

Clara felt a lump in her throat. These rough cowboys, who had first regarded her with suspicion, were now willing to stand against the whole town for her sake. “Thank you,” she said simply. “All of you.”

The next days brought a new routine. Clara continued her work on the accounts, but never alone — Caleb insisted someone be with her at all times. The hands took turns riding patrol around the property, watching for trouble from town. Caleb sent wires to San Francisco and Boston, seeking to establish the truth. Clara wrote a long letter to her uncle, begging for his help in clearing her name.

The attack came at dusk, as she was walking from the main house to her cabin after supper.

Three riders appeared suddenly from behind the barn, bandanas covering their faces, guns drawn. “That’s her!” one shouted. “Grab her!”

Clara didn’t hesitate. She sprinted toward the bunkhouse, shouting a warning. The nearest rider spurred his horse after her, leaning down to grab her. A shot rang out, and the rider yelped in pain, clutching his arm.

Caleb stood on the porch of the main house, rifle at his shoulder, already taking aim at the second attacker. The ranch erupted into action. Hands poured from the bunkhouse, armed and ready. The wounded attacker wheeled his horse and fled back the way he’d come; his companions hesitated only briefly before following.

“After them!” Caleb ordered, then ran to where Clara stood, breathing hard from her sprint. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she assured him, though her heart was racing. “They didn’t touch me.”

Hank and several hands were already mounting to give chase. Caleb looked torn between joining them and staying with her. “Go,” she urged. “I’ll be fine here with the others.”

With a nod, he grabbed his horse and joined the pursuit.

Clara watched them disappear into the gathering darkness, fear and anger warring in her chest. Vane had made good on his implied threat faster than she’d expected. Joey stayed with her, rifle at the ready, as they waited in the main house. Yun brought coffee and tried to distract her with stories of his childhood in China, but her thoughts remained with the riders in the dark.

It was nearly midnight when they heard horses approaching. Joey went to the window, rifle raised, until he confirmed it was Caleb and the others returning.

“They got away,” Caleb reported grimly as he entered. “Lost their trail in the hills. But we found this.” He held up a bandana — not the one that had covered the attacker’s face, but a distinctive red silk neckerchief patterned with playing cards. “Vane’s men wear those. Seen them at his saloon in Prescott.”

“So we have proof it was Vane,” Clara said.

“Circumstantial at best,” Caleb admitted. “But enough for me to have a serious conversation with our friend in town tomorrow.”

“You can’t go alone. He’s already shown he’s willing to use violence.”

“I won’t be alone. Hank and the boys will be with me.”

“And me,” Clara stated firmly.

Caleb shook his head. “Too dangerous. You’re the one he wants.”

“Exactly why I should be there. I won’t hide while others fight my battles, Caleb. I never have.”

They locked eyes, a silent battle of wills. Finally Caleb nodded reluctantly. “You stay between me and Hank at all times. And you wear this.” He withdrew a small derringer from his desk drawer and pressed it into her hand. “Keep it hidden, but accessible.”

Clara accepted the gun, weighing it in her palm. She didn’t mention the one already hidden in her boot — an extra weapon couldn’t hurt in the current circumstances.

The next morning, a formidable group rode into town: Caleb, Clara, Hank, and four of the most capable hands. They went straight to the hotel, but Mr. Peterson informed them that Vane had checked out at dawn, claiming urgent business in Prescott.

“Convenient,” Caleb remarked dryly.

They found Sheriff Granger already aware of the attack. “One of your would-be kidnappers showed up at Doc Miller’s with a bullet in his arm,” he explained. “Wouldn’t say who shot him or why. But the timing’s suspicious.”

“It was Vane’s doing.” Caleb laid the red bandana on the desk. “His men wear these. Seen them at his saloon in Prescott myself.”

Granger examined it, his expression grave. “Not enough for an arrest warrant. But certainly enough for me to send some pointed questions to the authorities in Prescott.” He looked at Clara. “Until Vane’s dealt with properly, you’re still at risk, Miss Vance.”

“I’m aware,” she replied calmly. “But I won’t be driven into hiding.”

“Admirable. Perhaps not practical.” Granger shook his head. “Vane’s not the type to give up easily, especially now that he’s been publicly thwarted.”

“The Flying R is well-defended,” Caleb stated. “And I’ve sent for additional hands from neighboring ranches. We’ll be ready if he tries again.”

As they left the sheriff’s office, Clara noticed the changed attitude of the townspeople. Where there had been suspicious glances and whispers, now there were respectful nods, even a few sympathetic smiles. Word of the attack had spread quickly, shifting public opinion in her favor.

But Clara wasn’t comforted. She had seen the look in Marcus Vane’s eyes, heard the cold certainty in his voice. The man had paid strangers to snatch her off the ground. He had woven lies around her name and called them law. And now he was somewhere out there, wounded pride and all, waiting for his next chance.

Caleb was right to be ready. Because Clara knew, with the bone-deep certainty of a woman who had learned to read men’s worst intentions, that Vane would not stop until he had taken everything from her — or until someone stopped him for good.