Wyoming Cowboy Justice

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.