Wyoming Cowboy Justice

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

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

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.”