"Where are you now?" I ask.
"I'm headed toward the county road," Cade says. "I’ll be passing by the old Delaney property. Word is the developer bought the note last month. I want to see if the same trucks show up again. "
"Keep moving," I say. "Don’t let them pin you down to a spot. Send me the pictures. Be safe and don't approach them. I’m going to make a call."
"Ben?" he asks.
"Ben," I say.
Cade's breath hisses out. "Thought so. Call if you need me to double back."
The other night, Cade and I had a chat. He's seen the developer and their guys all over town. They are always acting sketchy, as if they are trying to get away with something. I haven't told him everything, only about how hard they have been hounding me, and for him to keep me informed of anything going on. Apparently, I'm not the only rancher who thinks they aren't up to any good.
After hanging up, I don’t even pretend to go back inside. I scroll to Ben's number and hit dial. The line clicks, and his voice answers calmly. Somewhere behind him, I hear the hum of an office and the ding of a door. He must be at the county building or his place in town.
"Hey man, how's it going?" he asks.
I've known Ben so long that I don't even bother with the pleasantries.
"Cade saw two trucks out on McCafferty's back side," I say. "Temporary plates. A portable rig, fast exit, no posted permits. Looks like they are testing with no one watching."
"Not the first sighting," Ben says, and the gravity in his tone sets my teeth. "Two ranches east of the lake reported tire ruts in their far fields and flags in the grass. One flag has posted a survey with a company name I can’t track to anyone local. Another was blank. The county clerk has not logged any soil or mineral testing forms. My gut says they are moving quickly on thin ice and hoping no one notices until they have their data."
"Well, I notice," I say.
"I figured you might," he answers. "And I figured you would call. Cade sent me what he had already. Give me what you have from your end. The department will want a case before moving toe to toe with them."
For a breath, I think about the deed scans and the call with Walton. I think about the papers that we will sign in less than two days if nothing comes loose. Then I remind myself how a secret works best when you keep it tucked tight until it can carry its own weight. I decide what to share and what to keep in my pocket until the ink is dry.
"It feels like they are circling," I say. "I don’t have paperwork to throw at them yet, but I will soon."
"Good," Ben answers. "I’ll push on the clerk and the county attorney. Quietly. Also, I’ll ping a friend at Texas Parks to see whether any environmental notices have been filed near the lake. If they are sampling without the right forms, that’s a lever."
"Thank you. Please try to keep this quiet. I don't want them to know we are sniffing around just yet," I say.
"I will," he responds. "And Asher?"
"Yeah."
"Do not get into it with any of them on a back road. No shouting matches, no shoulders. Just take pictures, write down times and details, and then call me. I know you don’t go looking for a fight, but they may want one, so do not give them what they want."
I look at my hands. They are surprisingly steady. "I hear you."
We hang up, and the yard is too quiet. I grab my hat and a bottle of water and climb into the truck. Then, I drive the lane slow enough to mark new tracks if any show up.
I cut across the county road and take the route that runs to the back of our neighbors' pastures. When I pass the Delaney place, I see what Cade meant. The grass is pressed flat in a strange pattern near the far fence, and there are small flags poked at intervals that match a grid. They are plain white, no logo, no notes, just small stabs of plastic that speak louder than any sign. After stopping just beyond the gate, I take pictures through the wire.
A mile on, the McCafferty land opens wide and flat. I ease onto the shoulder and bring the truck to a stop. Through the heat shimmer, I catch the flash of something metallic moving slowly.It takes me a second to pick out the shapes. A pair of men in safety vests walking a line. One carries a clipboard, and the other hauls a pole with a sensor on top. They talk with their heads close. A third man stands near the white trucks. He looks at his phone, then at the road, and then back at the phone like he is counting.
I don’t get out because I don’t need to. Lifting my own phone, I take pictures. Then I roll forward with the momentum of someone done with this place, uncaring about whatever they’re doing. The third man lifts a hand in a wave that’s not friendly, but not unfriendly. It’s measuring. I keep my eyes on the road.
When I hit the turn for the county line, I pull off again and write down the time and the number of steps those men would have taken if they walked the distance between the last two flags I saw. It is not exact, but it is better than guessing. I text the pictures to Ben and Cade with a short note. Then I sit with the truck idling, staring at the fenceline.
I think about calling Kassi. I can see her in my mind, standing in that little apartment making dinner, and I know they need protection too. My hand is on the phone, but I pull it back. Not yet, not like this, not while I am sitting on the shoulder of a dusty road feeding her a worry I’m carrying for her.
Ben's reply pings. He asks for the coordinates and the angle to the lake. After I send them, he lets me know it helps. Then he tells me to keep moving, to be where I am expected to be, so if anyone tries to make trouble, they don’t get to put me in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I drive on, taking the long way home. Every person I pass gets a small lift of my fingers off the wheel, and I get the same back because that’s how it is here, whether trouble is in town or not.