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Wyoming Cowboy Justice
Nicole Helm
The Wild West never died…Bad boy bar owner Grady Carson knows his brother is not a murderer, and he’ll do anything to prove it. But partnering with Laurel Delaney? The by-the-book cop challenges him like no other. Can they solve a crime to prevent a family war and ignore their forbidden spark?


Welcome to Bent, Wyoming
Where the Wild West Never Died
Resident bad boy and saloon owner Grady Carson knows his brother is not a murderer, and he’ll do anything to prove it. But partnering with Laurel Delaney? Worst idea ever. The beautiful by-the-book cop challenges him like no other. Bad family blood—and a killer at large—makes their attraction unthinkable. Dangerous. Reckless. How can they solve a crime to prevent a family war and then let forbidden love ignite it anew?
Carsons & Delaneys
NICOLE HELM grew up with her nose in a book and the dream of one day becoming a writer. Luckily, after a few failed career choices, she gets to follow that dream—writing down-to-earth contemporary romance and romantic suspense. From farmers to cowboys, Midwest to the West, Nicole writes stories about people finding themselves and finding love in the process. She lives in Missouri with her husband and two sons and dreams of someday owning a barn.
Also by Nicole Helm (#uce746380-9f89-51ff-a5c4-6e35043b0edc)
Stone Cold Texas RangerStone Cold Undercover AgentStone Cold Christmas RangerAll I HaveAll I AmFalling for the New GuyToo Friendly to DateToo Close to Resist
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
Wyoming Cowboy Justice
Nicole Helm


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07939-6
WYOMING COWBOY JUSTICE
© 2018 Nicole Helm
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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For all the Heroes readers who took a chance on a
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Contents
Cover (#u07634cab-b5fa-592d-a959-c512132ea892)
Back Cover Text (#ud9bc1d54-1fb5-524c-a536-603e8819e4a0)
About the Author (#u8a336923-5312-5551-8e31-88a36f2a6386)
Booklist (#ue9cd2543-edcc-5d9b-9a1d-fc1f4196705d)
Title Page (#ua1566b48-bb95-5e00-8425-3c6cdda3b6c9)
Copyright (#ufc5c7db0-8ba7-5a50-82ef-98e3b54f3045)
Dedication (#u1bdb6495-56dd-5de9-abb0-395f98b311aa)
Chapter One (#u9def6de1-cbad-56af-aee1-eba6ae42b4aa)
Chapter Two (#u281b1adc-a608-56a9-a42b-a81c496608e0)
Chapter Three (#u7f7a0b85-7e95-5c30-ab3c-0b5d72e912f3)
Chapter Four (#uf43bdf5b-a281-579a-ad62-c1166aaa98a7)
Chapter Five (#ubcbb888b-afa9-5c8b-bfc7-f701f6916b45)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uce746380-9f89-51ff-a5c4-6e35043b0edc)
Laurel Delaney surveyed the dead body in front of her with as much detachment as she could manage.
“Know him?” the deputy who’d first answered the call asked apologetically.
“We’re distantly related. But who am I not related to in these parts?” Laurel managed a grim smile. Jason Delaney. Her third cousin or something. Dead in a cattle field from a gunshot wound to the chest, presumably.
“Rancher called it in.”
Laurel nodded as she studied the body. It was only her second murder since she’d been hired by the county sheriff’s department six years ago, and only her first murder in the detective bureau.
And yes, she was related to the victim. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exaggerating about the number of Bent County residents she was related to. She’d known Jason in passing at best. A family reunion or funeral here or there, but that was all. He didn’t live in Bent, his parents—second cousins, she thought, to her parents—weren’t part of the main offshoot of Delaneys who ran Bent.
“We do have a lead,” Deputy Hart offered.
“What’s that?” Laurel asked, surveying the cattle field around them. This ranch, like pretty much everything in Bent County, Wyoming, was in the middle of nowhere. No highway traffic ran nearby, no businesses in the surrounding areas. Just fields and mountains in the distance. Pretty and isolated, and not the spot one would expect to find a murder victim.
“The rancher says Clint Danvers broke down in front of his place last night. Asked to use his phone. He’s the only one who was around. Aside from the cows, of course.”
Laurel frowned at Hart. “Clint Danvers is a teenager.”
“One we’ve arrested more times than I can count.”
“Had to be a Carson,” she muttered, because no matter that Clint wasn’t technically a Carson, his mother was the mother of a Carson as well. Which meant the Carson clan would count him as theirs, which would mean trouble with a Delaney investigating.
Laurel herself didn’t care about the Delaney-Carson feud that so many people in town loved to bring up time and again, Carsons most especially. Her father could intone about the generations of “bad element” that had been bred into the Carsons, her brother who still lived in Bent could sneer his nose at every Carson who walked into his bank, her sister could snidely comment every time one of them bought something from the Delaney General Store. The street could divide itself—Delaney establishments on one side, Carson on the other.
Laurel didn’t care—it was all silliness and history as far as she was concerned. She was after the truth, not a way to make some century-old feud worse.
A vehicle approached and Laurel shaded her eyes against the early-morning sun.
“Coroner,” Hart said.
Laurel waved at the coroner, Gracie Delaney, her first cousin, because yes, relations all over the dang place.
Gracie stepped through the tape and barbed wire fence easily, and then surveyed the body. “Name?”
“Jason Delaney.”
Gracie’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is it bad I have no idea how we’re related to him?”
Laurel sighed. “If it is, we’re in the same boat.” It was a very strange thing to work the death of someone you were related to, but didn’t know. Laurel figured she was supposed to feel some kind of sympathy, and she did, but not in any different way than she did on any other death she worked.
“All right. I’ll take my pictures, then I’ll get in touch with next of kin,” Gracie said.
Hart and Gracie discussed details while Laurel studied the area around the body. There wasn’t much to go on, and until cows learned how to talk, she had zero possible witnesses.
Except Clint Danvers.
She didn’t mind arresting a Carson every now and again no matter what hubbub it raised about the feud nonsense, but murder was going to cause a lot more than a hubbub. Especially the murder of a Delaney.
She processed the crime scene with Hart and Gracie. Even though Hart had taken pictures when he’d first arrived, Laurel took a few more. They canvased the scene again, finding not one shred of evidence to go on.
Which meant Clint was her only hope, and what a complicated hope that was.
Gracie loaded up the body with Hart’s help, and Laurel tossed her gear back into her car. “I’m going to go question Clint. You on until three?”
Hart nodded. “Let me know what I can do.”
Laurel waved a goodbye and got into her car. She didn’t have to look up Clint’s residence as Bent was small and intimate, and secrets weren’t much of ones for long. He lived with his mother in a falling-down house on the outskirts of Bent.
When Chasity Haskins-Carson-Danvers and so on answered the door, freshly lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth, Laurel knew this wasn’t going to go well.
“Mrs. Danvers.”
Chasity blew the smoke right in Laurel’s face. “Ms. Pig,” she returned conversationally.
“I’m looking for Clint.”
“You people always are.”
“It’s incredibly important I’m able to talk to Clint, and soon. This is far more serious than drugs or speeding, and I’m only looking to help.”
“Delaneys are never looking to help,” the older woman replied. She shrugged negligently. “He’s not here. Haven’t seen him for two or three days.”
Laurel managed a thin-lipped smile. It could be a lie, but it could also be the truth. That was the problem with most of the Carsons. You just never knew when they were being honest and helpful, or a pack of liars trying to make a Delaney’s life difficult. Because to them the feud wasn’t history, it was a living, breathing entity to wrap their lives around.
Laurel thanked Mrs. Danvers anyway and then sighed as she got back in her unmarked car. Most unfortunately, she knew exactly who would know where Clint was. And he was the absolute last man she wanted to speak to.
Grady Carson. Clint’s older half brother and something like the de facto leader of the Carson clan. Much like the men in her family, Grady Carson put far too much stock in a feud for this being the twenty-first century.
A feud over land and cattle and things that had happened over a hundred years ago. Laurel didn’t understand why people clung to it, but that didn’t mean she actively liked any of the Carsons. Not when they routinely tried to make it hard for her to do her job.
Which was the second problem with Grady. He ran Rightful Claim, which she pulled up across the street from.
She glared at the offensive sign outside the bar—a neon centaur-like creature, half horse, half very busty woman, a blinking sack of gold hanging off her saddle. Aside from the neon signs, it looked like every saloon in every Western movie or TV show she’d ever seen. Wood siding and a walk in front of it, a ramshackle overhang, hand-painted signs with the mileage, and arrows to the nearest cities, all hundreds of miles away.
Laurel refused to call it a saloon. It was a bar. Seedy. It would be mostly empty on a Tuesday afternoon, but come evening it would be full of people she’d probably arrested. And Carsons everywhere.
Grady wasn’t going to hand over Clint’s whereabouts, Laurel knew that, but she had to try to convince him she only wanted to help. Grady was a lot of things—a tattooed, snarling, no-respect-for-authority hooligan—but much like the Delaneys, the Carsons were all about family.
Mentally steeling herself for what would likely amount to a verbal sparring match, Laurel took her first step toward the stupid swinging doors Grady claimed were original to the saloon. Laurel maintained that he bought it off the internet from some lame Hollywood set. Mainly because he got furious when she did.
She blew out a breath and tried to blow out her frustration with it. Yes, Grady had always rubbed her completely the wrong way, and yes, that meant sometimes she couldn’t keep her cool and sniped right back at him. But she could handle this. She had a case to investigate.
Laurel nudged the swinging saloon doors and slid through the opening, making as little disturbance as possible. The less time Grady had to prepare for her arrival, the more chance she had of getting some sensible words in before he started doing that...thing.
“I see you finally found the balls to step inside, princess.”
Laurel gritted her teeth and turned to the sound of Grady’s low, easy voice. Doing that...thing already. The thing where he said obnoxious stuff, called her princess, or worse—deputy princess—and some tiny foreign part of her did that other thing she refused to name or acknowledge.
Her eyes had to adjust from sunlight to the dim bar interior, but when they did, she almost wished they hadn’t.
He was standing on a chair, hammering a nail into the rough-hewn wood planks that made up the walls of the main area. Lining the doorway were pictures of the place over the years—a dingy black-and-white photograph of the bar in the 1800s, a bright pop of boisterous color from the time a famous singer had visited in the sixties, and photos documenting all Grady had done inside to somehow make it look less like a dive bar in a small town and more like a mix between old and new.
Much like the man himself. Laurel always had the sneaking suspicion Grady and the Carson cousins he routinely hung around with could straddle the lines of centuries quite easily. Sure, he was dressed in modern-day jeans and a simple black T-shirt that she had no doubt was sized with the express purpose of showing off the muscles of his arms and shoulders along with the lick of tattoos that spiraled out from the cuff and toward his elbow.
But he, and all the Carsons she had pulled over or served a warrant on more times than she could count on two hands and two feet, wore old battered cowboy hats like they were just dreaming of a day they could rob a stagecoach and escape to a brothel.
She wouldn’t put it past Grady to have a brothel, but for the time being the worst thing he did in Rightful Claim was sell moonshine without a license.
Something she’d reported him on. Twice.
“Gonna stand there and watch me work all day? Want to slap my wrist over some made-up infraction?”
“It’s funny you call this work, Carson. You don’t have a single patron in here.” She glared at the picture he rested on the nail he’d just pounded into the wall. It was a cross-stitched, nearly naked woman. Cross-stitched. Oh, she hated this place.
“There are no patrons because I don’t officially open until three. But there’s nothing like a Delaney coming into my place of business and criticizing my work ethic when your family has—”
“Please spare me the trip down family feud lane. I have business to discuss with you. It’s important.”
“You have business to discuss with me?” He got off the chair, just an easy step down with those long, powerful legs of his. Not that she noticed long or powerful, even when he was roaring his way down Main Street on that stupid, stupid motorcycle of his.
“I’m going to need a drink to go with this interesting turn of events,” he drawled.
“You’re going to drink before three in the afternoon on a day you’re working?”
He walked past her, way closer than he needed to, and that wolfish smile was way too bright, way too feral. How could anyone call him attractive? He was downright...downright...wild, uncivilized, lawless.
All terrible things. Or so she told herself as often as she could manage to make her brain function when he was smirking at her.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, princess.”
“Deputy. This is official.” She followed him toward the long, worn bar. Again, Grady claimed it was original, and it looked it. Scarred and nicked, though waxed enough that it shone. She couldn’t imagine how anyone balanced a glass of anything on the uneven wood, or why they’d want to.
“All right, deputy princess—”
She was trying very hard not to let her irritation show, but the little growl that escaped her mouth whether she wanted it to or not gave her away.
The bastard laughed.
Low, rumbly. She could feel that rumble vibrate through her limbs even though there was this ancient big slab of a bar between them. Hate, hate, hate.
“Gonna report me again?”
She schooled her features in what she hoped was a semblance of professionalism. “Not this afternoon, though if I see you serve the moonshine when I know you don’t have a license for it, I will contact the proper authorities.”
“If that’s your idea of pillow talk—”
“I know, all those multisyllable words, too hard for you to comprehend,” she snapped, irritated with herself, as always, for letting him get to her. “But this is about your brother. And murder.” His eyes went as hard as his expression, which gave her a little burst of satisfaction. Not so tough now, are you? “Care to shut up and listen?”
* * *
GRADY HAD ALWAYS had a little too much fun riling up the Delaneys, Laurel in particular. She got so pinched-looking, and when he really got her going, the hints of gold in her dark eyes switched to flame. And unlike the rest of the Delaneys, Laurel gave as good as she got.
But her words erased any good humor riling her up had created. Murder and Clint. Damn. Clint might be his half brother without an ounce of Carson blood in him, but he was still family. Which meant he was under Grady’s protection.
Grady jerked his chin toward the back of the bar. Though the regulars knew not to swing through the old saloon doors until three on the dot or later, he didn’t want anyone accidentally overhearing this conversation.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak caveman. Is that little chin jerk supposed to mean something?”
He flicked a glance down her tall, slender frame. He could see her weapon outlined under the shapeless polo shirt she wore. The mannish khakis were slightly better than the polo because they at least gave the impression of her having an ass. A shame of an outfit, all in all.
“Let me ask you this,” he said, leaning his elbows on the freshly waxed surface of the bar. He’d spent most of a lifetime learning how to appear completely unaffected when affected was exactly what he was, and this was no different. “Is this visit personal or professional?” he asked, making sure to drawl the word personal and infuse it with plenty of added meaning.
“Professional,” she all but spat. “Like I said earlier. Trust me when I say I will never set foot through those pointless swinging doors for anything other than strictly professional business.”
“Aw, sweetheart, don’t lay down a challenge you won’t be able to win.”
“I see that even when it comes to your brother, you can’t take anything important seriously. How about this? The murder victim is Jason Delaney. The only person around at the time of the murder was Clint Danvers.”
Grady swore.
“I need to question your brother before news of this murder and that he was a witness spreads through town like wildfire. All we need is for one person to see a Delaney’s been murdered, and know Clint is technically a Carson and a witness, and we have a whole feud situation on our hands. Are you going to help me or not?” she said evenly, the only show of temper at this point in her eyes, where he could all but picture the flecks of gold bursting into flame one by one.
He didn’t trust a Delaney in the least, but Laurel Delaney wasn’t quite like the rest. She hated the feud, and he almost believed she might be more interested in the truth than crucifying Clint without evidence. The rest of the town would be a different matter. This would result in the kind of uproar that could only cause problems for everyone.
Clint was in trouble, and Bent was in trouble, and the thing that kept the Carsons and Delaneys in this town, most of them hating and blaming each other for good or for bad, was that something about Bent had been poured into their blood at birth.
Something about the buildings that had stood the test of time in the shadow of distant, rolling mountains, far away from any kind of typical civilization. Something about the way history was imprinted into their fingerprints and their names, even if some people chose to ignore it.
Bent was like an organ in the body of those who stayed, and no matter what side of the feud you were on, Bent was the common good. Usually no one could agree on what that meant.
This wouldn’t be any different. Laurel would want to solve the problem with warrants and investigations and all sorts of time-consuming bull. He and his cousins could have it sorted out with a few well-timed threats, maybe some fists, probably within the week.
So, he smiled at Laurel, as genially as he could manage for a man who wasn’t used to being genial at all. “Have to pass, princess. Guess you and your gun will have to do all the heavy lifting.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Sometimes I can’t decide if you think I’m stupid or if that’s just you. This is real life, Grady, not the Wild West—especially your lame version of it. If you want to arrest a murderer, you have to conduct an investigation. If you want to save your brother from the possibility of not just being a suspect, but being convicted, you need to work with the police. This isn’t about Delaney versus Carson. It’s about right and wrong. Truth and justice.”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
She shook her head. “Don’t come crying to me when Clint is locked up.”
“Don’t let the doors slap that pretty little ass of yours on the way out. You might end up enjoying it.”
“You know, I don’t get to say this enough in a day. Screw you, Grady.” She flipped him off as she sauntered out of the saloon. The doors didn’t hit her on the way out, but that didn’t stop him from watching her disappear.
He waited until she was completely gone, then watched the clock tick by another few minutes. Casually, he pulled out his phone, then gave one last glance at the doors that had gone completely still. As if he didn’t have a care in the world, he sent off a text to his cousins.
We need a meeting.
Ty was the first to respond. Mine, cow, or woman?
Grady’s mouth quirked at the code they’d developed as teens. Mine was property, because the Carsons had managed to eke out some of their own, even with the Delaney name stamped all over this town since the first Delaney bastards had screwed the first Carsons out of their rightful claim to land and gold. Because of that nasty start of things in Bent, the Carsons didn’t let anybody mess with what was rightfully theirs.
Cow meant family, because the Carsons and the Delaneys of old had gone to great and sometimes disastrous lengths to protect their livestock around the turn of the twentieth century, and these days, going to great lengths to protect family was still a number one priority for the Carsons.
And woman...
Grady stared at where Laurel had gone. Well, she was a woman, and she was a pain. A cop. A Delaney.
Yeah, he had a woman problem, but it was one that he was going to ignore, and it would go away. So, he typed Cow into his phone before grabbing his keys and heading out the back.
Chapter Two (#uce746380-9f89-51ff-a5c4-6e35043b0edc)
Laurel wasn’t big on breaking rules or protocol, but considering she was currently investigating a murder, and Grady likely knew where the only potential witness/suspect was, following him was necessary.
It was, however, difficult to follow someone surreptitiously in Bent. There weren’t any cars to hide behind, and the roads that crisscrossed in and out of town were surrounded by long, wide stretches of plains, the mountains a hazy promise in the distance.
Still, when Grady’s motorcycle roared out of town toward the west, quickly followed by another motorcycle, Laurel was pretty sure she knew where the motorcycle parade of doom was headed. Which made her job a hell of a lot easier.
She gave them a few minutes, then drove out of Bent in the direction of the Carson Ranch. Though Grady didn’t live there full-time, everyone knew he routinely bunked out at the ranch Noah Carson ran.
Much like the Delaneys tended to congregate around their own ranch on the exact opposite side of town. As if the two ranches were facing off, Bent their no-man’s-land in between.
Laurel sighed. This whole thing was going to make that no-man’s-land erupt into a chaos they hadn’t seen for decades, if she didn’t get some information out of Clint, and soon. She’d been stupid to think Grady had half a brain and would grant her access.
But she wasn’t stupid enough to give up, and she was too darn stubborn to let Bent get dragged into another foolish war. It might not be the Wild West anymore, but people—many of whom were far too armed for their own good—getting riled up and fighting was never a good thing.
Especially when she had a murder to solve.
Laurel parked her car at the curve in the road, the last place she couldn’t be seen. She’d have to hike up the rest of the way and do her best to stay behind underbrush and land swells and whatever she could find. Hopefully the Carson clan would be too busy planning how to hide away Clint to look out the windows and see her.
She pocketed her keys, checked her weapon and set out into the brisk fall afternoon. She remembered to turn the sound on her cell and radio off as she walked, keeping her eyes on where the Carson spread would eventually come into view.
When it did, she paused. She might be the practical, methodical sort, but she never failed to take a moment or two to appreciate where she lived. The sky was a breathtaking blue, puffy white clouds drifting by on the early fall breeze. The grass and brush were a mix of browns and gold. Surrounded by the all-inspiring glory of the majestic peaks of the Wind River mountains and the rolling red hills was a cluster of buildings sitting in the middle of a broad golden field.
The Carson Ranch wasn’t much like its Delaney counterpart. It was populated with sturdy, mostly Carson-built buildings. They’d preserved most of the original ranch house, making improvements and expanding only when necessary. Like the saloon, it was a bit like stepping back in time with a modern layer over top.
The Delaney Ranch, on the other hand, was sleek, modern and gleaming, thanks to Laurel’s father. The only building on the entire spread that predated her father was the one Laurel used as home right now. A tiny cabin that had supposedly been her ancestor’s original homestead, though modernized with plumbing and electricity and whatnot.
It would fit in well enough on the Carsons’ land. Laurel frowned at that uncomfortable thought. Nothing about her or her life would fit in with this group of ne’er-do-wells.
She edged along the fence line, trying to stay out of sight from any windows. Two motorcycles were parked in front of the main house, and Laurel had to wonder if they’d come here because Clint was here, or if they’d chosen the place to have some kind of pseudo-planning meeting.
Laurel knew one thing: Grady wasn’t as nonchalant as he’d pretended. She’d never known him to bow out of the bar this close to opening before.
Maybe Clint was here. She could go to the house, demand to see him and show the three Carson cousins she wasn’t scared of them—not Grady and his swagger, not Noah and his quiet stoicism, and not Ty, who’d recently returned after having served years as an army ranger. They might be big, strong men, but she was a law enforcement agent, and she’d faced bigger, badder men than them.
It would set a good precedent to stare them down, to demand access or answers. The Carsons seemed to think they were above the law, especially if it was a Delaney trying to enforce it, and she didn’t have to let that stand.
But she didn’t see another intact vehicle anywhere, just a handful of rusting, tire-less old cars and trucks. If Clint was here, he’d either gotten here on foot or hidden his vehicle.
There were a ton of outbuildings. While the Carson boys sat inside and planned whatever they were planning, maybe she could find a clue in one of those.
She quickened her pace, making it into the stables first. There were four horses in stalls, huffing happily, and a surprising amount of tidiness inside for the lack of it out. She made her way to the empty stall toward the back. It could fit a motorcycle or—
“Hands up,” a husky feminine voice commanded.
Laurel whirled at the sound, hand on the butt of her weapon, and then scowled. “Vanessa, do not point a gun at me.”
“Got a warrant?” Vanessa Carson asked, holding an old-looking rifle pointed directly in Laurel’s direction.
“Is that a musket?” Laurel asked incredulously, then shook her head. “Regardless, stop pointing it at me. That’s an official order.”
With a hefty sigh, Grady’s sister lowered her rifle. Laurel felt the same thing she always felt when she looked at her former best friend. Regret, and a pang for a childhood before things had been poisoned by some stupid feud.
“Why are you sneaking around our stables?” Vanessa demanded.
“Official reasons.”
Vanessa smirked and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She held it up to her ear. “Hey, Grady. I’m out in the stables. We’ve got an uninvited visitor.”
Laurel threw her hands in the air, frustrated beyond belief. “When will you all realize I am trying to help you. Help Bent.” It was all she’d ever wanted to do. Help Bent. Even people who hated her because of her last name knew that was true.
“Helping Bent usually translates to helping the Delaneys when it comes to your people, Laurel. Why should this be any different?”
Laurel had a million arguments for that. Even though she’d beat her head against that concrete wall time and time again, she had no compunction about doing it again now. But she saw something out of the corner of her eye.
Something that looked suspiciously like a skinny teenager running for the mountains.
Laurel didn’t hesitate, didn’t concern herself with Vanessa’s musket, of all things, and most definitely didn’t worry about the impending arrival of Grady.
She pushed past Vanessa and ran after the quickly disappearing figure. She ignored Vanessa’s shouts and put all her concentration into running as fast as she could.
“Clint Danvers, stop right there,” she yelled, gaining absolutely no ground on the kid, but not losing any, either. “Bent County Sheriff’s Department, I am ordering you to stop!” She could threaten to shoot, of course, but that would cause more problems than it’d ever solve.
Clint darted behind a barn at the west edge of the property, and Laurel swore, because he could go a couple different directions hidden behind that barn and she wouldn’t be able to see which one he chose.
Her lungs were burning, but she pushed her body as fast as it would go, cutting the corner around the barn close. Close enough she ran right into a hard wall of something that knocked her back and onto her butt.
She would have popped right back up, ignoring her throbbing nose and butt, but the hard object she’d run into was Grady himself. And now he was standing there, giving no indication he’d let her pass.
She glared up at him and his imposing arms folded over his chest. “I detest you,” she said furiously, even knowing she should tamp down her temper and be a professional.
His all-too-full lips curved into one of those wolfish smiles. “My life is a success, then.”
“He’s getting away, and if you think that’s going to go over well for him, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Grady jerked his chin toward the house. “Ty’s after him on his bike. We’ll have him rounded up in a few.”
“Oh,” Laurel managed to say, blinking. That was not what she’d expected out of Grady. At all. She figured he’d purposefully stepped in her way so Clint could escape.
“But I’m not going to let you talk to him, princess.” He held out his hand as if he was going to help her up.
She pushed herself to her feet. “Let me?” she muttered. As if he could let her do anything in her official capacity.
“But I am going to clean you up. I think you might have broken your nose.”
She touched her fingers to her nose, surprised to find a sticky substance there. She’d been so angry, she hadn’t even realized her nose was bleeding. “I could arrest you for assaulting an officer.”
“Babe, you ran right into me. That’s not assault. It’s not watching where you’re going.”
She didn’t screech or growl or pound her fists into his chest like she wanted to. No, she took a deep breath in and then out.
She had a job to do, and Grady Carson could break her nose, threaten her sanity, but he could not stand in her way.
* * *
GRADY DIDN’T LIKE the uncomfortable hitch in his chest at the sight of Laurel’s face all bloody. It was her own damn fault she’d crashed into him. He’d heard her coming, of course, but he hadn’t known she’d turn the corner at the same exact time he had.
At full speed.
She was entirely to blame, but somehow he felt guilty as he walked her back to the main house. “We’ll clean you up, then you can be on your way.”
“I’m just going to come back with a search warrant. Clint is the only potential witness in a murder, Grady. I can’t stop going after him until he answers some questions.”
He hated that she was using that reasonable, even-keeled cop tone with him when there was a trickle of blood slowly dripping down her chin.
“Ain’t none of my business what you got to do, Deputy,” he said as lazily as he could manage, even though he didn’t feel lazy at all.
His teenage half brother was a dope, plain and simple. Grady didn’t think Clint had actually killed anyone, but he had a bad feeling based on Clint’s running away that Clint knew something. Considering Clint’s mom had kicked Clint out of the house just last week and had lectured Grady on getting him sorted out, Grady could only feel pissed and more of that unwelcome guilt.
He hated feeling guilty. So, when Ty pulled up on his bike, alone, Grady cursed. “Where the hell is he?”
“I don’t know, man. Disappeared.”
“That’s impossible.”
Ty shrugged. “Noah took one of the horses to go search the trees. What the hell happened to her?” Ty asked, gesturing toward Laurel.
“Your cousin broke my nose,” the infuriating woman stated.
Ty’s eyebrows winged up.
“I did not break her nose. She ran into me at full speed and broke her own damn nose.”
“Want me to go open the saloon for you?” Ty asked.
Grady nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket. He tossed them at Ty. “I’ll be there soon.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Laurel said as Ty rode off. “My nose isn’t really broken. It’s just bleeding. I can clean myself up in my car.”
“How do you know it’s not broken?”
She shrugged. She was a tall woman, but narrow. Narrow shoulders, narrow hips. Her hair always pulled back in a bouncy brown ponytail. Her face always devoid of makeup. Her body always covered up. The complete opposite of his type.
Which was why he’d never quite understood why his gaze tended to linger on her when they happened to be in the same vicinity, or why he got such a kick out of pissing her the hell off, and always had, since she’d been a girl hanging around his sister back before Vanessa had decided Delaneys were evil incarnate.
But one thing he did know and always had known—no matter how fragile Laurel Delaney could look on the outside, she was as tough as nails when it came down to it.
“I’ve had my nose broken before,” she retorted. “I know what it feels like.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.” She glared at him, all piss and vinegar and a special brand of spitfire unique to her. “Meth-head head-butted me once.”
“A meth-head head-butted you and your father let you stay in police work?”
“You don’t know what I did to the meth-head in return.”
Hell. Bloodthirsty was such a turn-on, even on a Delaney. Maybe especially on one. “Come inside so we can wash you up before you slink back to wherever you hid your car.”
“I did not hide my car.”
Grady raised an eyebrow at her and she returned his look with an arch one of her own.
“I parked it down the hill so I could have a nice, head-clearing walk.” She smiled sweetly.
“Sure.” Grady pushed the front door open and led her into the kitchen. “Sit.” He pointed to a barstool situated under the kitchen counter.
He grabbed a washcloth and ran it under some warm water before walking around to her.
“I can clean it myself,” she said, holding her hand out for the cloth.
Instead he did what he knew would piss her off. He gripped her chin and held her head still as he used the washcloth to wipe away the blood.
She sat there regally, not sniping at him or pushing him away, and he had to fight back a smile over the fact she had changed tactics with him.
He wiped the blood from her nose and where it had dripped down her chin. She was fair-skinned and her nose was faintly freckled. While most Delaneys reveled in the finer things, the more genteel side of life, and her elegant face sure fit all that, Laurel had never been one for elegance and pretty things.
“You sure it’s not broken?” he asked, and he was close enough that the hair hanging around her face stirred.
“I’m sure.” She stared at him with those golden-brown eyes and there wasn’t an ounce of animosity hiding there. He couldn’t help that his gaze dropped to her unpainted mouth.
Laurel had always been easy to resist, not because he’d never found her attractive, but because it only ever took him opening his mouth to rile her up enough to have her walk away. But she wasn’t bristling like she usually did, and he figured that was all kinds of dangerous.
“I’m not out to get you,” she said as sincerely as she’d ever said anything to him.
Her sincerity was good enough to break this particular spell. “You’ll have to pardon my lack of belief, considering how many times your father has tried to get Rightful Claim shut down.” He stepped away and tossed the cloth in the sink. He crossed his arms across his chest and frowned intimidatingly down at her.
“That doesn’t have anything to do with me. Should I blame you for everything your father’s ever done? Because I hear it’s quite a list.”
He wouldn’t admit she had a fair point.
“Work with me, Grady,” she implored, speaking to him for once like he was a person instead of a Carson. “For your brother’s sake. For Bent’s sake. Put everything that came before behind us for the sake of this case and this case alone. If Clint is innocent, I don’t want to be the one who puts him away for murder. I don’t want a real murderer to get away with something because of feud crap.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the old saying that those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it?”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any chance of me falling in love with you and dying in some army-led Native American massacre, or you and all the Carsons going off to war and eradicating an entire generation. So we might just make it. Did I cover all the idiotic Delaney-Carson fairy tales?”
His mouth curved. “I don’t know, the illegitimate Carson who married a Delaney as payback always struck my fancy.”
“That poor woman died in childbirth.”
“And thus the waters between Carson and Delaney never commingled.”
“You’re terrible.”
“Don’t you forget it, princess.”
The door squeaked open and Noah entered, slapping his cowboy hat against his thigh so that dust puffed up. “Must have had some help. That boy isn’t anywhere out there.”
“I need a list of friends, places he might have gone, that sort of thing,” Laurel said in her demanding cop way that got Grady’s back up like few other things.
But she’d implored him to help, and while helping a Delaney was the first and biggest thing on his Don’t Ever Do list, this was about Clint. It was about Bent. Much as he might enjoy the feud tales and riling up the Delaneys, he didn’t actually want any trouble in town. Trouble wasn’t good for business, and as much as he would never admit to anyone, a little too hard on his heart.
He loved the town like he loved his brother. He loved his saloon like he loved the graves of every Carson before him. He might not have sworn to protect this place like Laurel had, but he had the sneaking suspicion they both wanted the same thing.
Damn it all.
“Your best bets are Pauline Hugh or Fred Gaskill,” Grady offered.
Laurel hopped off the barstool. “Hugh, Gaskill. Got it. And if he comes back here, call me. Or bring him to me. I only need to question him. The longer he runs, the worse this looks. Please let him know that.”
Grady nodded and Noah did, too, and then Laurel was striding out of the house.
“So, we’re working with a Delaney,” Noah said as if he didn’t quite believe it.
“That Delaney and that Delaney only. And only until we get a handle on what Clint’s involvement is and how much we need to protect him.”
Noah made one of his many noncommittal sounds that Grady usually found funny, but he wasn’t much in a mood to find anything funny today. “What’s that grunt supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing. You just seemed awfully cozy with Deputy Delaney there.”
“At least I wasn’t blushing in front of her.”
Noah bristled. “I was not blushing.”
“Just don’t get any hooking up ideas of your own.” Which was the wrong thing to say. It was beyond irritating, since he always knew the right thing to say, or when to keep his mouth shut. Grady never gave too much away.
Noah’s rare smile spread across his face. “You staking a claim, cousin?”
“No, I am not. We just have to be careful how we play this. I’m going to work now. Go shovel some manure or something.”
“Oh, there’s plenty right here to shovel up,” Noah replied.
Grady flipped him off and headed out of the house. He took a second to stand on the porch and look at the blazing sun in the distance, the rolling red hills, the rocky outcroppings of this beautiful Wyoming world.
He definitely wasn’t watching Laurel Delaney stride down the long gravel driveway, a woman on a mission.
A mission he was more than a little irritated to find he shared.
Chapter Three (#uce746380-9f89-51ff-a5c4-6e35043b0edc)
Laurel fumbled with her phone to turn off the beeping alarm. She wanted desperately to hit Snooze, but there was too much to do.
She hadn’t gotten home until well after midnight, after tracking down all the names the Carsons had given her yesterday. She’d questioned both teens, but neither one had been able to give her the faintest hint on Clint’s whereabouts.
She yawned and stretched out in bed. Oh, she didn’t believe any of the shifty teenagers, but she couldn’t force them to tell her anything. Which meant today would be another long day of investigating. Even if she got ahold of Clint to question him, she wasn’t hopeful she’d get anything out of him.
She didn’t have time to find Clint and investigate a murder that would be common knowledge in Bent and the surrounding areas by now.
Murder. Who had murdered Jason Delaney?
She forced herself out of bed and walked from her small room to the tiny kitchen. It was a cold morning, but it would have to be a quick one. Coffee, shower, get on the road. No time to build a fire and enjoy the cozy fall silence.
She frowned at the odd sound interrupting said silence as she clicked her coffee maker on. Something like a rumble.
Or a motorcycle.
“Hell,” she muttered. She could not argue with Grady before she had coffee. Before she even had time to get dressed. She looked down at the flannel pajamas. It could be worse—she could be wearing the ones with bacon and eggs on them, or more revealing ones.
But she wasn’t wearing a bra and she very nearly blushed at the idea of being bra-less in the same room as Grady.
She jumped at the pounding on her door, which was silly when she knew it had been coming. But she hadn’t expected it to all but shake her little cabin.
Well, no time to fix the pajama situation. Worse, no time to fix the no-coffee situation. So she put her best frown in place and opened the door. “What do you—” But she stopped talking because it wasn’t just Grady.
Grady shoved Clint through the door before following, and for a few seconds Laurel could only stand there and stare. Grady had brought her the only potential witness and the main suspect all rolled up into one. He’d brought a Carson into Delaney territory.
Grady scowled at—she assumed—the naked shock on her face. “The sooner you question him, the sooner you can clear him. You said you know he didn’t do it, after all.”
“I didn’t say that,” Laurel returned, shaking herself out of her shock and going for a notebook and a pen.
“What do you mean you didn’t say that? Never mind, Clint. Let’s go.”
Laurel stepped in front of him, holding out a hand to stop him. Somehow that hand landed on his chest. Because even though it was something like thirty degrees outside considering the sun was just beginning to rise, he only had a leather jacket on, unzipped, so that her hand came into contact with the soft material of his T-shirt, covering the very not-soft expanse of his very broad chest.
She jerked her hand away and focused on her notebook. “Calm down,” she said, hoping she sounded calm. “I said I don’t think he did it. I’m only out for the truth, and if the truth is Clint’s nose is clean, I’ll make sure my investigation reflects that.” She lifted her chin and met his blazing blue gaze.
She’d never seen Grady this riled up before. He was more of the “annoy the crap out of people till they took a swing at him, then gleefully beat them to a pulp” type.
Which was why it didn’t surprise her in the least when he relaxed his shoulders and his gaze swept down her chest. “Nice jammies.”
She sidestepped him and gestured Clint to a seat at her small kitchen table. “Sit, Clint. I have a few simple questions for you. Now, right now, we don’t know what happened, so I need you to be honest and forthcoming, because the more we know, the quicker we can get to the bottom of this.”
Clint sat in the chair, slumping in it, looking everywhere but at her or Grady. “Sure. Whatever,” he muttered.
Laurel opened up to a clean page in her notebook and quickly jotted down Clint’s name, the date and time. She left out Grady’s presence, and she didn’t have time to wonder about why. “Now, Mr. Jennings said you came to his door around ten asking to make a phone call. Is that true?”
Clint shrugged again, fidgeting and sighing heavily. “Guess so.”
“And why did you go to Mr. Jennings’s door?”
“Crap car broke down not far from that rancher’s house. I walked up, asked to use his phone since mine was dead, and then my girl came and picked me up.” He pulled at a thread on the cuff of his jacket. “I wasn’t anywhere near that field.”
“How did you know the dead body was in the field?” Grady growled before Laurel could voice the same question.
Clint opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Laurel had to close her eyes. The idiot kid couldn’t even lie? Hell, she’d come up with one if Grady’s furious blue gaze was on her like that.
“You promised me you were telling the truth,” Grady said, leaning over the table and getting in Clint’s face. “So help me God, Clint, you do not lie to me and get away with it.”
“Gentlemen,” Laurel said in her best peacemaking tone, smiling encouragingly at Clint and then Grady. “Let’s take a calming breath.”
She was pretty sure Grady’s calming breath included picturing breaking her neck, but he stood stock-still, fury and frustration radiating off him.
If she hadn’t grown up in this town, if she hadn’t fascinatedly watched against her will, her whole life, how the Carson clan worked, she might have been concerned.
But where the Delaneys were all cold silences and sharp words, the Carsons exploded. They acted, and it was oftentimes too much and foolish, but Laurel had never doubted it came from the same place her family’s way of dealing came from.
Love. Family.
Grady was pissed and frustrated—not just because Clint was lying to him, but at the fact Clint was clearly in trouble and Grady couldn’t fix it.
“Let’s start from the beginning, Clint,” Laurel said evenly and calmly. “With the truth this time.”
“Why are you making me talk to a Delaney?” Clint demanded of Grady. “She’s going to railroad me no matter what I say.”
Grady’s entire face looked hard as marble, and the way he had his impressive arms crossed over his chest, well, Laurel didn’t think she’d mess with him the way Clint seemed to be doing.
Clint sighed heavily, slouching even further in the chair. “Okay, yeah, I saw the body.”
“You...” Grady was clearly working very, very hard not to come unglued.
Laurel held up a hand, hoping it kept him quiet rather than riling him further. “And you didn’t call the police because?”
“Because me plus a dead body was only going to make me a suspect. I’m not stupid. I know how you cops work. Maybe you got something on Grady or are getting naked with him, but you got nothing on me.”
Laurel hated that a blush infused her cheeks. Naked with Grady? Ha. Ha ha ha. What a laugh. But somehow she couldn’t stop thinking about how she didn’t have a bra on under her pajamas.
Laurel managed to clear her throat and look condescendingly at Clint. “Would you like me to arrest you? Because I can.”
Clint began to bluster, but Laurel continued on in her even tone, because she would not be upset by a couple Carsons in her cabin. “Or you can truthfully answer my questions and allow me to investigate this. And, if you had nothing to do with it, this questioning will be all there is to it.”
“I stood up for you with your mom, kid. You screw that up, you’re out of chances, and you know it.”
Clint stared at the table, but clearly, whatever Grady was talking about got through to him. “The story’s all true. I just broke down on the other side of the ranch. I was walking up to the door to see if I could make a call when I heard a shot. I thought it was...” He shook his head. “Well, anyway, it was dark. I didn’t see anything. But I heard the shot, a thump like a guy fell over, and footsteps running away.”
Laurel scribbled it all down, her heartbeat kicking up. This was something. A lead, no matter how tiny, and that was important. “That’s all you heard?”
“Think so.”
“Thinking isn’t good enough,” Grady sneered.
“All right. That’s enough out of you.” Laurel stood and began pushing Grady into her bedroom. “You are officially uninvited to this questioning. You just stay in here until I’m done.”
She pushed him and pushed him until he was far enough in her room she could close the door. Which she did. On his mutinous face.
* * *
GRADY STARED AT the rough-hewn wood of the door and tried very hard to resist the urge to punch it.
What did Clint think he was doing? Noah had found Clint holed up in the stables early this morning and they’d all surrounded him and demanded to hear what he knew. To make a plan. To protect their kin.
In that moment Clint had said he hadn’t seen anything, that he was the innocentest of bystanders. That was the only reason Grady had decided to throw Clint on his motorcycle and drive him to Laurel’s place.
If Grady had known the kid had seen it? Witnessed the murder go down and walked away? He would have called any lawyer he could afford.
Instead... Grady swore angrily, pacing Laurel’s tiny bedroom. His idiot brother had just made everything ten times worse and in the house of a Delaney. How the hell was Grady going to get Clint out of this one?
He took a deep breath. He had to curb his temper, because getting angry wouldn’t help Clint. He needed a cool head and a plan.
He took stock of the room around him. Neat. Tidy. The bed was unmade, but considering Laurel was still in her pajamas, maybe she hadn’t had a chance. Deputy Delaney did not seem like the type to leave a mess lying around.
She had a tiny bed, all in all. Bigger than a twin, he supposed, but not by much. Which was when he knew the best way to find a sense of inner calm in order to formulate a plan. It was not to go out there and bang his head against a hardheaded moron teenager, but to irritate the hell out of Laurel Delaney while she beat her head against Clint’s teenage woe-is-me.
Grady settled himself in the middle of Laurel’s bed. Comfortable, he’d give her that. The sheets were nice, and the pillows firm and plump and a lot better than the ones he had back at his apartment above the saloon or his bedroom at the ranch.
He grinned to himself, imagining asking her about where she got her pillows. Her eyes would do the fire thing, and she’d probably fist her hands on those slim hips.
Hips that had been settled in this bed this morning. In those ridiculous flannel pajamas. Except, he didn’t think she was wearing a bra under said pajamas, and he wouldn’t mind seeing what Laurel looked like a little unwrapped.
As it was, he could smell her. Something floral and feminine and so unlike her usual asexual appearance he was a little tempted to get his nose in there and take a good sniff.
Which was insane and more than a little perplexing. He didn’t care what a woman smelled like. Vanilla. Citrus. Nothing at all. It was all the same to him as long as they were warm, willing and up for anything.
Laurel Delaney would not be up for anything.
Yeah, couldn’t let himself go down that particular road. At least, not unless he was making her blush while he did it.
The door opened. Laurel stood with her notebook and pen in hand, her mouth opening to say something that was no doubt important.
Then she saw him and fury flickered across her features like a thunderstorm sweeping through the valley. “Get out of my bed, Grady.”
“You know, a woman has never ordered me out of her bed before,” he returned conversationally, crossing his ankles.
“There’s a first time for everything. Your brother’s answers are sufficient for now, but he needs to stay in town in case I have more questions, and it’s very possible he’ll still be considered a suspect if I can’t find something more concrete. But I don’t have enough on him to apply for warrants, so I suggest you do your darnedest to get through to him.”
“Will do, Deputy.”
“Now, if you aren’t out of my bed and my room in ten seconds, so I can get dressed, I will get my weapon and shoot.”
Grady folded his arms behind his head and flashed a grin at her. “Go ahead and get dressed. I don’t mind.”
She made a squeal of outrage, or maybe she was actually having an aneurysm. “You have got to be the most infuriating man alive.”
“Part of my charm.”
“I’ll claim immunity.”
“Oh, don’t tempt me to test that when I’m in your bed, princess.”
“Ten, nine, eight...” She began to count, looking at the ceiling, which he’d count as a bit of a victory, because if she wasn’t glaring at him maybe she was at least having a few inappropriate thoughts about him in her bed.
He would have been more than happy to let that countdown run out, see what she did. Would she really pull her gun on him? He doubted it. But whatever fun he was about to have was completely ruined when he heard his motorcycle engine start.
Without him anywhere near it.
Grady swore and hopped off the bed so fast the bed screeched against the hard floorboards. He ran past Laurel and out the door of her pretty little cabin and yelled after Clint’s retreating form.
“That little punk will rue the day he touched my bike.”
“Rue the day, huh?”
Grady whipped around to glare at Laurel, who was leaning against her open doorway, looking more than a little smug.
“No one, and I mean no one, touches my bike.”
“It appears he already did.”
Clint had indeed, and he would soon find out what it meant to cross Grady Carson, half brother or no half brother.
“I’ll get dressed and drive you into town. Just wait for a few minutes,” Laurel said, pushing off the doorway and stepping inside. Grady took a few steps toward the doorway, but Laurel lifted an eyebrow.
“Out here,” she added. And for the second time this morning, she slammed a door in his face.
Chapter Four (#uce746380-9f89-51ff-a5c4-6e35043b0edc)
Laurel hummed to herself as she poured her coffee into her thermos. Turned out watching Grady get the crap end of the annoyance stick was quite the morning pick-me-up.
Plus, now she had a lead. It wasn’t much of one, all in all, but Clint hadn’t heard any yelling. Just murmured voices, which Laurel could safely assume meant Jason knew his murderer. Knew him and agreed to meet him in a field in the middle of nowhere.
Which meant Jason had been more than likely into something shady. So, her investigation needed to start focusing on her deceased distant relative.
It was a relief, in some ways, that it might be personal or even professional rather than random. Random was harder to solve. Random was more dangerous.
But Jason had known who killed him, there was a trail to follow, and she’d do her job to follow it.
With renewed purpose, and the image of Grady nearly losing his crap firmly in mind, Laurel slipped on her coat, hefted her bag and grabbed her thermos before heading outside.
She frowned a little when Grady was nowhere to be seen. Had he decided to walk back into town? No skin off her nose and all that, but quite the long walk in the cold when he didn’t have to.
She walked to her car parked on the side of the cabin, and that was when she saw him.
He stood with his back to her, clearly surveying the sprawl of Delaney buildings—houses, barns, stables. Shiny, glossy testaments to the wealth and success of the Delaney clan.
It shouldn’t make her uncomfortable. Her family had worked long and hard for their success, and they’d always upheld the law while they did it. She was born of sheriffs and bankers and good, upstanding people. She knew that.
But no matter how traitorous the thought, she’d always been a little jealous of the Carsons. Not their wildness by any means, but the way they treated their history. They didn’t just know the dates and the people, they lived it. Embodied it. A Carson today was not much different than a Carson one hundred years ago, she was sure.
Laurel had always felt a little disconnect at her father’s edicts of bigger, better and more when they had so much to be proud of just in who they were.
“Tell me something, princess,” Grady said, his voice something like soft. Which might have bothered her, or affected her, if she thought it was sincere. As it was, she figured he was just trying to lower her guard.
“What’s that?”
He turned slowly, those blue eyes of his direct. Sometimes she wondered if she couldn’t just see the past through them.
Get a hold of yourself, idiot.
“You don’t believe in the feud,” he said in that rusty scrape of a voice that might have made women weaker than her shiver. “So, what do you believe in?”
She didn’t need to think about it, or even look away. “Bent.”
He sighed heavily, his gaze traveling to the mountains in the distance. “I was afraid that’s what you’d say,” he muttered. “I suppose we don’t agree about the way people go about it, but I feel the same. As long as Clint’s a suspect, Bent’s at risk.”
“I agree.”
“So, I’m going to help you.”
Laurel frowned. “I don’t need your help, Grady. This is my job.”
“And if everything Clint says is true, that relative of yours was in some shady business that got him killed.”
Laurel’s frown deepened. She hated that he’d put that together, even if it was easy enough. Grady had good instincts, and she didn’t want to have to compliment him on them. Or anything.
“And, baby, you don’t know a thing about shady. But I do.”
“What are you going to do? Eavesdrop at the bar? Beat a few answers out of people? This is a police investigation.”
“I can be subtle.”
She barked out a laugh. “You’re as subtle as a Mack truck. One that nearly broke my nose.”
Grady quirked one of those smiles that, if she wasn’t careful, could make her believe there was some softness in this man. But that was utter insanity. Grady was and always had been the opposite of subtle or soft.
“I can listen. I can put out a few feelers. I can do it all without anyone raising an eyebrow. It’s the beauty of owning a saloon.”
“Bar,” Laurel muttered. But she didn’t get the rise out of Grady she expected.
“This is my brother we’re talking about, Laurel.”
Her first name. Not princess, not Delaney. Just her first name.
“Okay,” she said carefully, because even though she knew she shouldn’t let it get to her, it did. If the positions were reversed, if one of her siblings were in trouble... Well, she’d probably break a few laws. Who was she to think Grady couldn’t uphold a few to save his brother? And Bent. “But you’d have to promise me, really, honestly promise, that we do this my way. If there’s a murderer out there, I have to be able to build a case on him. One with evidence, and no questions as to the validity of that evidence. Or a murderer gets away.” She refused to entertain that thought, but Grady had to.
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t smile or joke or do anything except nod. Then hold out his hand.
“You have my word.”
Laurel could not have predicted this turn of events in a million years. Working with a Carson... It was insane, and risky, but maybe if the town saw a Carson and a Delaney working together for the truth, they’d be able to find something of the same.
She took his outstretched hand and shook, firmly. “So. We’re in this together,” she said, because she couldn’t quite believe it.
“Only until my brother is cleared and to save Bent from another wave of feud crap.”
“I thought you believed in the feud wholeheartedly.”
“I believe in enemies. I believe in history. I believe in Delaneys mostly being so high on their horses they don’t see anything.”
Laurel tried to tug her hand away, but Grady held it in his, his large hand grasping hers tightly.
“I believe violence is sometimes the answer. Just like I can believe in the feud, the importance of that history, and think not all Delaneys are scum of the earth.” His mouth curved into that dangerous thing. Dangerous and feral and so completely the opposite of arousing.
She wished.
“But mostly, Deputy Delaney,” he said, holding firm on her hand and even tugging her closer. Close enough she could feel his breath mingle with hers, close enough she could see that the vibrant blue of his eyes matched the blue of the fall sky above them.
“I believe in Bent. And I believe you do, too. So, we’ll do this your way until we have the murderer behind bars.”
“And after that?”
“After that, I’ll go back to doing things my way, princess.” The curve of his mouth morphed into a full-blown grin. “So try not to fall in love with me.”
“Such a hardship,” she muttered, and when she gave one last tug of her hand and he didn’t let go, she let her temper take over a little bit. She moved quick and clean and managed to land an elbow to his stomach that had his grasp loosening enough for her to free herself.
“Next time you hold on to me like that, you’ll let me go the first time I pull away, or that elbow to the gut will be a knee to the balls.”
Grady made a considering noise. “I like that you plan on there being a next time I hold on to you like that. Desperate for another touch?”
“I don’t know how you’ll hear anything shady going on in that bar of yours over the infernal buzz of your outrageous ego.”
“I think I’ll manage.”
And the irritating part was, she was quite positive he would.
* * *
GRADY HAD CONSIDERED, for a moment or two, hauling her over his shoulder as payment for the elbow to the gut. Maybe he’d even slap that pretty ass of hers for good measure. It was a fantasy with some merit, but it would have to stay a fantasy.
He’d heard enough bedtime stories about a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old feud to know that Carsons and Delaneys getting mixed up in each other’s asses was never, ever a good thing.
Besides, he needed to focus on Clint, which meant figuring out this case. A lot faster than the police would. He got that Laurel had some of the same concerns he did, and he got and respected the fact she knew what she was doing.
But he didn’t have time for bureaucratic red tape, or following all leads. His goal wasn’t so much the truth as it was making sure his brother didn’t get wrapped up in this. Laurel could do her police work, focus on her job, and Grady could focus on Clint.
It made them something like the perfect team. Which made it something like amusing to follow her to her car and get in as a passenger. She tossed her bag in the back, and got into the driver’s seat as he stretched out in the passenger’s.
“Can’t say I’ve ever sat in the front seat of a cop car before.”
“And I’ve never been pushed into the back of one. Such different lives we’ve led,” she returned dryly, turning the keys in the ignition.
She drove away from the Delaney spread, a monstrosity of glitter and shine, the antithesis of what it should be in Grady’s estimation. You built a name for yourself, you ought to give some nod to the past platforms you built yourself on. But the Delaneys liked it slick and new. And if he was being honest, at least part of the appeal for the Carsons was finding joy in the old and patched-together.
“You guys really hire all your ranch work out?” Grady asked, more because he knew it would make her stiffen than because he didn’t know.
“Dylan helps some. Cam might when he comes home. Being a navy SEAL keeps him busy.”
Grady made a humming noise he knew would irritate her. “Seems a bit of a misnomer to call it the Delaney ranch, then.”
“If you insist,” she replied, and though she clearly tried to use cop tone on him, some of her snap crackled through.
Grady grinned. Laurel always gave a hell of a snap. “Where exactly are you planning on letting me out?”
“Rightful Claim,” she replied matter-of-factly as she maneuvered her neat, sparkling car down the winding road back toward the town’s heart.
“So, you’re going to drive through town, for all and sundry to see, and then drop me off at my bar to do the walk of shame?”
Her head whipped to his for a brief second before she returned her concentration to the road. “No one will think that.”
“Baby, everyone will think that. What better story is there in Bent? Number one: a Carson murdered a Delaney. Number two: a Carson defiled a Delaney. Hell, we could create our very own Civil War.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.” Though he couldn’t blame her exactly for thinking he took this lightly. He wasn’t a man prone to giving away his deeper emotions. Especially to the Delaneys, but he was also no idiot. Once the whisper of murder made it through town and who the suspect was, added to any whisper of him and Laurel spending time together—no matter how ludicrous—things would really get going.
Any romance rumors now would only fan the fire, and make him and Laurel’s life harder while they were trying to clear Clint.
Laurel sighed heavily. “So, where do you want me to drop you off?”
“Go out of town to the north, circle around back, and there’s a small, gravel access road back of Carson property we can sneak through.”
“I should not have to sneak. Or waste half my morning sneaking.”
“Lotta things we shouldn’t have to do in this life, princess, but we do them anyway.”
Her lips firmed, but she posed no other arguments. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, as it usually was, her jaw clenched tight, also usual. But something about seeing her in her pajamas, lying in her bed—it was like seeing a slightly different, softer side to Laurel Delaney.
He clearly needed more coffee. He didn’t needle her the rest of the way. Well, he fiddled with the buttons on her fancy police car dash, even in this unmarked car, before she slapped at him, but other than that he was on his best behavior.
He couldn’t imagine Clint had ridden Grady’s motorcycle anywhere else but the Carson ranch, because if the kid had, well... Grady wouldn’t consider it on account of a bad temper and an insane dislike to people touching his few prized possessions. His bike chief among them.
Morning broke like a glorious blast, rays of sunshine reflecting the gold of everything. Fall in Bent could make the snobbiest of city folk smile. As for Grady, it was always a reminder his soul belonged here. Those roots that bound him to this land and that sky weren’t shackles but gifts.
He glanced at Laurel. She did everything efficiently. The turn of the wheel, the checking both ways before making a turn. Always so serious and conscientious. He supposed that was the fascination. He’d never known anyone quite like her, even in the passel of uppity, glossy Delaneys that ran Bent, or tried to.
“Turn here,” Grady instructed, gesturing toward a barely visible turn off the highway. Laurel nodded and drove her car through a canopy of green and gold, leaves and pine, until they reached the gate.
“You can walk from here,” she said primly.
Something about her prim always made him grin. “A polite woman drops her man off at the door.”
“Consider me impolite and you very much not my man.”
Grady pushed the car door open and stepped out. “I’ll put a few feelers out tonight at Rightful Claim, let you know what I come up with.”
She nodded, all business. “I’m going over to the mining company to talk to Jason’s boss and any coworkers he might have been friendly with. I’ll let you know if I’ve got a specific lead I want you to listen for.”
“Look at that, Deputy, we’re acting like partners already.”
She rolled her eyes. “We’ll be lucky if we don’t kill each other.”
The grin that had never fully evaporated spread across his face. “Funny, killing each other isn’t what I’m worried about.”
Her eyebrows drew together, all adorable, innocent confusion. Oh, to be as sweet and rule-abiding as his deputy princess.
“You just think on that, and we’ll be in touch.” He closed the door and started walking toward the old homestead. The wind was cold, but he didn’t mind. It was a good kind of cold. A thinking cold. And he needed to get his head in the thinking game. The keeping-Clint-out-of-trouble game.
When Laurel’s car didn’t immediately turn around and drive away, he chuckled. He kept walking, but he waited for what he knew would come. Because deputy princess didn’t know when to quit.
He supposed that was fair. Neither did he.
“I will never sleep with you, Grady Carson,” she shouted through her open driver’s side window.
He just raised a hand in salute. He didn’t think of “never” so much as a challenge as he considered it a curse. And there were already plenty of Carson and Delaney curses in the air.
Chapter Five (#uce746380-9f89-51ff-a5c4-6e35043b0edc)
Evergreen Mining existed about thirty miles outside of Bent, and straddled Bent and Freemont counties with its sprawling compound in the middle of just about nowhere. Little boxlike things dotted the landscape as Laurel explained who she was and showed her badge to the security entrance.
Laurel didn’t know much about the company. No one in her immediate family or group of friends worked this far outside of Bent. She did remember the mine here getting in trouble a few years back for some safety regulations, but she hardly expected her accountant victim to have been involved in any of that.
At best, she’d find a link to someone who might have wanted Jason dead. At worst, it was a dead end and she’d have to start prodding Jason’s family. She sighed. She almost wished she knew that line of the family better, but as the son of her father’s second cousins, they were so far removed she barely even heard gossip about Jason.
Laurel was led to the office of Jason’s boss by a secretary. The secretary knocked on a door and then pushed it open, stepping inside and gesturing Laurel to follow. “Mr. Adams, the police are here to ask you a few questions.”
“Yes. Of course.” A well-dressed middle-aged man stood from behind a desk and held out his hand. “I’d be happy to assist you in whatever way I can, miss.”
“Deputy Delaney,” Laurel said, shaking his hand in return.
The man shook her hand, looking at her quizzically. “You’re related to Jason?”
Laurel forced herself to smile. “Yes, though distantly.”
“Ah. Well, have a seat. I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have. I do have an appointment with my foreman in twenty minutes that I can’t miss.” He smiled apologetically. “Regulations and all that.”

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