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 the 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
