The Cowboy's Deadly Mission Read online

  “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.

  Chapter 2

  “Heard Belle was out visiting this morning.”

  Tate stilled, the unfurled length of barbed wire heavy against his thickly gloved hands as his brother’s voice drifted over his back. He loved his brother but Ace had developed a way of nagging him over the years about Belle that was about as subtle as a cold sore at the prom.

  Which, Tate figured, was sort of the point.

  “She was the one lucky enough to pull duty this morning at six a.m. when I called in the breach.”

  “Breach?” Ace pulled on his own pair of thick gloves. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

  “You have a better name?”

  “Invasion. Attack. Infection. Take your pick.”

  Anger and frustration layered Ace’s words and Tate stilled, giving himself a moment to really look at his brother. The weight of the ranch sat heavily on all of them—as welcome a burden as it was challenging—but Ace’s load carried a bit more freight. As the eldest son, he carried the weightiness of expectation along with all the other requirements of running one of the largest cattle ranches in southwest Texas.

  Streaks of gray lined Ace’s temples, visible through the military-short cut of his hair. Lines fanned out from the Reynolds green eyes Tate and his brothers carried like a matc
hed set of luggage, but it was the stiffness in his brother’s shoulders that told the real story. Where Tate and Hoyt carried a linebacker’s bulk, Ace had inherited their mother’s slimmer genes. The man was tall and wiry, his lean frame belying the sheer strength he bore in every bone and sinew.

  Anyone who thought Ace Reynolds might be an easy mark quickly learned their mistake. Raw strength and power were the man’s hallmarks, his body as unyielding as his honor and approach to life.

  “So what did Belle say?”

  “She did some rudimentary tracking. Will be back out in a bit with Julio Bautista to look at the site. After they look at everything, we can repair the fence.” Tate let his gaze drift over the clean-cut hole before refocusing on Ace. “I sent the hands on to other tasks. Told them to come back around noon.”

  “Should be enough time.”

  “You don’t have to wait with me. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time.”

  Ace quirked one eyebrow. “Trying to get rid of me?”

  “No. Just figured you had better things to do.”

  “I consider this better.”

  Waiting for no further invitation, Ace hunched down and tugged at the bale of wire, smoothing over the edge Tate had already cut. “I’ll put this back on the truck.”

  They worked in silence for a few minutes. Tate lined up the pieces they’d replace while Ace puttered around the back of the truck he’d driven out from the main house. Although he knew his brother would find out eventually, some small voice had Tate holding back his suspicions.

  The light depression in the dirt. Belle’s suggestion of a lone bag of drugs or the suspicion of a cash payoff. Hell.

  He didn’t need any help reading between the lines. And if she shared her concerns, they’d have Feds crawling the property before the afternoon was out. He ran a working ranch, not a damn forensics lab.

  “You always were a crappy liar. Ready to tell me what’s going on?” Ace slapped the thick gloves against his thigh. “And before you argue with me, omission’s a lie.”

  It briefly crossed his mind to argue, but Tate held his tongue. Ace had a right to know. Even as he knew he’d only add to the weight that already rode his brother’s shoulders.

  “There’s yellow police tape over there. Belle thinks the shape left in the grass looks like a single bag of drugs.”

  “One bag?” The words were barely out before Ace shook his head. “A payoff?”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Come take a look.” Tate led the way to the small marked area. The yellow tape was visible in the grass as they got closer. “I don’t know how she even saw it.”

  “Because it’s her job.”

  More truth. Raw and unsettling, but the truth all the same. Even more unsettling, Tate knew what it had cost her. What it had cost both of them. Belle took her job seriously, both the work she did and her reputation. Yet she’d still shared her initial impressions, even if she should have saved them for her colleagues.

  Ace dropped into a hunch once more, his attention fully focused on the marked area. Tate moved closer, the bright, mid-morning sun seeming to throw a spotlight on the small area. With the additional light, it was easier to see the outline—easier to envision the heavy duffel bag that would have made the mark.

  “One of our own.” Ace added a string of curses that matched Tate’s thoughts from the past two hours before their attention was pulled toward the bump of tires about five hundred yards away.

  “Belle’s back.” Tate could see Julio Bautista in the passenger seat, his grizzled features a contrast to Belle’s smooth skin and eager visage.

  Ace shaded his eyes before his hard stare swung toward Tate. “Looks like she is.”

  * * *

  Julio Bautista was one of the best trackers in south Texas and had worked as a field expert for the county for what had to be forty years. The man could tell you everything from the shoe size on a partial footprint to the age of animal scat to what types of scrub grass grew in the region. His senses were so refined the man predicted the weather better than any ten TV meteorologists.

  While she admired it all, Belle loved him because he was the gentlest of teachers, more than willing to impart his knowledge and understanding of how living beings left their impressions on the earth.

  “That the place you marked?” Julio pointed through the windshield to the area where she’d laid yellow police tape earlier that morning, his wizened face scrunched up against the glare of the morning sun.

  “That’s the one. Tate Reynolds found the cut fence early this morning and called it in. I almost missed the small depression but saw it at the last minute.”

  “Reynolds being cooperative?”

  “Of course he is.”

  The words spilled out too quickly and Belle winced inwardly as Julio’s solemn gaze shifted from his view through the windshield to her. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Oh, he was a bit surprised to see it was me who arrived to take his statement, but he got over it. He understands the force is stretched thin. Understands I’m a member of that force.”

  He understands the implications, too, she mused, considering what a possible payoff on his land would mean in regards to his staff.

  Julio snorted at the “stretched thin” comment but said nothing, opening his door and hopping out of the SUV. The man’s services had been stretched thin of late, too. And although he worked for the county, he’d spent more than a disproportionate time in Midnight Pass over the past few years. He waved to Tate and Ace Reynolds before crossing to the two men and shaking their hands.

  “Bella says you had a problem last night.”

  Tate shot her the slightest raised eyebrow at Julio’s affectionate name for her before pointing toward the fence. “Not the first one we’ve had.”

  “Likely won’t be the last.” Julio puttered toward the fence line, careful to steer clear of the area she’d marked off with tape. His gaze never left the ground, his steps careful in the event she’d missed other key clues depressed into the earth. Belle left him to his work, well aware he needed to get a sense of place before he’d be ready to speak with them again.

  “Julio’s the best.”

  “Word around town is that you’re his protégée.” Ace’s smile was warm and encouraging, a decisive counterpoint to the scowl that painted Tate’s face.

  The two men might be brothers—might love each other fiercely—but they rarely saw eye to eye on anything. Her career choice was likely another item on that very long list of disagreements.

  Which only served to rub salt in the wound. How could the man’s brother see her as a competent professional and Tate couldn’t? Since that line of thought only served to add to her simmering frustration, she offered up a smile instead.

  “Julio’s been kind enough to take me on and train me. He’s plenty busy so I’m grateful for the help.”

  Tate let out a loud snort. “The way I hear it, you more than pull your own weight.”

  The comment was as surprising as the idea that Tate kept up with her career. Annabelle wanted to press him on his comment, but Julio had already begun working his way back to them, his shout and hand wave effectively ending anything else she might have said.

  “Come see this.” Her mentor stopped near the taped off area and dropped to his knees. Belle was careful to watch her footsteps before dropping to her haunches beside Julio, Ace and Tate following suit. Once they were all in place, Julio traced an outline into the air. “You see here? This part Bella marked.”

  “Of course.”

  “I do think she’s right. It has the weight and shape of a heavy duffel. It also matches a light depression I found on the other side of the fence.”

  “I missed it?”

  Julio’s smile was broad. “I’m not quite ready
for you to put me out of business, Bella. And the mark was faint and easy to miss. I saw it because I knew what I was looking for.”

  Belle appreciated the encouragement but couldn’t hide the sting to her pride. She’d been careful this morning, but she was well aware her focus had been divided between the work and Tate. If Ace or Hoyt had greeted her, she suspected she’d not have missed the second depression Julio discovered.

  But Ace and Hoyt hadn’t made the call to the precinct.

  Tate had.

  She risked a glance in his direction, only to be greeted by a quick flash of humor. The wholly unprofessional urge to stick her tongue out at him rippled through her before she tamped it down.

  How did he do this to her?

  They weren’t on the school playground and she’d given up the pigtails he’d loved to pull as kids. Yet even now, after all this time, she couldn’t help seeking him out. Was it for approval? Or worse, was she seeking the agreement she knew she’d never get? Because they didn’t agree. And they hadn’t seen eye to eye on anything except the sexual awareness and attraction that always flared sky-high when they were within fifty feet of each other.

  Tate Reynolds had claimed he wanted her. He’d claimed a lot of things during the time they’d spent together, freely giving of themselves to one another.

  But he hadn’t held up his side of the bargain.

  Worse, he’d asked her to choose between the one thing in her life—except for him—that gave her purpose. Fulfillment. Joy.

  And every time they looked at each other, she saw the reality of that choice reflecting back at her.

  * * *

  Tate didn’t want to be impressed. He didn’t want to be fascinated. He didn’t want to be awed. But despite every attempt to squelch those impressions, he was all those things and more. The girl who’d intrigued him in ways he hadn’t understood had grown into a woman who still had the ability to trip him up.

  He was a simple guy. He liked ranching and a good night out at the rodeo, cold beer and a rousing evening of pool. And he liked women. Tall women, short women, curvy and slender—he appreciated them all. Enjoyed them all. But he didn’t love any of them.