Page 5 of Steers and Stowaways
But he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. This was the closest he’d come so far to a breakthrough on MalloryEvans’ case. The cattle rustlers had targeted her herd too many times for it to be a coincidence. It wasn’t the only thing that had him worried. According to his inside contact at the realtor’s office, a bidding war had broken out between two prospective buyers over the parcel of land Mallory had up for sale.
A bidding war. Out in the boonies. It didn’t add up.
Unless there was more going on than cattle rustling. The only criminals in Tucker’s law enforcement career that could leverage that kind of money were the drug cartels. Now,thatmade more sense!
Cattle rustling and drugs were a lethal combination in border towns like El Paso, where he’d spent most of his career. It was called narco rustling, the unconscionable practice of hijacking innocent cattle and pressing them into service as drug mules.
Tucker’s brain raced over the possibilities. If Evans Ranch had become the target of a narco rustling gang, it would also explain his sidebar theory that Martina and Dexter Silva were up to their eyeballs in the muck Mallory was currently wading through. The timing of their appearance in town and the way they’d wormed their way into her inner circle didn’t feel like an accident.
Pete Flournoy coughed. Loudly. “Usually, when I mention a Christmas bonus, I get more of a reaction.”
Tucker scowled at the computer screen. He didn’t want a holiday bonus. He wanted to buy one hundred acres of prime grazing land out from under the noses of a dangerous narco rustling gang. Now. Before they got a bigger foothold in Heart Lake.
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind about purchasing Mallory Evans’ land, sir?” It felt like a waste of breath, but he had to ask.
“The bonus I mentioned will be a nice one,” his district manager assured in a voice as smooth as a chocolate cream pie. “Right before the holidays. Take it or leave it, Agent Pratt.”
Like I have a choice.Tucker hid his disgust. “I’ll take it, sir.” He had no intention of giving up his plan to purchase the property, but Pete Flournoy didn’t need to know that. Between Tucker’s private nest egg and the coming bonus, he would make sure Mallory received a third offer for her land—one she wouldn’t be able to pass up.
Fortunately, one of the guys who owned Lonestar Security was an attorney. If Dave Phillips was as good as his reputation, he was capable of tying up a real estate purchase in so many layers that it would be difficult to trace it back to the buyer.
Me.
He didn’t need the woman who was constantly crawling under his skin to know he was the one who’d purchased her property. Since he wouldn’t be sticking around after he closed her case, he’d find a way to sell it back to her. It would be his parting gift.
Keeping his distance from her was the only way to keep her safe. She thought he did it because he didn’t care. If that was true, he’d never before had to work this hard at not caring.
Chapter 2: Like Family
“The angel is still crooked.” Mallory stood back from the Christmas tree, frowning at the stubborn tree topper. “It may just have to stay that way.” Though she was determined to decorate her home for the holidays, decorating in general wasn’t one of her strengths.
Regardless, she was determined to have a real Christmas for the first time since losing her parents. She had the Silva family to thank for her burst of holiday spirit. Ever since they’d moved in at Evans Ranch, they’d chased away the loneliness of her workaholic existence. It was so nice having someone like Martina to talk to, to have her and Dex to share the ups and downs of ranch life with, and to have an honest-to-goodness family to celebrate the holidays with.
Mallory had spent the last two days pulling boxes out of the attic. Thanks to the pest control company Martina had talked her into hiring, the attic was clear of any signs of vermin. No yucky little black pellets to step over. No rips, tears, or tunnels in the insulation. Just good old dustystorage containers filled with everything from decades-old garlands to wicker Easter baskets.
Besides the slightly lopsided faux pine resting a few feet to the right of the fireplace, Mallory had placed LED candles in the front windows and red holiday pillows on the sofa. The pillows looked like they could use a little fluffing. Or something. They were faded a few shades lighter than their original winter berry hue. She should probably consider replacing them altogether. Not now, though. The sale of her land was scheduled to go through before Christmas, but she didn’t want to spend the proceeds on anything as frivolous as home decor.No, sirree!Every penny of it was going into her keep-Evans-Ranch-afloat fund.
“What do you think?” Wondering why Martina wasn’t responding, Mallory cocked her head again at the tree topper, debating whether she should get back on her ladder to adjust it some more.
“Do you always talk to yourself when you’re alone?” The sound of Tucker Pratt’s voice in her living room made her yelp and spin around.
His broad shoulders filled the arched doorway leading to the entry foyer. He studied her with a curled upper lip as he removed his Stetson.
“I’m not alone,” she snapped, wishing he didn’t look so good in, well, everything he wore—old, new, frayed, or tailored to perfection. It didn’t matter. This morning, he was filling his faded jeans and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots nicely enough to populate a magazine centerfold.
When he didn’t immediately answer, she plunged onward to fill the silence in the room. “Before you walked in, I was having a conversation with Martina.”And now I’m having a conversation with you. Unfortunately.
“I stand corrected.” He glanced around the room, whereMartina was clearly no longer present, not bothering to hide his sarcastic half-smile.
“Now that you’re here,” she directed his attention to her lopsided tree topper, “I could use a second opinion. After adjusting the angel a bazillion times, I suspect we’re dealing with a crooked halo. Something you probably know all about,” she joked, proud of herself for having come up with something so snarky on the spot.
He surveyed her with mild hauteur. “Pretty sure you’re the only one who’s ever called me an angel.”
“I didn’t—” She stopped, realizing he was goading her. Again. And she was falling for it. Again. “What are you doing here anyway?” She didn’t recall receiving a heads-up via text message, and she most definitely hadn’t invited his cranky self over.
“Touching bases with a client.” His voice was dry. “Something you claim I never do.”
Since he sounded like he was angling for another bickering match, she forced herself to count to ten before answering. Maybe she’d smother him with polite hospitality this morning, just to mix things up a bit.
