“Paco!” It’s the third time I call out his name, and as much as I’ve tried to restrain my frustration, my voice grows more anguished with each shout. Not a good time for him to disappear on me. Not a good time for me to come across like I’ve lost control of the situation. Not with Tina, the social worker back at the house, ready to tick off something unkind on her clipboard.

“Where do you think he’d go?” Tina says behind me.

OK, so much for her sitting in my living room, talking with Elsa.

Next to me, Shady whips her tail, looks back and lets out one of her whistling whines. Yeah, she’s feeling the stress, or more to the point, she’s smelling my stress.

“Is everything OK, Jane?” Tina presses.

I don’t reply. To do so might let on that Paco does this often. He’s never left the ranch on me, but he likes to wander and explore it plenty. Gone clear into the wooded areas more than once, as close to the fence line as one can go without claiming a full escape. More than once it’s taken me an hour or more to find him. Once, he came back all on his own. I sent him straight up to his room, without his supper. Last time, I had to sic Shady on him. Right now, the idea of having a dog track the child whose welfare I’m supposed to safeguard—well, it don’t seem like it would give off the right optic. But I’m out of options.

At least this time he’s gone off with Tahoe, who I asked him to take out for his business ten minutes before Tina arrived for her monthly checkup. Which means Tahoe’s wandering, too, a fine influence Paco’s been for him since we took him and his sister in as foster kids.

I pat my canvas shirt’s pocket. Yup, there I have it, one of Paco’s toy soldiers which, after learning my lesson, I stash there for such a time as this. I take it out, or I should say, I pull out the Ziploc baggie in which I keep it, pry it open, and let Shady get her marker whiff.

“Revier,” I tell her with more annoyance in my voice than I’d like.

She zigzags a bit along the trail that leads from my backyard out to the rest of the property. In another minute, she starts drawing a straight line to that grove of trees atop a shallow hill I no longer frequent. I hurry after Shady, feeling the anger swell in my chest. I’ve told Paco not to go there. Fine, wander anywhere you like, except there.

I go into a trot, distancing myself from Tina’s insistent questions. Not having run this hard for a while, I climb the hill and enter the grove of aspens in a huff and out of breath.

“Paco!” I exhale more than say.

Shady gives him a good sniff, looks back at me as if to say her job’s done, and she bounds off toward the right, to hunt for whatever critter demands her attention.

Paco turns to me, his hand pointed at Tahoe, who sits in profile looking down at a sight I haven’t beheld in months.

I grab Paco by the arm. “What are you doing here? Haven’t I—”

“I don’t leave.” He points at Tahoe. “He run.” His sing-songy nine-year-old voice unravels me some.

I kneel by him, let go of his arm, and drape mine around his waist. “He ran.”

“Si, he ran.”

“He ran off. That’s how you say it. I didn’t leave. He ran off.”

As I correct his English, I have to corral mine. For instance, I would’ve said, “He gone and run off on me.” But that’s both wasteful and incorrect. Good thing I have an English degree to tell me so, and to help Paco and Elsa get their second language straight.

“OK,” he says.

“You mean, yes ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I smile at him and tweak his nose some. He giggles at that, and for a moment I forget what we’re facing. But that don’t last long. I squeeze him, my arm going tighter around his waist, and the two of us stare straight ahead. At Tahoe. At the pile of rocks he’s staring at. As if he’s sitting there, paying his respects, he keeps his head low in a moment of doggie contemplation.

Tears come to my eyes. I lower my head, too, and swallow hard to keep from sobbing.

“You OK, Mama?”

I nod, my mouth contorting into what I know no doubt strikes Paco as a twisted, ugly grimace. “Yeah,” I whisper, when I should be honest with him and tell him.

He points at Tahoe and the rocks again. “What…” He pauses. “What is there?”

For all my restraint, it’s the smile that breaks on my face that finally releases my tears. I wipe at my eyes and cheek with my free hand.

“What is there? Right. That’s the way to say it.”

“What is it? Why… Why he look at it like that?”

I almost correct him again, but that would amount to side-stepping his question, which I understand plenty clear, incorrect grammar and all.

“Someone very special is buried there.”

“Oh.” He turns to face the shallow grave. “Why so far from house?”

“So he has his peace, I suppose.”

“Back home, our abuelitos have graves right behind our house.” He turns a little to wiggle out of my grasp. “Maybe papa is there now.”

I hear the rustling of grass and leaves behind me. The light steps tell me Elsa has climbed up to join us.

“Here, Elsie,” I say.

She steps up, and I wrap my free arm around her. “Good you came. Now I can tell you both.” I pull Paco in again, and he doesn’t resist. “Tahoe there is paying his respects. To his own daddy, as it turns out.”

Paco’s head whips toward me. “Oh.”

“His name was Shadow. He looked just like his daddy. All black. Big and mean toward everyone else.” I squeeze them both. “Sweet and caring to his people, just like Tahoe.”

I hope you’ve enjoyed this short sample from the start of my latest novel, Heart Track. This latest episode of the Tracking Jane series comes out for its official release on December 18th (this coming Friday!). If you’ve been reading along, pick it up to get up to speed on the latest happenings in Jane’s saga.