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.
Because none of them were Annabelle Granger.
The damned truth of his life lived in that lone, miserable fact.
“Come see what I marked over here.” Julio’s command penetrated the unsettling rush of thoughts and Tate followed, pleased to get out of his head for a few minutes. They followed the old tracker from the initial area Belle roped off and on over to the impressions he’d discovered by the fence. Belle kept up a steady line of questions as they walked, from size of the imprint to the relatively few marks in the dirt, sharing her theories with Julio.
“Do you think it’s the work of a coyote? They’re paid to help people cross the border. This would be as good a spot as any and it could be their payment or a payment the coyote made to whomever helped him cross.”
“It’s a good theory, but this is the work of few, especially since there aren’t a lot of footprints. A coyote would take more people, Bella.”
Tate saw her subtle frown and suspected the question was for his and Ace’s benefit. It was a long shot question, designed to stave off the inevitable, and there was no way Belle really thought a late-night crossing on his land was the work of illegal immigrants. While they did have border crossings through Midnight Pass, the town’s core problem was drugs. The trade had flourished over the past decade, a stark reminder of what troubles lurked beneath the quiet facade of the Pass.
Businesses on Main Street prospered right alongside the marijuana, cocaine and heroin trafficking that followed in the dark of night. She and her fellow officers worked tirelessly to keep up with it, along with the increasing cadre of federal agents who’d set up shop in town, but they’d had relatively little success in stopping it.
Other than his time on the town council, Tate had diligently avoided the politics of life in the Pass, but he wasn’t blind or deaf. Hell, he’d had a conversation three days ago at the feed store about the same thing, and a few days before, Tabasco Burns had been bitching about a low-level dealer he’d tossed out of his pool hall.
Drugs and all their associated evils were a blight on their town and, like a greasy oil slick, they continued to spread. Two overdoses the year before and twenty across the county. And that was just what had hit close to home. He knew damn well what crossed through the Pass fanned out across the state and farther.
“So you do think it’s a drug run?” The words were sour on his tongue, but Tate had never been afraid of a fight. Nor would he tolerate the abuse of his land—of his home—like that.
Julio’s dark gaze ran over the fence line once more before he rewarded them with his full attention. “How much do you trust your team?”
“Up until a few minutes ago, I’d have said implicitly.” Ace’s comment matched his thoughts and Tate’s mind already whirled with the possibilities. Who could it be?
Ranger McBride was fairly new. The incidents hadn’t started until after he’d been hired on. Or maybe Tris Bradshaw? He had smelled whiskey on the guy’s breath a few weeks ago and sent him back to the house to get some coffee. Even as his mind whirled through reasons both men should be suspects, something in his gut didn’t sit right.
A few impressions in the dirt and he was ready to go on a witch hunt of his men? Was that how it was going to be now?
If Ace sensed Tate’s rising frustration, he said nothing, instead focusing on the physical ravages. “You good with us doing our repairs?”
“Sí, sí.” Julio nodded. “I’ve got my camera in the car. Let Bella and I take a few pictures and then you can fix things.”
“I’ll alert Trey Vasquez and Harrison Crown in the meantime. See if they’ve had any incidents.”
“We can do that, Ace.” Belle was quick to jump in. “You don’t have to spend your time warning everyone.”
“Somehow I think his conversation will be a bit different than yours.” Although the comment was meant to get under Belle’s skin, Tate knew his point remained true. If there was a problem with the hands at Reynolds Station, the two other ranches that dominated the county needed to know. They all had a silent agreement not to poach off each other, but a man had a right to move around and make his own living and the Vasquez and Crown families fished in the same employment pool as Tate, Ace and Hoyt did.
Belle’s gaze swung to his, challenge sparking in that pretty blue color. “Oh?”
“You’ll focus on the problem. Tell him how hard the police are working to manage the situation. You’ll likely even offer to drive out and visit their ranches, do a quick swing around the fences that line their properties.”
Belle stared at him, confusion crinkling soft lines into her forehead. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.”
“So why does it sound like a mocking indictment of the Midnight Pass police force?”
“I’d never mock such a superior institution.”
The words hit their mark, just as he’d intended. Parry, thrust, jab, jab, jab. The strategy had worked for twenty years; why should he stop now?
“Yet somehow you are.”
“Don’t be so sensitive.”
That jab was harder than the others and Tate was surprised to feel the kickback in his own stomach. Why did he always manage to take it a bit too far?
“Then what’s your point?”
“You’re waving at the problem with your badge. We’re a bit more subtle than that.”
Belle’s hands flew to her hips, the fingers on her right hand resting comfortably against her service weapon. Too comfortably, he realized with a hard, solid punch to his stomach. Belle Granger was all cop as she stared at him. “Subtle?”
“Sure.
