Wyoming Cowboy Justice. Nicole Helm
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