Wyoming Cowboy Justice. Nicole Helm
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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.
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