The Cowboy's Deadly Mission. Addison Fox

the Pass like an out-of-control virus.” The words dripped with derision and disdain, a clear continuation of what Tate had leveled at her earlier.

       Most law-abiding people in town think the Midnight Pass police force couldn’t find justice with both hands and a flashlight.

      “Despite the feelings you’ve made abundantly clear regarding the capabilities of the Midnight Pass police force, you should get back and let everyone do their job.”

      “This happened on my property.”

      “We’re no longer on your property. This is borderland.”

      “Belle—”

      She whirled on him. “No. You’re not giving orders here and you’re not in charge. Let us do our job and figure out what happened.”

      Once more, she felt him before he moved. His hand closed around her upper arm to pull her closer, their faces practically touching. His grip was firm, yet retained a core of gentleness that only reinforced what she already knew.

      Tate Reynolds wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t a drug dealer or a criminal either. He might be the monumental pain in the ass of her life, but he was a good man. A caring man.

      And right now he was processing the fact that his home had been breached and violated in one of the worst ways possible.

      “This isn’t about you and me arguing on the playground, Belle. Someone died. And by all accounts, they were killed on my land.”

      “I know.” She laid a hand over his forearm and took strength from the solid muscle beneath her palm. “Which is why you need to let us do our job.”

      Although conversation had restarted among the assembled officers, the sounds were muted as people spoke in quiet whispers. She kept her voice comparable, not wanting anyone to overhear them. “You need to trust that we will handle this. Regardless of your feelings.”

      “That was—” He broke off. “I’m not suggesting you won’t do right by this person.”

      Tate’s gaze shifted to the body, still untouched in the ravine. His hand tightened on her shoulder before he seemed to make up his mind, turning firmly away from the gruesome sight. “I know you’ll do your job. But please be careful.”

      “I will.”

      “Something’s wrong here. This isn’t a drug deal gone bad or dishonor among thieves.”

      She wanted to believe otherwise, but couldn’t in the face of his certainty—or her own. “No. I don’t think it is.”

      “You need to be careful.”

      “Right back at ya.”

      The same frustration from before—hell, from forever—darkened his gaze once more but other than a small sneer, he held his frustration. “That’s not what I meant. This is dangerous. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

      “Which is why I’ve been trained. It’s my job.”

      His hand fell away and Tate took a few steps back. The physical withdrawal was mimicked in the way his gaze shuttered and his mouth firmed into a straight line. “The job. Just like always.”

      Belle wanted to argue. She wanted to rant and rail and give him the litany of reasons why she was not only good at her job but called to it. But the day had begun too early. And the pain of seeing him again, so up close and personal, always left her slightly empty and more than a bit bruised emotionally. So she skipped the ready defense and nodded instead.

      “Just like always.”

      * * *

      “Will the police still be setting up here in the kitchen?” Arden asked. She’d changed out of the pajamas she’d worn earlier when he and Ace had told her what was going on at the edge of their property into a pair of yoga pants and a top in vivid neon. She was busy fixing enough food to feed ten police stations, evidenced by the heavy scent of blueberries that rose into the air as she pulled a tray of muffins out of the oven.

       She looks like Mom.

      The thought wasn’t a new one, Tate admitted, but as she puttered around the kitchen, he saw the clear resemblance between his sister and his mother. Well, minus the eye-boring neon.

      Both were petite, but where Betsy Reynolds had seemed to fade into herself later in life, Arden was as bright and vibrant as her outfit. The yoga ensemble belied a strong, fit woman and despite her size—or maybe in spite of it—he’d dare any man on the ranch to attempt a head-to-head battle with her.

      Arden was fierce.

      She was also in danger, if the discovery at the edge of the property was any indication.

      “I think you should consider rescheduling your classes this week. Stick close to home instead of heading in and out of town.”

      Arden glanced over from where she placed the muffins on a cooling rack. “Why’s that?”

      “We need to be careful until the police know what they’re dealing with.”

      “And we will be. That’s what locks are for. And making plans to meet up with others and stay in groups. All of which I will take full advantage of. But I’m not canceling my classes.”

      “It’s a few yoga classes, Arden. They’ll keep.”

      The subtle smile never left her lips, but the glint in her blue eyes—also so like their mother’s—grew decidedly flinty. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time. I’m not canceling anything. To put a finer point on it, neither am I holing up in this house like a prisoner.”

      “You’re not a prisoner.”

      “Then get the warden act out of your thoughts.”

      Damn, but what was wrong with the women in his life? When had he become the bad guy because he didn’t want them anywhere near the unsavory aspects of life? “It’s wrong to worry about you?”

      She drifted over from the stove, the scent of blueberries mixing with the pot of coffee she carried with her. “Worry is okay. Telling me what to do isn’t.”

      Tate grabbed the sugar bowl off the center of the table and dumped a few teaspoons into his coffee. Arden pointedly ignored the liberal dosing of sweets and poured her own cup before sitting down.

      “How do you drink that without anything in it?”

      “How do you drink that,” she pointed at his mug, “with the equivalent of a cotton candy bender in it?”

      He shot her a dark look over his mug. “Yet another impasse this morning.”

      “You’re in a mood.” Arden got up and walked to the counter. She placed a few muffins on a plate, her attention seemingly focused on her task. “Would that have anything to do with Annabelle Granger showing up at our ranch bright and early this morning?”

      What was with his family? First Ace grilled him and now Arden? He could only thank the heavens Hoyt was a man of few words. His youngest brother would sooner cut off a finger than question Tate about something personal.

      “Belle has nothing to do with anything.”

      “You sure?” Arden carried over the plate of fresh muffins. Tate could still see steam rising off the top as he reached for one and imagined the top of his head likely looked similar.

      “Positive.”

      “Then you won’t care if I set her up in here. I’ll make sure she’s got enough coffee and snacks, but you or Ace or Hoyt will need to see to it that she’s got what she needs when the men come in to talk to her.”

      Tate dragged the wrapper off his muffin, tossing his breakfast from hand to hand to cool it off. “Aren’t you efficient today?”

      “I’m always efficient. And prepared.