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.

But the sound of a gun going off and the sharp sting in his arm happened at just about the same time. He looked down at his arm, the slight tear in his jacket and shirt and the blood now trickling out of a slice in his skin.

“Okay, you are going to shoot me,” he muttered at the mostly superficial wound.

“The next one will be worse,” she warned.

He no longer doubted her.

* * *

HILLY KEPT ALL her panic below the surface. You had to be calm when facing the outside world, and Dad had never believed she could be. That was why she had to stay hidden away. That was why he handled anything that meant leaving the property.

Shooting the man hadn’t been calm, not by a long shot. Especially since she’d only meant to scare him...not actually hit him.

At least she appeared calm from the outside.

On the inside? Panic city. Actually shooting the man advancing on her had been panic, even if she hadn’t exactly meant to.

Could he put her in jail for that? Surely not. She’d warned him, and he’d been coming at her. It was self-defense, intent or not. She hoped.

Where was Dad? Why had he left her alone like this? She didn’t know how to deal with it. With this stranger. Who was now staring at his arm where she’d shot her glancing blow.

It could have gone worse. She could have hit him somewhere vital, done significantly more damage. But he’d been advancing on her and home and...

“You should go get that looked at,” she said. Even though her heart and pulse beat hard in her neck, she sounded calm, and like the kind of woman who shot people every day.

But would he go home and tell everyone about the girl in the shack he thought might shoot people every day?

Oh, this was a mess.

“You’ve shot me now—you can at least give me your name.”

She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Everything. The fact she wanted to trust the kindness in his voice even though Dad had told her to never trust kindness. The fact she’d somehow involved someone in this. She was very afraid of everything that existed beyond this clearing.

She’d braved it today because she’d been out of her mind with worry about Dad, but never again would she think she was strong enough to handle the world out there.

Except, if something happened to Dad you’ll have to.

She eyed the man and his bleeding arm. He said he’d wanted to help find Dad, but why should she trust him? An outsider who wasn’t even a police officer in any way she could tell.

But maybe that was good. Dad said you didn’t trust police, but men were motivated by one thing and one thing alone. Money. If he wasn’t police and she offered him money...

Except the whole you-shot-him thing.

Free kept growling low in her throat. Hilly had to think. She had to get this man out of here.

“Go away, mister.”

“You expect me to hike the four miles back with blood dripping down my arm?”

She wasn’t sure why, but she got the impression this man could handle it well enough. Still, guilt pricked at her conscience. Though it shouldn’t. She owed him nothing. He wasn’t just an outsider, he was an aggressor.

He’d stalked her. He hadn’t listened to her warnings. He deserved that wound on his arm, and yet that little seed of guilt sprouted and tried to surface.

“I’ll get you a bandage, and then you can be on your way.” She crouched down and scratched Free behind the ears, whispering her command. “Free. Guard.” The dog growled in agreement, her eyes never leaving the man with the bloody arm.

Hilly hurried back into the cabin. They had an extensive first-aid kit, but it was kept hidden away behind all the daily necessities. Dad insisted anything of value or that hinted at having more reserves than for a few days be kept out of plain sight.

She could pay the man outside. She could pay him to find Dad. No, she didn’t trust him, but it was an option. Enough money could keep a man under your thumb, Dad said, and there was money. Hidden in drawers and sewn into mattresses. She didn’t even know how much was hidden in this cabin, but she could use it to find her father.

Who wouldn’t approve of getting help from the outside world.

It was stupid. Impossible. She could not trust this man who’d followed her. Whom she’d shot.

But she didn’t have anyone except Free, and as handy as dogs could be, they could not communicate, investigate or lend a hand with obtaining supplies from the outside world.

Dad had left her alone. She had to survive that, which meant she had to make her own decisions. Not ones Dad would make.

She gave herself a moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Take stock of the situation. Dad was missing. She was on her own. A strange man had followed her home under the guise of help.

Dad would scare him off. Hilly had no doubt about that.

She thought about the woman officer she’d spoken to at the police station. The woman had been in charge. Of herself, of her job. She hadn’t looked to anyone for help. She’d made the decisions and she’d told other people what to do.

Hilly had been in awe of her. She wasn’t allowed to call any shots, and Dad didn’t listen to her about anything. Not that he was mean about it. It was just that Dad was in charge. Dad made the choices.

And Dad had left her alone. Which meant she was in charge, and when she found him—no matter how—Dad would just have to accept that. Because he hadn’t left her with the adequate tools to deal with this. Hopefully now he would.

If he’s alive.

She shoved that thought out of her brain as she got to her feet. She held the bandage in her hand, and though it went against everything she’d ever been taught, she left the rest of the first-aid kit out.

It felt thrillingly wrong. She nearly smiled as she stepped out the front door. Except the sight in front of her stopped her short in shock.

Free was on her back, wriggling joyfully as the large man rubbed her belly.

“You little traitor,” she muttered.

The man smiled up at her, and it felt like something unleashed low in her stomach, fluttering upward and into her throat. She didn’t care for that sensation at all.

She still had her gun, though, so him turning her dog into a pathetic little affection fiend was only taking away one of her weapons. Not all of them.

She aimed the gun at him again as she held out the bandage. “Here. Now be on your way.”

He eyed the gun as he slowly got to his feet. Free whined. This close Hilly was uncomfortably reminded of just how large he was. Tall and broad and someone who could definitely outmuscle her if he wanted to.

But she had a gun. A gun. She tightened her grip on it.

“Are you going to shoot me if I reach for that?” He motioned to the bandage.

“Not if you reach for that and that alone.”

His mouth curved, some foreign thing in his eyes. Something like laughter, but sharper. Her cheeks heated. But he carefully reached for the bandage and plucked it from her outstretched fingers.

He shrugged off his coat. Then, in a mesmerizing move, he tore the sleeve from where it was ripped from the bullet. Two tugs and the sleeve was completely off, just a few threads hanging down over his biceps.

His arm was...an arm. Why was it fascinating? Dark hair dusted his forearm, but his biceps looked smooth, except the slight slash of the cut and the smudge of blood around it.

“I could help you, you know,” he said conversationally as he wound the bandage around his cut.

She wrenched her gaze from his arm and the easy way he dressed it as if he tended wounds every day. “I—I’d have to trust you,” she said, hating herself for the stutter. “I don’t.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then those hazel eyes pinned her where she stood. “What would you need? To earn your trust, what would I have to do?”

Nothing. Nothing at all. Which was just stupidity and she would not be stupid. That was what Dad would expect her to be. Too innocent and weak-willed to find him, to survive.

Well. She’d just have to find him and prove to him she could make choices, too. Even if it meant trusting an outsider.

Chapter Three

She looked confused for a few seconds, then something like determination chased over her face. Too bad Cam didn’t know what she was determined to decide.

He finished wrapping the cut and picked his coat back up, pulling it on again. He ignored the shudder of cold that worked through him. “You’re worried about your father.”

“I am,” she said, chin lifting. “He goes away sometimes, but never this long.”

“And you don’t know where he goes?”

She paused. Not the kind of pause that preceded a lie either. That lost look in her eyes from the sheriff’s department stole through her once more, though she quickly hardened against it.

She was definitely young, but not that young. Early twenties, if he had to guess. She was strong enough to fire off a warning shot, kind enough to get him a bandage and smart enough not to give him her name.

No number of strange situations he’d found himself in as a Marine prepared him for this puzzle.

“I didn’t actually mean to shoot you,” she said, eyeing him. He noted it wasn’t an apology.

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“If you’d meant to shoot me, I’d have a lot bigger hole in my arm. Clipping this close without doing much damage? That’s pretty much luck of the try-to-get-close-enough-to-scare shooting variety.”

She studied the bandage he’d tied off, then him. “And you know a lot about shooting?”

“Enough.”

“You want me to trust you for no reason, and then you’re evasive?” she said with such utter contempt he had to believe she’d been hurt before. There was a reason she and her father were tucked away here, and judging from the weapon she’d used on him and the one she’d carried with her, cash flow wasn’t the problem, or the only one.

Unless the guns were obtained illegally, which was always possible. Too many questions. Not enough answers. Mostly, she was right not to trust him and find his evasion lacking.

If he wanted to help her—and he couldn’t explain to her or, even worse, to himself, why he wanted to help her—he’d need to offer up some truths. Besides, offering truths to her was better than finding the answer to that question inside himself.

“My name is Cameron Delaney, though I go by Cam,” he began, trying to think what would be important for a scared young woman to know. “I grew up in Bent, Wyoming. If you’ve ever been there you’ve probably heard of the Delaneys. My sister was the deputy you spoke with. I was in the Marines for almost fifteen years, but I decided to come home last year and open a security firm. Hence the knowledge of guns and shooting them. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“Why?”

“Well, there aren’t a lot of security options in—”

“No, why did you leave the Marines?”

He had practiced responses to that question. Responses he’d given his family and friends. The rote answers weren’t coming right this second. He had to search for them.

“It was time.”

“Why?”

“It’s grueling, and I wasn’t...” Fit. He’d known he wasn’t fit for duty anymore. Not with Aaron’s suicide hanging over him. Not with that utter failure to notice, to help. He hadn’t been able to get past that.

“You weren’t what?” the woman demanded.

He owed her nothing. He could turn around and go home. He had all the choices in the world. But if he could help her... If he could help people, surely at some point it would make up for what he hadn’t helped.

“A man in my unit committed suicide.” His voice sounded rough and strained, and he wasn’t sure what he expected the woman’s response to be, but she only blinked. “I had a hard time coping after that.”

“They kick you out?”

“No, I was granted an honorable discharge.” Honor. What a laugh.

“If I let you help me, what’s in it for you?”

“Having helped,” he replied with all the sincerity he had.

“You don’t know me. What would helping matter?”

He shouldn’t be baffled or irritated by her pressing the issue, demanding some kind of proof he was a decent human being. She shouldn’t believe he was. She shouldn’t trust him. “Haven’t you ever helped someone simply because you could?”

“No.”

“It feels good. There’s a pride to having helped and having done the right thing.”

“So. You’re going to help me find my father. Then what?”

“Then I go about my life and you go about yours.” Assuming the father was missing under some kind of favorable circumstances. There was always the chance he was dead, or that he’d disappeared on purpose. Cam didn’t need to tell her that, though. Either she knew or she didn’t need the worry.

“Just because you want to help someone. Because it feels good.”

“You don’t believe me.”

She didn’t respond, but she looked at his arm. Even though he’d put his coat on, he had a feeling she was thinking about the fact she’d shot him. “How would you help?”

“I’d need some information about—”

She shook her head and patted her leg, the dog jumping to stand next to her. “No.”

“No... No?”

“No information.”

Something was so completely wrong here. People didn’t live off the grid for no reason, and he might have been able to chalk it up to some innocuous thing like environmentalism, but the woman’s evasion coupled with her utter lack of trust in a stranger meant all things pointed to shady.

“How can I help you find your father without information?”

She shrugged and started walking to the shack door. “I guess you can’t.”

“I have to know what he looks like. His name. Where he may have gone. I can’t wander around not knowing anything about the man I’m trying to find. If you don’t give that information to anyone, no one can help you.”

She stopped at that, her back still to him. She didn’t turn as she spoke. “I don’t think he goes by his name out there,” she said quietly.

“Out where?”

She sighed irritably and turned, making a broad arm gesture around them. “Beyond here.”

An uncomfortable chill shivered down his spine. Something was seriously wrong here. “What’s beyond here?”

“The outside world. That’s where he goes, and I don’t think he uses his name out there. Maybe that’s why the police couldn’t find records of him. He must use a different name.” Her eyebrows drew together, and she looked confused and definitely worried.

Whatever was off here, Cam had the sneaking suspicion this woman wasn’t part of it. She was in the dark about this “outside world.” Who talked about things like that? “And you don’t go into the outside world?”

Her brown eyes widened a little, but she kept the rest of her expression carefully blank. “I did today.”

“But that was rare. You don’t have transportation.”

“We have a horse.”

“But you don’t. Still, that helps. A middle-aged man on a horse. What are the names he answers to?”

She let out a shaky breath. “He wouldn’t want me to give out his name. He wouldn’t want me to have gone to the police.”

“But you did.” Cam couldn’t make sense of her fear, because it didn’t look like the kind of fear he’d experienced or seen. She had such a calmness, such a handle on it, and yet he could sense that what vibrated inside of her was fear. “How long have you lived here?”

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and on the offensive. “My life and his are none of your business. Poking into us isn’t help, Cameron.”

“No one calls me that.”

“Guess what? I do.” She squared her shoulders, somehow looking imperious and regal even though he was taller and broader and just so much larger than her small, narrow frame. “I’ll pay you to—”

“I don’t ne—”

“I’ll pay you to help me, mostly because I need transportation. But the money I’m giving you means I don’t have to answer any questions I don’t want to, and it means you go away when I say. I’m using you as a tool to help me find my father. That’s it.”

He eyed the shanty of a cabin. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“Those are my terms. Stay put.”

* * *

CAMERON MADE HER ACHE. It wasn’t an ache she fully understood. It twined around her much like when she was sick and wished someone would take care of her. There was this yearning for something she couldn’t fully grasp because she’d never seen it in action, only read it in the fiction books Dad used to bring her from his trips outside.

Dad. Missing. Dad, who would hate that she was taking help from anyone. But she needed help. It was Dad’s fault she needed help.

She strode into the shack, Free at her heels, though the dog looked longingly back at the big man in their yard. Longing. Hilly didn’t understand it, or what exactly she was longing for, but it was there regardless.

She tried to put it out of her mind as she forced herself over the threshold of Dad’s room. He didn’t like her in here unsupervised. She had her own tiny closet of a room after all, and he never invaded her privacy, did he? She was only allowed in here to monitor his security setup, or fix it if anything was buggy. To come in and snoop through his things? Unheard of.

But she had to force all those old rules out of her mind and habits as long as Dad was missing. She was an adult, and she could handle any disapproval she got from Dad as long as she brought him home.

Do you need to?

That internal question stopped her in her tracks. It echoed inside of her, and something desperate clawed at her chest. What if she just got to live her life her way?

No. No, she didn’t know how to do that. She went for Dad’s desk and pulled out one of his ledgers. He worked on them sometimes in the kitchen, so she knew he kept track of supplies bought, money in from the odd jobs here and there and money out on said supplies. And that he would stash cash in between the pages of said records.

She flipped through the first one, pulled out a few hundreds. She had no idea what the going rate was for a fake detective helper, but she’d offer Cameron a hundred up front. If he laughed, well, she could up it.

She glanced at the monitors set up across Dad’s desk. Cameras that kept watch on the entirety of the woods that surrounded the cabin. They were always taping.

She’d already gone through the footage of the day Dad left, and she’d watched what he’d taken and which direction he’d gone, but it didn’t tell her anything. Everything had been usual, ordinary.

Maybe she should show it to Cameron. Maybe he’d—

Her brain stuttered to a stop as two men appeared on the east side of the cabin. Men with weapons.

The front door opened, quiet and with just the tiniest creak she only noticed because she was holding her breath. She looked around the room quickly, but Dad had all of his weapons hidden away.

“Free, guard,” she whispered, but the dog laid happily by the bedroom door, tail swishing calmly. Today of all days her dog was completely failing at every command she usually followed unerringly.

But then Cameron stepped into the room. “Someone’s out there.”

He was warning her. She didn’t know what to do with that so she glanced back at the screen where she saw the two men slowly inching their way toward the cabin.

“They see you?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t think so. I heard them more than anything. I thought it could be your father, but two people seemed ominous.”

She pointed to the screen. “Friends of yours?”

He frowned at the two men on the video, studying them closely. He shook his head. “I know most everyone in Bent, or I did. Those two don’t look familiar. They’re armed, though.”

Again Hilly nodded sharply. In all their years here, in all Dad’s excessive surveillance, they’d never had unwanted visitors that Hilly knew of. She knew he had his reasons for being careful, and she’d never questioned them...to his face.

“You don’t know them?” Cam asked gently.

I don’t know anyone. But she didn’t say that out loud. She studied their faces, trying to find some detail that would give her an idea of what they were after. “Maybe my father sent them. To get me a message.”

“I don’t know that messengers would carry Glocks, or sneak around the woods outside your cabin.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t sneak, per se.”

She spared him a glance, but when he only smiled at her, she quickly turned her gaze back to the screen.

Free started to growl, low in her throat, as if she sensed or heard the approach. “Easy,” Hilly murmured.

“What are you going to do?”

“We’re going to wait. And watch.” She glanced around the room. The cabin only had two windows. One here, facing the west, and one in the front facing the east. “Go close the curtains in the front for me,” she ordered. “Lock the door.”

“Already locked,” he said, even now on his way out front to close the curtains. She watched the screen with growing alarm as the two men conferred about something, and then split up.

Cam returned and Hilly couldn’t think about how much her world had changed in just a few hours. Being in her father’s room, with a man, two other men sneaking around her cabin.

“You might want to get one of those firearms you’re so free and easy with,” Cam said grimly. “I don’t think a locked door is going to keep those two out.”

Hilly broke her gaze from the monitors. She quickly moved through the cabin, gathering the rifle and the revolver, before she returned to Dad’s room and Cameron.

A strange man in her father’s room. She couldn’t fathom it even as it was happening. “I also have shotguns,” she said.

He nodded. “Get them.”

After a brief hesitation, she handed him the revolver and the rifle before she strode to her father’s closet. She knew his shotguns were in a hidden compartment at the back of it, though she didn’t think her father knew that she knew that.

But he wasn’t here, and she was in danger. She turned to study Cam. Was she really going to trust this stranger?

When she heard a rattle at the door, she knew she didn’t have a choice.

Chapter Four

Cam studied the unfamiliar guns. He had experience with a wide variety of weapons, so he’d figure them out no problem, but it was still strange to hold another man’s—or woman’s—weapon.

“Shells?” he asked.

“Everything is loaded.”

He raised an eyebrow at her as the rattling on the door became more pronounced. He had certainly walked into something, and completely unprepared at that. It wasn’t a particularly good feeling, but he wouldn’t let that show. He was a former Marine. He knew how to handle a few surprises.

“Who would be after you?” he asked, shoving the revolver in the waistband of his pants much as she had, and testing the weight of the unfamiliar rifle.

“No one,” she said flatly.

He gestured to all the security monitors. “People with this kind of security, loaded guns and refusal to give their names aren’t usually innocent bystanders.”

He watched her expression change as he spoke. A kind of confusion as if she’d never considered how over the top the cabin’s protections were. But then those eyes trained on him, determined all over again. “But you’re inside with me, instead of out there with them.”

She didn’t seem scared exactly, but she did seem concerned and puzzled. If she had a clue what her father’s dealings were—whatever they were—she would have more fear than confusion. She also wouldn’t have gone to the police and she certainly wouldn’t be letting him be in here with her. Not when she was clearly capable of shooting someone.

“What could they want?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head and scowled, reaching behind the monitors and turning them off. She grabbed a tarp-looking thing off the floor and threw it across the screens. “We’ll hide for now.”

“Hide?”

“Well, I’m not going to shoot them.”

“You shot me.”

“Accidentally,” she said, striding into the closet again. She ordered the dog to come and it obeyed. Then she looked expectantly at him.

“What do we accomplish if we hide?”

“Maybe we hear something they say. Maybe they take something and we know what. Maybe—”

A cracking sound echoed through the cabin, as though the people outside had broken something on the door. Cam quickly grabbed his phone out of his pocket and brought up the voice-recording app. He placed the phone on the floor, under the desk.

It wouldn’t pick up anything unless someone came into this room and talked, but it was worth a shot. He heard the slow creak of a door opening and slid into the closet with the woman and the dog.

She pulled the door closed. It was a small closet, but it was obvious a lot of the space was taken up by a false wall and the array of weapons the woman was now covering up with some kind of panel that fit perfectly into the opening.

Cam was having a harder and harder time believing she was some innocent bystander. Who lived in a shack with this kind of hidden weaponry, an array of surveillance, and people missing and breaking in? Because if she wasn’t involved, surely she’d be more than mildly perplexed.

He couldn’t hear anything outside the closet except random muffled noises, but he wasn’t unused to waiting in still silence, unable to move or talk no matter the cramped, uncomfortable circumstances. He knew how to control his breathing and avoid panic. This was all part and parcel with what his adult life had been.

He was a former Marine. He could stand quiet in a closet for a little while.

There was the small and unusual factor of having to do it with a civilian woman he wasn’t sure whether to trust or suspect, though.

He couldn’t make her out in the dark space, but he could hear the soft inhale and exhale of her breath, could occasionally feel the faintest brush of her arm or leg or the dog’s.

The closet smelled of the tangy hint of mothballs, and the dog clearly hadn’t had a bath in a while, but cutting through those disparate smells was her. Wood smoke and leather.

Rough, outdoorsy smells, but her hair kept wisping across his cheek, soft as a feather.

He didn’t care for the fissure of unease that spidered along his skin. Something was wrong. She was wrong. Everything about the situation told him she was not what she said she was.

And yet, he believed in her. Felt better served keeping her safe in here rather than engaging with the strange men who’d broken into her house. Regardless of what she wasn’t telling him, what the truth was underneath all this confusion, he couldn’t help but believe this woman was a victim of...something. That was what his gut told him.

Except she wouldn’t even tell him her name. He’d accepted that when they’d been outside and he’d been trying to gain her trust, but her giving him a gun changed things. It meant he had some power—he’d be loath to use—and it signaled her trust was building. You could at least tell me your name, he thought.

But before he could ponder further, the low sound of murmuring voices infiltrated the closet. The woman moved into a crouch, and Cam realized she was doing something to keep the dog from growling or barking.

Cam held himself still, straining to make out what the voices were saying. He couldn’t, but he had to hope that if he could hear a murmur in the closet, his phone was picking up actual voices.

Cam had no idea how long they stood there, quiet and trying to breathe carefully and silently. The voices disappeared, but the occasional creak or groan of the house kept them in place. They couldn’t leave the closet until they were sure the men had gone, and every time he got close to suggesting they ease their way out, a new sound was heard.

He couldn’t figure out the sounds he heard now. Almost like water pouring, the occasional snap that sounded like someone stepping on a twig. It was a shame they couldn’t have brought her extensive security monitors in here with them.

Something acrid tinged the air, and it only took him a moment to recognize the odor. Cam swore and began to feel around for the doorknob.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Smell that?”

“Smoke, but... Oh my God. You don’t think—”

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Cam said grimly, trying to find the knob in the dark. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

* * *

CAMERON HELD HER back as he struggled to open the door. She was about to tell him to back off when the door swung out. Then all she saw were flames. Huge red flames licking up the walls of her father’s bedroom.

Her mind went completely blank for a moment, and she just stood there staring at the horrible sight in front of her. The flames danced and moved and took over more and more space. The smell and smoke stung her eyes and nose, and her throat began to burn.

And still she stood in the closet, even as she realized the buzzing in her ears wasn’t a side effect of shock, but the actual sound of fire eating through wood.

It took her a few seconds to realize Cameron had moved. As if nothing was on fire, as if this was completely normal. He walked right across the room to the small window and used the butt of the gun she’d handed him to break it.

He held his arm over his mouth and quickly and efficiently pushed as much glass off the edges as possible. Then he grabbed the linens off her dad’s bed and threw them over the windowsill.

He looked back at her, and something about the way he just seemed to know what to do reengaged her brain.

“Grab the dog,” he commanded.

Her eyes were stinging so badly she could barely see through the painful tears, but she crouched down and wrapped her arms around Free. It wouldn’t be easy with Free’s weight and size, but she whispered calmly into the animal’s ear as she hefted her up and struggled toward the window.

Cameron’s arm brushed hers as he reached around Free and helped to lift her high enough so they could give her a gentle toss out the window. She landed on all fours and immediately began barking incessantly.

“Now you,” Cameron said, and his firm, calm tone steadied her. “Be careful. I cleared it as best I could and the sheets should keep you from getting any cuts but don’t put undue pressure anywhere.”

She nodded and leveraged herself out the window. It was awkward and painful, but she managed to tumble to the ground without any major injury. Free rushed over, licking her face and whimpering. Hilly got to her feet, petting the dog in the process. She looked at the house, completely engulfed in flame, and couldn’t begin to wrap her head around what was happening.

But one thing she could wrap her head around was the fact Cameron hadn’t climbed out after her. She rushed toward the broken window. “What are you doing?” she yelled as Cameron moved deeper into the room.

“I’ve got to get my phone.”

“Are you stupid?”

“Keep an eye out. Whoever started the fire might still be around,” he instructed, getting down on his hands and knees and disappearing into smoke and flames.

Free whined from her position away from the flames and the heat and Hilly knew she should move back and away. She could feel the rawness in her throat from too much smoke, and nausea was curling itself in her belly.

Cameron was in there, the biggest moron to ever live, but a moron who’d gotten her and her dog out of a burning building first.

She wasn’t about to risk her neck for a phone, but she couldn’t convince her body to move away from the window where smoke billowed out. What was he doing? What if he died in there? Some kind of idiot who thought he was impervious to fire.

But then he was climbing out the window, pulling her with him as he moved away from the flames and smoke. The area around the cabin was completely filled with smoke so it took a while to reach fresher air.

His cough sounded tight and terribly wheezy, but he held up the phone as if he’d won some prize. Free whined at his heels as they walked and walked until the air was more clear than smokey.

He held the phone out to her.

“Dial 911,” he rasped.

She blinked at the phone he’d shoved into her hand. Dad had one, but she’d never been able to use it. A real woman doesn’t have any use for a phone or the outside world. Her home is her domain. Everything out there is a threat.

Cam coughed some more, but Hilly could only stare helplessly at the screen. There was only one button on the contraption and it didn’t seem to do anything.

“Cam, I...”

The quizzical look he gave her made her stomach churn almost as much as the nauseating smell of smoke. He was bent over and struggling to breathe, his hands on his knees, and she didn’t know how to do what he asked.

He took the phone back and poked his fingers against the screen. It seemed to do what he wanted and he stood to his full height, holding the phone to his ear.

“Uncontained fire,” he said in that military voice, commanding even with the hoarseness from smoke inhalation. “I don’t have an address, but I can explain somewhat where we are.” He gave pretty clear directions in that strained voice, not coughing until he’d hung up the phone.

“You don’t know how to use a phone,” he said.

“We don’t...believe in phones.” Which wasn’t true exactly, but it seemed less embarrassing than saying she wasn’t allowed to use them. She was a grown woman, and as much as she didn’t understand that world out there, she’d seen enough in that police precinct to know women used phones and likely did whatever they wanted.

That was the danger in it, after all.

“I’m going to call Laurel.” He coughed again, and it still sounded awful even if his breathing had eased somewhat. “We’ll wait for the fire department.” He surveyed the fire charring and melting her home of the past nearly twenty years into nothing. Provisions, money, equipment. Everything she’d ever owned, everything she’d ever known. Gone.

It was a large clearing, and the conditions weren’t dry, the ground a muddy wet from the spring thaw, but Hilly knew enough to know a fire like this could get out of control anyway. Her home might not be all that went up.

She only realized she was shaking when Cam took her by the arm. His hand was big and gentle. Even though his grip was firm it was very careful.

The shaking intensified, like she’d been shoved into icy water. Her teeth were even chattering and suddenly she did feel cold. Cold and sick.

“Sit.”

She looked up at him helplessly, but he nudged her leg until it buckled a little. She didn’t fall exactly, because he was holding on to her arm. It was almost as if he had the strength to simply lower her to the ground like that.

“Sit. Breathe. It’s okay to feel off. You’re in shock.”

“Shock,” she repeated. Free whined and crawled into her lap, muddy and shaking a little herself. There was some kind of relief in that, and she leaned into Free’s truly awful-smelling fur and did what Cam told her to do. She sat. She breathed. All the while he talked into his phone in low, raspy tones. She didn’t even try to make out the words.

She should try to hear. She had to protect herself. Protect Dad.

But her house was on fire. Their life was on fire and Dad was missing and all that was left were the clothes on her back and Free. She’d even left Dad’s weapons in there. He’d be so mad. So mad.

“Hey.” Cam was crouching at eye level, sympathy softening his features so much he almost didn’t look dangerous. He almost didn’t look like a stranger. For a blinding second she could almost believe he was a friend.

Don’t be stupid, Hilly.

“It would help a lot if I knew your name.”

She shook her head, and had to close her eyes against the flash of anger in his. But he didn’t lash out. He didn’t yell and he didn’t hurt her. He rose. “Can you walk?”

She swallowed and dared to look up at him. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, a serious, determined expression on his face. Whatever anger or irritation had been there was gone now.

“I can walk,” she managed. She nudged Free off her lap and got to her feet. He wrapped his hand around her arm again when she swayed.

It was strange. Her arm tingled like there was something chemical in the contact, but her shirt was long-sleeved so they weren’t touching skin to skin.

Skin to skin. How...odd.

Once she was steady, he let her go and began to make his way through the trees in a slow circle around the house that still blazed and smoked. “We’ll see if we can see anything. A clue as to who did this. We might get some footprints. The fire department should be here soon, and once we’ve talked to them and know we won’t be interrupted we’ll listen to what I recorded.”

“Do you really think your phone picked up any—”

He stopped on a dime near the front of the house, so quickly she almost ran into his back. He frowned at the now-familiar sight of burning building, and that was when Hilly saw it.

Spray-painted haphazardly in the muddy grass of the front yard was one word.

Confess.

She could practically feel Cam’s suspicion sliding over her and weighing her down. But she had nothing to confess. She’d committed no crimes. She’d barely ever left this cabin or clearing since she’d moved here when she was a little girl. Whatever this was, it wasn’t anything to do with her.

“I don’t have anything to confess. I can’t even think of one possible thing.”

“You’re not the only one who lives here, though.”

“You think this is for my father?” But, of course it had to be. She wanted to believe it was a mistake, but... Dad had disappeared. Someone wanted him to confess. “It has to be a mistake.”

She hated the pitying expression on Cameron’s face. He thought she was stupid. She wasn’t. She knew it could only be about Dad. But it didn’t mean it had to be right about Dad. And it didn’t mean she had to...

“It’s fine. Believe whatever you want. Don’t tell me your name or his name. That’s your choice. I can’t help you the way I’d like, but it’s your choice.”

Help you.

No one ever wanted to help her. She existed to help Dad, not the other way around. But Dad was gone. Home was gone. And this man wanted to help her, or at least said he did.

“My name’s Hilly,” she whispered.

“Hilly.” He searched her face, and she knew she’d regret this at some point. Dad’s words would turn out to be right. You couldn’t trust anyone, and strangers would only hurt you.

But, God, she didn’t know what else to do right now. She had to trust Cam’s kind eyes. This man who knew what to do in a crisis. “My name is Hilly Adams.”

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