Wyoming Cowboy Marine

Her father’s disappearance is a mystery.

So is her true identity.

Hilly Adams needs help, but Cam Delaney must determine if she is in trouble or if she is the one causing problems. When he follows the beautiful stranger, he saves her from a deadly fire and gunmen out for blood. But who exactly is Hilly? Is she connected to the Delaney family’s biggest rivals? And how is the former marine going to keep her from breaking down his carefully constructed barriers?

Carsons & Delaneys: Battle Tested

NICOLE HELM grew up with her nose in a book and the dream of one day becoming a writer. Luckily, after a few failed career choices, she gets to follow that dream—writing down-to-earth contemporary romance and romantic suspense. From farmers to cowboys, Midwest to the West, Nicole writes stories about people finding themselves and finding love in the process. She lives in Missouri with her husband and two sons and dreams of someday owning a barn.

Also by Nicole Helm

Wyoming Cowboy Justice

Wyoming Cowboy Protection

Wyoming Christmas Ransom

Stone Cold Texas Ranger

Stone Cold Undercover Agent

Stone Cold Christmas Ranger

All I Have

All I Am

All I Want

Falling for the New Guy

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Wyoming Cowboy Marine

Nicole Helm

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09381-1

WYOMING COWBOY MARINE

© 2019 Nicole Helm

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Cam Delaney did not care for being ordered around. It had been one thing in the military. A way of life, one with a clear hierarchy. He could take an order from a superior officer, no problem.

In Bent, Wyoming, the only hierarchy he paid any attention to was the fact that he was a Delaney, and no one told him what to do. There were no superior officers, because he was it.

His little sister hadn’t gotten the memo.

“I have a situation,” Laurel said with no greeting as Cam stepped out of his truck. He’d parked in the lot of the Bent County Sheriff’s Department thinking he’d meet Laurel inside, but here she was waiting for him.

“I told you not to agree to marry a Carson, but—”

“Not that,” Laurel returned, not even cracking a smile or offering some sibling teasing back. Which could only mean she was in full-on cop mode. “I’ve got a woman in here trying to file a missing persons’ report for a man who doesn’t exist.”

Cam slid his hands into his pockets, trying to find some patience with his bullheaded sister. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Laurel sighed as if Cam was a special kind of stupid, which didn’t make him any happier about being summoned. “There’s not much I can do to help her in a professional capacity. But you—”

“I run a security business. For profit. We’re not private investigators, and we don’t work for the sheriff’s department.” It wasn’t a we as of yet, but Cam had plans. Big plans.

“There’s something here.” She glanced at the squat building that acted as Bent County’s sheriff’s department. “I can’t put my finger on it, and I don’t have time to figure it out. But you do.”

“Laurel—”

“What big bad security jobs do you have? You’re just getting started. If my town gossip is correct the only job you’ve been hired for is watching Frank Gainville’s cows.”

“He had a serious potential cattle-rustling situation happening,” Cam replied loftily.

“Wasn’t it some teenagers trying to hide their pot?”

Small towns. Why had he decided to move back to one?

Unfortunately the answer to that question was something he wanted to dwell on even less than he wanted to do Laurel’s bidding. “Still solved, Deputy. Which is more than I can say for you and whatever this is.”

Laurel nodded toward the building, a sign for him to follow her. “Woman came in wanting to file a missing persons’ report. Subject has been gone for a week. Not uncommon he goes off for a few days, but a week has never happened.”

“Sounds routine enough.”

“Would be. She didn’t have his social security number or any pictures, so we ran him to find a social or a photo from the driver’s license.”

“And you can’t find anyone by that name?”

Laurel opened the door and waved him inside. “It’s a common enough name. But we tried every spelling and none of our hits are him, according to the woman. The man she’s trying to find doesn’t exist in any records we have.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“She seems lost. She needs help, Cam, and I can’t do it. It’s outside my job description, and I have a wedding to plan that could very well implode the whole town. I’m telling you, there’s something about this thing that makes me itch.”

He knew that kind of itch. He’d been a Marine for fifteen years. Most people got gut feelings, but military and law enforcement people tended to hone this sense, and to listen to it more closely than civilians.

Except you, when it matters most.

“Just talk to her,” Laurel urged. “See if you don’t get the same feeling I do.”

It took Cam a few seconds to bring his mind from his biggest failure back to the present and his little sister asking for his help.

He would never be able to make up for the ways he’d failed in the past. His conscience ate at him, a black worm of rot that had led him not to re-up with the Marines. That had led him to come home, and try to find some way to help the people of Bent, the people of his blood and bones and history.

If he could help, he should. He would. It would be something to do anyway, and Laurel was right. His fledgling security business wasn’t exactly swimming in customers. Bent was isolated, but he hoped his military background might be lure enough to get some outsider customers. There was a big mine over in Fremont. Some ritzy folk with ranches here and there. He had plans. Big plans.

“Cam?”

He blinked at Laurel and the note of concern in her voice, and the softening features of her face. The last thing he wanted from Laurel, or anyone in his family, was sympathy. Because sympathy was only one step away from pity.

“Who’s the man who doesn’t exist? How is he related to the woman reporting his disappearance?”

Laurel gave him a raised-eyebrow look as she held open another door and gestured him inside. “Her father.”

* * *

DAD WOULDN’T BE HAPPY. That thought sat uncomfortably in Hilly’s gut as she sat in the small police station.

But he’d been gone a week. He never disappeared for a week. Three days, tops, that was the rule. So, she’d waited three days. She hadn’t really worried until day five. For the past two days she’d searched for him herself.

He’d never been gone this long, and he hadn’t left her with the tools to survive without him. She didn’t have contact with the outside world. Only he did.

Why hadn’t she questioned that more? Why hadn’t she insisted on him giving her more understanding of what to do if he never came back?

He had to come back.

She swallowed and looked around the station waiting room. It was mostly empty. Occasionally the front desk phone would ring and the man on duty would answer. Mutter a few things, then hang up.

The people in this place kept telling her there was no record of her father. Had seemed generally baffled by their inability to find any information on him.

It was a mistake, was all. Maybe when Dad had moved them off the grid fifteen years ago he’d somehow wiped out all record of himself. It was possible. It was... It had to be true. After all, there was no record of her anywhere.

But Dad had grown up in the outside world. He’d only taken them off the grid because he’d wanted her to be safe. The outside world wasn’t safe, and you couldn’t trust anyone.

Which was why she had to leave this police station. She couldn’t be here. This was a mistake. If something happened to Dad, it was up to her to figure out what. It was up to her to save him.

What had possessed her to think outsiders should handle her business?

Panic. Plain and simple. She didn’t know how to survive without her father, and she couldn’t find him.

She would have to figure this all out on her own, because you didn’t trust the outside world. It was only ever out to get you, and that was why there was no record of Dad anywhere. He’d kept her safe, and she’d risked her and his safety all because of panic and fear.

She had to get out of here. Fix this. Disappear back to her life because her life made sense.

She got to her feet a little abruptly, and the man behind the counter raised an eyebrow, but she couldn’t worry about that.

She had to get home. Away from the outside world and all its strangers’ secrets and lies. She’d go home and double-check to make sure Dad hadn’t returned in the time she’d wasted making the trek here and back.

If not, she’d mount a real search, and she wouldn’t stop until she’d found him. And if she never found him...

It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t think like that.

She walked for the door, coming up short when the woman from earlier came through it, holding it open for another person behind her. A man. A large man with hazel eyes that seemed to move over her and file every little detail away.

She didn’t like that. Anyone with that kind of interest in a stranger wasn’t to be trusted. They both weren’t to be trusted, even though the woman had been kind enough.

You couldn’t trust kindness from the outside world, Dad had always said. You couldn’t trust, period.

So why had he left?

“Were you going somewhere?” the woman asked gently.

Hilly didn’t remember what she’d said her name was. Hilly had been out of her mind with panic when the police officer had introduced herself, and their inability to find a record of Dad had been the reality check she’d needed to get her back home, to take care of this herself.

They were probably lying about Dad not showing up in their computers. Computers. That was how the government kept you under their thumb. How they used you against your will.

“I just realized how silly I was being,” Hilly said, doing her best to sound calm. Maybe a little chagrined. “He’s a grown man who can take care of himself.” And I’m a grown woman who can take care of myself. Dad hadn’t given her any skills to deal with outsiders or the outside world, but she knew how to survive.

They always survived.

“We’d like to help, if we can,” the woman said kindly.

A lie. Besides, the man behind her looked anything but calm. He looked... She couldn’t even come up with a word for it. It was almost like a void. He didn’t give anything away. “I don’t need help,” she returned, forcing her gaze to return to the woman instead of the man.

“Ms. Adams, you came to us for a reason. Because you’re worried about your father. Now, I know we can’t find a record of him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.”

“It’s very kind of you,” Hilly said politely. “But I think I overreacted. I can handle it from here.”

She scooted in between them and out the door, doing her best not to run. They would find running suspicious. She wanted them to forget she existed, not suspect anything. None of this was their business, and she’d been stupid and dead wrong to think it would be.

She hurried through another doorway and then out the front of the police station. Idiot. The word looped in her brain like a chorus. If Dad found out, he’d be furious. She had to get home and make sure he hadn’t returned.

It was a four-mile hike, but it would give her the time to plan and get ahold of herself. She walked around the building of the station to the back and the bushes where she’d stashed her backpack. She’d been afraid they’d want to search it, and she didn’t want anyone finding her revolver.

She opened the pack and checked its contents. Everything was how it should be. She pulled the gun out and stuck it into the back of her jeans. It wasn’t comfortable to hike like that, but she wanted to be prepared. She’d stash it away again once she was on safe ground.

Any place where buildings and cars could be seen was not safe ground. Other people weren’t safe. Ever.

She adjusted her pack, the gun in her waistband, and then was about to set out toward the trees and mountains when the man rounded the corner of the building, opposite the way she’d come.

He stopped when he saw her. “Ma’am, can I talk to you for a second?”

His eyes dropped to her arm as she slowly moved it to her back, where she rested her hand on the butt of her weapon. He seemed to know, somehow, that was exactly what she was doing as he raised his gaze very slowly and carefully to hers.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked. There wasn’t a kindness or gentleness to his voice like with the policewoman’s, but his tone wasn’t nearly as hard as his body was.

“A strange man is accosting me in a parking lot.”

His mouth quirked, and Hilly’s stomach swooped. She felt breathless for a second in the joy of that smile.

Dangerous, dangerous man.

“Leave me alone, stranger,” she said with some force.

He didn’t say anything to that and, as she walked away, keeping him in her sights to make sure he didn’t follow, his gaze stayed on her the whole time. Until she disappeared over a hill.

She had a bad feeling those hazel eyes would haunt her for a while.

Chapter Two

It crossed a line.

Or one hundred.

Cam had never been big on crossing lines. He believed in rules, in law and order, and doing what was right. But one thing his time in the military had taught him was that sometimes following rules or orders wasn’t right.

The woman was scared of something. He’d watched from behind the corner as she’d pulled the bag from the bushes, taken the revolver out and shoved it in her waistband.

She was spooked. Lost. Clearly the woman needed help and she was afraid to ask for it. He couldn’t just let her disappear into the woods never to be seen or heard from again.

Where the hell was she going without a car? With that backpack and gun? Something didn’t add up, and maybe it wasn’t precisely right to give her a ten-minute head start and then follow her trail, but it wasn’t precisely wrong either.

It further added to his suspicions and that itch Laurel had mentioned when the woman’s trail wasn’t easy to follow. Like she was purposefully covering her tracks.

But with the mix of soggy ground from snow melt and snow itself as he moved to the higher elevations, he’d been able to follow the imprints of impact, making an educated guess what was human-made.

When he’d gone roughly a mile, he considered heading back. He wasn’t prepared for a hike. He was wearing tennis shoes that were now soaked through, and he only had his cell phone and keys, no pocketknife or water.

But no matter how many times he kept telling himself to turn around, to forget this woman and the itch she caused, his feet kept propelling him forward. His eyes kept watching for signs of disturbed earth or snow so he could follow her trail.

At three miles, he was 75 percent sure he’d lost the trail or was following someone else’s. How could this woman be walking this long and this far? It might explain the backpack, but it sure didn’t explain anything else.

So, he walked on, following the trail another full mile, cursing himself with every step. But the trail became clearer, as though she’d given up on hiding it. As if she didn’t believe anyone would follow her this far.

As he continued on, he reached a clearing and peered through the edge of tree line where her path went. He frowned at the little cabin in the middle of the clearing. It looked rough-hewn and cobbled together out of disparate pieces. Something out of time, really. He could see some old miner or mountain man living in that shack back in the day, but not a young woman in the 21st century.

More, he was about 90 percent sure this was public land, and he was 100 percent sure there was something very wrong here. A man who didn’t exist and a young woman living in this hideaway cabin on public land.

Cam could only assume the young woman was an innocent bystander. She had reported the man without an identity missing, and unless she was suffering from some sort of mental issue, he imagined she was unaware of whatever was very wrong here.

He surveyed the clearing, the shack, trying to get a sense of things. Not just a layout, but a mental picture. It felt good to put his brain to work this way, even without any plausible answers. Since he’d left the Marines last year, he’d had a floating sense of uselessness, even with solving the case of Frank Gainville’s cows. Something about this felt like being of use.

Some of that disappeared when the woman stepped out of the shack with a flourish, a dog at her side and a gun in her hand. Not the revolver from before. She’d retrieved a rifle. She pointed it directly at him and the dog immediately began growling.

Cam held very still. “That’s a slightly bigger gun than the last one,” he offered, eyeing the animal with some trepidation. It was a big dog, at least part German shepherd. It growled low in its throat, clearly poised to strike at her command or at her letting go of the leash.

She didn’t say anything, and the dog snarling on the chain wasn’t exactly comforting, but there was something familiar in all this. A dangerous situation. Wanting to help. Having to rely on his wits.

He’d missed this.

He breathed in the icy spring air and tried not to smile. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the smiling stranger who’d followed her home.

“I didn’t get your name back there.”

She didn’t say anything. She kept the gun trained on him and the dog’s leash loose around her wrist. To an extent she matched the cabin: out of time. Her reddish-gold hair was pulled back in a braid and the wind whipped loose strands around her face. She had a sharp nose dusted with freckles, and a glare that would probably scare lesser men. She wore battered jeans and a long, heavy coat that also whipped in the wind, and boots that had seen better days.

Add a Stetson and replace the jeans with a skirt and she could have easily fit in the old Wild West without anyone looking twice.

“Move into the clearing,” she ordered, her voice low and calm with none of the nervousness she’d displayed at the police station.

He did as he was told, stepping forward. He held his arms up. “I’m unarmed and I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You followed me four miles. What are you here to do?”

“Figure out the truth.”

“The truth is none of your business.”

“I only want to help.” As true as it was, he could admit he’d made a misstep here. Just because he sincerely wanted to help didn’t mean a woman should believe a strange man wanted to help her. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Except you don’t know me. So you don’t know what might hurt me. That’s far enough,” she said when he took another step toward her.

“Fair point,” he said, pausing in his steps. “But I want to help you find your father.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

“Put down the gun and we can talk about that.”

If anything, she firmed her hold on the rifle. “How about you talk or leave, all while I hold this gun? Do not take another step or I will shoot you,” she said after he’d taken another one closer to her and her dog.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” he said calmly, keeping his arms up as he carefully edged toward her. If he was calm, she’d be calm, and he didn’t think she had enough anger or fear in her right now to shoot him.