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 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