Wyoming Cowboy Justice

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.