PART 2 — THE RANCHER WHO MADE THE WHOLE TOWN ANSWER

Gideon Hayes finished folding his coat.

Then he turned toward the men standing over Rachel.

“Which one of you thinks this is funny?”

Nobody answered.

Jeremiah Cobb leaned back in his chair, attempting to recover his usual arrogance.

“Now, Gideon, don’t make a scene. The girl tripped. Beaumont was only having a little fun.”

Gideon looked down at Rachel.

She was still on the floor, trembling, one hand pressed against her injured shoulder. Her face was wet with tears, and she was trying desperately to pull her ruined dress around herself.

“Mrs. Gable!” Gideon called.

The older woman hurried from behind the counter.

“Get clean cloths and send someone for the doctor. And bring a blanket.”

Mrs. Gable immediately disappeared into the kitchen.

Gideon removed his waistcoat and placed it gently over Rachel’s shoulders, careful not to touch the injured areas.

“Don’t try to stand,” he told her.

Rachel looked up at him.

“Mr. Hayes, please. You shouldn’t get involved.”

His expression softened.

“Rachel, look at me.”

She managed to meet his eyes.

“You did nothing wrong.”

Those five words nearly broke her.

For years, she had learned to apologize whenever someone insulted her, whenever a customer complained, whenever her body occupied more space than others thought it should.

Now a man was telling her she wasn’t to blame.

And he was saying it in front of everyone.

Gideon slowly stood.

“Cobb, Beaumont, Cletus. Come over here.”

Cobb laughed nervously.

“Or what?”

Gideon pointed toward the center of the room.

“You’re going to apologize to Miss Higgins.”

Beaumont scoffed.

“Apologize? To her?”

Gideon didn’t raise his voice.

“Yes.”

Cobb stood, adjusting his expensive vest.

“You’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. I own more cattle in this territory than you have fence posts. You don’t give me orders.”

Gideon took one measured step forward.

“Your money doesn’t make you a gentleman. Your cattle don’t make you a decent human being. And your friends don’t make you untouchable.”

Cletus glanced toward the locked door.

“Open it, Hayes.”

“Not yet.”

Cobb’s smile disappeared.

“You can’t hold us here.”

“I haven’t laid a hand on anyone. I’m simply waiting for the sheriff.”

At that moment, the tavern door rattled.

A familiar voice called from outside.

“What’s going on in there?”

It was Sheriff Walter Briggs.

Gideon walked to the door but didn’t unlock it.

“Sheriff, I need you to come inside. There’s been an ᴀssault.”

Cobb immediately raised his voice.

“Don’t listen to him! He’s lost his mind!”

The sheriff entered a moment later, followed by his deputy.

He looked at Rachel, then at the shattered dishes, the spilled coffee, and the men standing around her.

“What happened?”

Beaumont opened his mouth.

“She fell—”

“I saw what happened,” Mrs. Gable interrupted.

Everyone turned.

The widow stood near the kitchen entrance, holding a clean blanket.

“I saw Beaumont stick his boot out. I saw Rachel fall. And I saw him pour that coffee over her.”

The sheriff’s face hardened.

“Is that true?”

Nobody answered.

Then a quiet voice came from the back of the room.

“I saw it too.”

An elderly ranch hand named Thomas Miller rose from his chair.

“So did I,” he added.

One by one, other patrons began speaking.

They had been afraid of Cobb.

But seeing Rachel hurt had finally made their silence impossible to defend.

Cobb looked around the room, realizing the crowd was no longer on his side.

“You’ll regret this, Hayes,” he muttered.

Gideon glanced at the sheriff.

“Make sure the right men answer for what happened.”

The sheriff nodded.

Then Gideon turned back to Rachel.

“Come on. The doctor is waiting.”

Rachel shook her head.

“I can’t leave Mrs. Gable alone with all this.”

Mrs. Gable hurried to her side.

“Child, the dishes can wait. You cannot.”

For once, Rachel allowed someone else to take care of things.

And as Gideon helped her toward the door, she heard Cobb whisper something that made her blood run cold.

“This isn’t over. Not even close.”

The doctor examined Rachel at the clinic and treated her burns. He explained that she would need rest and follow-up care, but she was fortunate that help had arrived when it did.

Gideon waited outside the examination room.

When the doctor finally emerged, he gave him a reᴀssuring nod.

“She’ll recover, Mr. Hayes. But she needs time.”

Gideon thanked him.

Rachel was sitting near the window when he entered.

Her hair had been brushed away from her face, and a clean shawl covered her shoulders.

She looked exhausted.

“Did they arrest them?” she asked.

“Beaumont and Cletus are being questioned. Cobb will have to answer for his part as well.”

Rachel lowered her eyes.

“He’ll make sure everyone pays for helping me.”

Gideon pulled a chair beside her.

“Perhaps. But he won’t find you standing alone.”

She studied him.

“Why are you doing this?”

Gideon was quiet for a moment.

Then he reached into his coat and removed a folded envelope.

“Because there’s something you should know.”

He placed it on the table.

Rachel recognized her name written across the front.

“What is this?”

“Something I should have given you months ago.”

She opened the envelope.

Inside was a letter from her father.

Rachel’s breath caught.

Her father had died when she was eleven. She had been told that nearly all his belongings had been lost when their small farm was sold.

But this was unmistakably his handwriting.

Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the page.

The first sentence made her eyes fill with tears.

My dearest Rachel, if you are reading this, I hope you’ve found people who know how precious you are.

She looked up at Gideon.

“Where did you get this?”

“From a lawyer in Cheyenne. Your father left instructions before he died.”

Rachel stared at the letter.

“What does it say?”

Gideon leaned forward.

“It says your father left you something. Something Jeremiah Cobb has spent years trying to get his hands on.”

Rachel looked down again.

At the bottom of the letter was a name she had never expected to see.

Jeremiah Cobb.

And beneath it, in her father’s handwriting, were six words:

Never let him take the Ironwood papers.