by Cindy Dees
“So now it’s my problem?”
“It’s all our problems, Tate. I’m asking if you’ve done your part.”
Tate’s shoulders hunched before he turned back to the men cutting wire. Stubble still coated the firm jaw that was hardening in anger. “We all take turns. I’ve got extra patrols on each night. Added several men on top of that and I let the Feds roam around here with all that Yankee finesse they’re known for. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s a hell of a lot of acreage to cover over every night after a long day of work.”
“And people looking for a way in observe patterns. Weak spots. The Pass has more than most.”
While she refrained from saying much to the contrary at work, she wasn’t going to sugarcoat it for Tate. Midnight Pass had gotten its name for the deep ravines and many hiding places that ran along a small tributary of the Rio Grande. That tributary—and the larger river a half mile away—made up a stretch of Texas-Mexico border that was a challenge to patrol.
The rich, fertile land was home to the three largest ranching clans in the county. The Reynolds, Vasquez and Crown families had built massive cattle operations over the lush earth. And for the past decade, their land had increasingly become the conduit to a drug trade that was far more lucrative than cattle.
“You think anyone on your team’s letting them in?”
“Ace, Hoyt and I have a zero tolerance policy and make that known. Our older guys keep an eye out, as well. Best I can say is we watch out for it.”
“Fair enough.”
Tate moved in, his fingers snaking out to toy with several strands of hair that had come loose at her ear. The 6:00 a.m. wake-up call ordering her out to Reynolds Station hadn’t allowed for much prep time and putting her hair in a hasty bun and some slapdash makeup was all the armor she’d had time for. “Why are you here, Belly? You know this is a dangerous job.”
The whispered endearment only increased the flapping wings of the demon bats and she slapped at his hand. “You know how I feel about that name.”
“Which is why I use it.”
“And you know how I feel about my job, dangerous or otherwise. You have no say in the matter.”
“I never did.”
* * *
Tate stared at the only woman who had the ability to wrap him in knots and dropped the curl winding around his finger. Annabelle Granger had been his nemesis since the first grade and little had changed in the ensuing quarter century. Trite as it was—he’d pulled her pigtails then and had been proverbially doing so ever since—he couldn’t remember a single moment of his life that Belle Granger hadn’t occupied space in his head. The amount of real estate changed pending how recently they’d seen each other, but she was always there.
His Belle.
With her blond curls that made his fingers itch. Vivid blue eyes with a gaze as sharp as her tongue. And the small dent in her chin that fascinated him as much at thirty-two as it had at six. There’d even been a time—a short, gloriously wonderful time—when he’d run his tongue over that little dent while his hands roamed over—
On a hard, mental curse, Tate shut down that unproductive line of thought and focused on his problem. Once again, Reynolds Station had been used for trafficking—either drugs or illegal immigrants. He was committed to finding a solution to the poor souls who gave everything they had to come across the border, no matter the cost, a stance that didn’t make him incredibly popular with the locals. He had no time for the abuse so many of those individuals suffered in the process and made his feelings known as a voting member of the town council.
The drugs, on the other hand, had gone positively nuclear. What had been an irritating problem had mushroomed over the past decade into an all-out war. And there were far too many days Tate believed he and his brothers were losing. Every time they found a cut line of fence or line of footprints tracking over their land, it was another skirmish they’d fought and lost.
And no amount of manpower seemed to be helping.
“When did you discover this? I got the dispatch around six.”
“About five.” When she only stared at him, he added, “I was out early.”
Her gaze narrowed, that sharp blue spiking even sharper points. “You’re not sleeping?”
Her lack of response over his barb about her choices, coupled with the sudden focus and attention on his lack of sleep, had Tate sliding back into the familiar comfort of their usual sparring. “Just because you’d gladly hug your pillow until noon doesn’t mean some of us aren’t early risers.”
“Sun’s not even up at five this time of year.”
“I took a flashlight.”
Tate had no idea what had pulled him out to this end of the property but he’d had the urge and had pushed Tot this direction on their early morning ride. Good thing he had because they were planning on rotating the herd to this section later this week.
Belle dropped to her knee again, her gaze roaming over the ground. Clear signs of feet were stamped into the earth, but unlike that volume of prints he’d expect from a border crossing, there seemed to be far too few for a group of people spirited across the border. The coyotes—those guides who led those desperate for opportunity or freedom from poverty over the border—had increasingly been replaced of late with drug smugglers. Criminals who saw the border crossing as an opportunity to use their charges as drug mules, all while promising them freedom.
Even with that change, there should have been more variance in the footprints.
Her gaze remained focused on the ground as she duckwalked, stopping every few feet to assess from a new angle. She was an observer—had been one since she was in those pigtails—but it always fascinated him to watch her work. He might not like her professional choices but he couldn’t argue she was damn good at her job. Dedicated, too.
And hadn’t that been the problem?
“You see this?”
Her question pulled him from his musings and Tate crossed the distance, crouching down when she gestured once more to the depressed earth. “Here. There are a few sets of footprints, then this depression, rounded out like someone set down something heavy.”
“You can see that?”
The depression she spoke of was nothing more than a soft bending of grass, but now that he looked, he could see the rounded outline of a heavier shape.
“It looks like a heavy bag or weight was set down. Could be a bag of drugs, set down out of the way.”
Tate scanned the length of fence. “They did all this for one duffel bag full? It hardly seems worth it.” She shot him one lone raised eyebrow and he pressed on. “I’m not condoning anything. I’m suggesting if I were planning an illegal border crossing with drugs, I’d look to move a hell of a lot more to make it worth the risk.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“You think it’s something else?” Knowledge flashed in the cool blue of her eyes—a sure and recognizable sign Belle had already formed an opinion—and Tate moved closer, curious. “What?”
“I’m thinking it’s the payoff.”
Her words hovered there, the brisk air swirling around them in a rush like an exclamation point. Before he could even muster up a response, she had her phone out, snapping several quick pictures from a variety of angles. She then pulled a packet of bright yellow tape out of her pocket. “Let me mark this. I’ll get Julio out to review the area and give his impressions.”
“He’s been training you well.”
“He’s patient with me. He’d have seen this the moment he walked up but that’s okay. I’m learning.”
Learning? He’d say she was doing a damn fine job, spotting a small patch of earth he’d have missed after fifty tries. Add on the implication that someone he and his brothers trusted let the problem onto Reynolds land and Tate struggled under the weight of her suspicions.
“What about my fence? Can th
e guys get started on it?”
“Can you hold them off a few hours? Keep them and anyone else out of this area to leave the tracks as clean as possible.”
“Sure.”
The urge to bait her was strong but the frustration at more lost hours of work was stronger. How much damn time were they expected to give in to this BS? Every few months, he and his brothers dealt with another attempt to breach their land. In the past year alone they’d dealt with six such issues, never in the same place twice and always done with maximum precision.
“Tate, come on. I know it’s an inconvenience but it’ll only be a few hours.”
“Then Tot and I will wait.”
He glanced back at his horse, the bay mustang standing quietly as Tate finished his business. Tot had been one of the feral horses he and his brothers took in through a partnership program with the Department of the Interior. Tot had been found in a precarious position, struggling against the tight lassos of a pair of bumbling assholes who wanted the horse for meat. The department had arrested them before they could see their heinous practices through, and then worked on finding a home for Tot.
Something about the pretty bay had tugged at him the moment the horse had arrived at Reynolds Station and Tate set about building a relationship with him. It had taken several long months of working together and training together before Tot had been ready to roam Reynolds Station with him, but patience and persistence had done the trick to build trust and what became a deep friendship. Ever since, they’d been inseparable.
“He’s a beauty.” Annabelle extended a hand, then waited patiently for the horse to acknowledge her. Once he did, she offered up warm strokes to his cheeks before following the affection with an apple from her pocket.
For the briefest moment, Tate was jealous of his horse as he imagined the gentle slide of Belle’s fingers over his own face. The smooth press of skin against skin, a sweet gesture that simply was.
There was a time he’d believed they could have that. Could be that free and easy with each other. How wrong he’d been.
She gave Tot space to munch the apple before turning to give Tate a steady stare. “This is the horse that was rescued from that pair of jerks in Arizona who’ve been roaming free for the past year?”
Tate couldn’t help but be impressed that she’d done her homework. “Same.”
“Good riddance,” she muttered.
Tot nudged her hand where it sat perched on her hip, seeking another treat, and she laughed before stroking his face and neck again. “He’s lucky you found him.”
“I’m lucky I found Tot.”
“I thought that’s what you said. Tot is his name?”
The briefest acknowledgment flitted across her face before it vanished. It was a surprise, Tate mused, to realize he’d wanted to see something more.
When she gave no further acknowledgment, Tate shook it off, burying the small stab of pain beneath a cocky smile. “Ace has called me Tater for years. It fit.”
Annabelle’s gaze roamed over the horse. “Yes, it does.”
* * *
It was only a name. A dumb, stupid name for a dumb, stupid horse. That was all. Only the horse was far from dumb or stupid if the innate intelligence that flashed in his deep brown eyes was any indication.
Nor was it only a name and they both knew it.
She’d suggested Tot would be a good horse’s name ten years ago, the idea taking root after a particularly rowdy night out with Ace and Veronica Torres, then a Midnight Pass newcomer and the woman Tate’s brother been dating at the time. She and Ace had paired up for a game of pool against Veronica and Tate and had beaten them soundly, Ace’s repeated taunts of “Tater” at his younger brother, adding frustration to the sound thrashing.
Tate’s sullen frown on the drive home hadn’t faded so she’d pushed and pressed, teasing him until she managed to pull one of those lazy smiles that tripped up her heart. He wasn’t a man to stay angry for long and that lazy smile had quickly turned to laughter, the storm clouds passing as fast as they’d arrived.
“You upset about losing the game?”
Tate turned his gaze from the rutted road that led out of town, his eyes wide. “The game was good fun. Ace just pissed me off with the name.”
“You don’t like ‘Tater’?”
“Not particularly.” He glanced across the expanse of his truck’s cab. “Would you?”
“He’s been doing it for years and it’s done with affection. Especially when he’s not goosing you about your pool skills.”
“It’s annoying.”
“It’s family.”
She hadn’t given much thought to her response until his hand slipped over hers, his fingers wrapping tightly around hers. “I guess it is.”
A wash of emotion clogged her throat with a tight fist, the tears sort of stuck there in a lump, not quite making it to her eyes. How was it thoughts of her mother and the empty liquor bottles that always filled the trash could intrude so quickly? And so completely?
And how was it that Tate understood when her thoughts shifted?
He’d always understood, even at their worst when their conversations seemed to consist of nothing but teasing and jovial taunts. He accepted her circumstances and all the reasons she got quiet every now and again.
She was coming to see how much that meant, in ways she’d never expected when they’d started their relationship. For a guy who seemed so easygoing and carefree, he had surprising depths. He missed nothing and in quiet moments found ways to show he understood.
Annabelle managed to swallow back the tears, unwilling to ruin a fun evening with a discussion about her mom. Things never changed there and a bout of tears would only ruin a perfectly good evening. As they receded, an odd, silly thought took their place.
“Next horse you get, you should name Tot.”
“Tot?”
“As in Tater Tot. Get it?”
His sharp bark of laughter filled the cab and it was enough to quell the somber thoughts that had threatened to take her over. Her mom wasn’t getting any better, but for the moment, she was here with Tate.
And when she was with him, all the rest faded away.
She hadn’t thought about that night in a long time, the silly conversation in the car or the suggestion for naming his horse replaced by the more painful memories of what had come after.
On a soft sigh, Annabelle pulled into the police station, willing away the maudlin thoughts. She had a job to do and it didn’t matter if Tate Reynolds still tied her up in knots. His property had become increasingly overrun by those coming up through the Rio Grande Valley out of Mexico and she’d taken an oath to battle that problem, determined to prosecute coyotes or drug lords to the maximum extent of the law.
The large, black SUVs the Feds habitually drove took up three spaces behind the precinct house, a sight that had become all too familiar in the past year. Their presence only reinforced the reality of what she’d observed on the far west end of the Reynolds property that very morning. The drug trade flourished in Midnight Pass and there were days she wondered if they could ever erase the poisonous blight that had descended over their small slice of heaven.
Copyright © 2018 by Frances Karkosak
ISBN-13: 9781488093142
Navy SEAL Cop
Copyright © 2018 by Cynthia Dees
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