Unbound Pursuit (7 page)

Scowling, Hank straightened. “That’s Mark Reuss’s black Jeep, then.”

“Most likely,” Wyatt agreed.

“And he was on our property five days ago without my permission. Again?”

“Yes.” Wyatt saw his father’s face tense. Property rights were a big deal in Texas. Where one lived was sacred, and no one trespassed on another person’s land without asking first for permission to cross it. Ranchers were well known to use buckshot to warn trespassers off their land upon occasion. “Don’t mess with Texas” wasn’t just a saying; it was a warning. His father was strict about keeping people from crossing their ranch’s boundaries, so Wyatt knew this was going to upset him a great deal.

“It was just two weeks ago that my wranglers saw these same vehicles.” Rubbing his jaw, Hank growled, “That means that Mark is regularly trespassing on our property, then.”

“’Fraid so,” Wyatt said glumly. It took a lot to anger his father, but Hank’s face had turned a dull red. He was certainly angry now. “Look,” Wyatt said amiably, trying to calm his father down, “I’ve got some contacts within Border Patrol, as well as other federal agencies, Dad. I talked to them earlier, and Artemis sent them these sat photos to back up the request I made to them.”

“What did you ask for?” Hank demanded. “A couple of shotguns?”

Grinning weakly, Wyatt shook his head. “No, not birdshot, Dad. Something better, though, I think.”

“Better be,” Hank growled, shoving his hands down the thighs of his jeans.

“Here’s the deal,” Wyatt said. “The Cardona drug cartel is always switchin’ up where they make their border crossings. Other ranches in the area have been their routes before this. It’s typical of a cartel to change its tactics regularly to avoid the Border Patrol. Cardona has chosen the northeast corner of our property and is using that dirt road to get to the highway about twenty miles north. Once he’s got those vehicles on that highway route, they’re free of any further Border Patrol interference.”

“So they’re moving their drugs and stuff to a new area? Through our ranch?”

“Looks like it. I’m having my people at Artemis begin going through the last six months of sat flyovers of that corner of our property to see if there are other sightings of Mark and his drug mules there. I should have more intel on that by this evening.”

“You got a plan, son?”

Grimacing, Wyatt said, “There are a number of options that my Mission Planning people are going over right now.” He held his father’s dark gray gaze. “I’ll know more by tomorrow noon, I hope.”

“Does it include birdshot?”

Chuckling, Wyatt shook his head. “No. We’ll deal with this issue at the state and federal level, Dad. What I’m hoping is to get a drone to ply that area twenty-four-seven. It’s going to be a lot closer and can take very clear, defined photos of not only truck license plate numbers but the drivers and any passengers as well. Also, the drone I want to use has infrared capability, which means it can look through something like a canvas tarp or the side of a truck and see what they’re carrying.”

Rubbing his jaw, Hank said, “I always knew you were a smart kid, but this sounds pretty high-tech and pretty high up in our government.” He clapped Wyatt’s shoulder. “I’m really proud of you, son. You’re doing good things for people, for our nation.”

Humbled by his father’s look of pride for him, Wyatt muttered, “Well, don’t congratulate me yet, okay? Trying to tear a drone out of the U.S. Air Force’s hands to get it down here is a big deal.”

Snickering, Hank said, “I remember you with those wild mustangs we brought in to break. You always had the right voice, the right gestures, and you were smart as a whip with ’em, bringing ’em buckets of water to win ’em over. They were all dying of thirst after a three-hundred-mile truck ride to our ranch. You figured it out, and look at you now. You’re talking about getting federal support to help us out.”

A good feeling moved through Wyatt. His father had always been one to praise his children when they deserved it. He loved his dad deeply because he’d been such a good role model. All four kids had turned out well. Unlike Mark Reuss, who had a snake for a father. “Well,” he murmured, shutting the lid on his laptop, “let’s see where this leads us. When I know more, I’ll pull you aside and we’ll talk privately.”

“But you’ll have a plan, right?”

“For sure,” Wyatt said, smiling a little as he shut the lap top, leaving it on the bench as he rose.

Hank stood a little stiffly, rubbing his lower back. “Okay, but now I’m worried about putting anyone out in that area, Wyatt.”

“What I’d do, Dad? I’d get your wranglers together and tell them to stay away from that zone. As long as your fence line is standing, you can wait a couple of days or weeks until I can get a mission plan created for you to resolve this problem.”

“Sounds good.” Hank clapped his hand on Wyatt’s back as they sauntered toward the tractor. “How’s your lady doin’?”

“Tal wanted to drive in with Mattie to see her kindergarten class.”

“Yeah, saw ’em leave after breakfast,” Hank said. “I don’t know what to do about Mattie,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

“She’s depressed,” Wyatt said, feeling that same sense of helplessness he heard in Hank’s voice. “You and Mom have tried to get her to a doctor?”

Snorting, Hank picked up a wrench. “More times than I care to add up. She absolutely refuses to take drugs to help her depression. She says it’s grief and that it will end when it’s supposed to.”

Wyatt set the laptop aside and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. Often, his mechanically minded father would fix the ranch equipment. Wyatt had learned everything from him. Just getting to spend some downtime with him warmed his heart, despite the circumstances. “Come on, let me help you with this engine. Two people working on it should get it done in half the time.”

Hank grinned and handed the wrench to Wyatt. “Just like old times, huh?”

Wyatt grinned and took off his black baseball cap, setting it beside his father’s straw hat on the tractor’s cowling. “Yep, the good ol’ days, Dad.”

*

Mattie had hugged
the last of her five-year-olds good-bye for the day. It was three p.m., and she smiled over at Tal, who had sat quietly in the back of her large classroom, observing. “I want you to sit and keep that ankle rested while I clean up around here,” Mattie said, hurrying toward the front of her room. Her students had been painting today, and there were a lot of Mason jars to pick up and brushes to clean before the place would be ready for tomorrow morning.

Tal smiled, sitting at one of the long wooden tables. “I’d say these thirty kids keep you hopping, big-time.” Mattie was wearing a red corduroy jumper with a white long-sleeved blouse beneath it. Although “official” kindergarten wasn’t going on right now due to the long holiday, Mattie had offered to babysit her charges so their parents could go back to work after Christmas, which Tal thought was damned nice of her. Mattie’s auburn hair was twisted up into a thick mass at the top of her head. Tal admired the smattering of freckles that stood out against her cheeks.

“Well, school doesn’t officially start again until January second, but I like to offer this place so the parents don’t have to put their kids in day care. I try to do more creative things with the kids, like painting, drawing, and making things with their hands.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Tal said. “Tear them away from their computers, the electronic gadgets that disconnect them from people and society.”

Frowning, Mattie hurried around, picking up jars from the tables and bringing them to the double sink at the rear of the room. “Oh, don’t get me started on that one, Tal. The generation of children that is being raised on computers scares me to death. I try very hard to divide their time between the use of computers”—she gestured to one side of the room, where the computers sat in neat rows—“and doing things as a team. They truly need socialization, and they are no longer getting it in a lot of homes. The parents, unfortunately, allow their children to be immersed in their electronic devices. They don’t make them put them away and interact with the family anymore. It’s pretty awful, in my opinion.”

Tal had turned around to watch Mattie, who with swift, knowing precision had gone to work dumping the paint-filled water from the thirty jars, washing them, and turning them upside down to dry on tea towels she’d set on the countertop. The back door opened and closed, getting Tal’s attention. The children could come and go through two different exits. The side door led to the playground. The rear door, near the sink where Mattie worked, was hidden from view by a large mudroom. The hair on the back of her neck rose, instantly making Tal focus her attention on the entrance.

What the hell?
Normally that reaction served to warn her that there was danger nearby, and it wasn’t something Tal ignored. She was in Texas. In a kindergarten classroom. Why was she suddenly on high alert?

Mattie heard the door open and close, too. She barely looked up, busily washing out the Mason jars. She didn’t want to be late getting Tal back to the ranch. Her mother was making a special meal of leg of lamb tonight for the family, and she needed to get home to help her with making the salad and the mashed potatoes and gravy. She figured it was the parent of a child who had forgotten something in the classroom coming back to pick it up.

A dark shape appeared at the entrance. Mattie turned. She gasped. The Mason jar in her hand slipped and fell to the floor, shattering.

“Mark!” The word came flying out of her mouth. Mattie’s heart pounded in her chest as she stared up into his narrowed gold-brown eyes. He wore a black Stetson, a white long-sleeved shirt with a black leather vest over it, jeans, and cowboy boots. His mouth . . . oh, lordy, his mouth . . . she remembered only too well how wonderful he was at kissing her.

She took a step back, her eyes huge as she stared in disbelief at him. He stood motionless, like a tense statue. Mark’s gaze shot to Tal and then back to her.

“Who’s this with you, Mattie?”

She hadn’t heard his voice in four months, that same low, sensual drawl of his that made her melt, made her lower body burn with need of him. Gulping, she jerked a look toward Tal. “That’s Tal, my friend,” she managed to say, choked up. She turned toward him. “What are you doing here?” Tears clogged her eyes but Mattie refused to let them fall, straightening her spine, throwing back her shoulders, her chin jutting out, anger flowing through her along with her shock.

“I need to talk to you alone,” Mark growled. “Get rid of her?”

Mattie scowled. Anger took over. “Go to hell, Mark!” She jabbed her finger toward the door of the mudroom. “Just get the hell out of my life! How dare you come back into it! You think you can just waltz in here after being gone four months without a word?” Her voice was shaking, she was so angry and hurt. And he looked so delicious to her. He was half Chippewa Indian through his mother, who was now dead. He had his mother’s coppery skin, that shining short black hair, those glittering, intelligent wolf eyes, as she used to refer to them, a gold-brown mixture. His mouth thinned, relaxed a little. For a split second, Mattie thought he’d smiled, or that maybe some amusement had flittered across his narrowed, intelligent gaze.

“I’ve been real busy, Mattie. That’s not the welcome I was hoping for.”

Mattie gulped back her tears. “What the hell else did you expect?”

Mark shrugged lazily, lifting one shoulder, keeping his gaze pinned on Tal. The woman seemed like someone he wouldn’t want to mess with. Mark saw the look in her eyes, saw the fine tension in her body, and felt the energy around her. If she wasn’t law enforcement, then she was military. He met her gaze and hardened his look in her direction, willing her to stay right where she was. Missing nothing upon first perusal, Mark could quickly size up another person and know just how dangerous they were. This woman was damned dangerous, even though she wore a camel-colored pantsuit with a bright orange tee beneath it. She wore no makeup, her black hair lying like a shining cloak around her proud shoulders.

His gaze moved back to Mattie. “I need to talk to you,” he repeated.

Snorting vehemently, she snapped, “I want
nothing
to do with you, Mark!”

His gut clenched, his heart twisting with guilt and need of her. Mark tried to bury the pain he carried deep within him. He watched the flare of righteous anger in Mattie’s slitted dark green eyes. Reining in the desire for her that was always with him, he rasped, “Okay, then here it is: you tell your father to keep his wranglers out of the northeast corner of your ranch two nights from now, Mattie.” His voice dropped. “This isn’t a joke. You need to keep everyone out of that area.” He started to turn, stopped himself, lifting his head, meeting Mattie’s tear-filled eyes. Less gruffly, the hardness in his gold-brown eyes dissolving, almost turning tender, he said, “Take good care of yourself, Mattie . . .”

Before Mattie could snarl at him, he turned on his heel and was gone. When the door slammed shut, Mattie jumped. She was breathing raggedly, her heart sledgehammering in her chest. Gulping, she looked at Tal.