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.
“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 matched 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
