“So you were out flying in your glider,” he prompted.
The woman beside him sniffled, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she swiped at her cheeks. Elise McAlister was crying in his truck, and somebody had just been trying to shoot her—from his land. He did not need this, especially not today.
“Did you see anything unusual before they started shooting?” He risked a glance her way, realizing that if he hadn’t gone out early to clear brush on the north quarter, her pursuers would likely have caught up to her. His stomach knotted.
She had her eyes pinched shut, and a trail of wet tears meandered down her dust-cloaked face. “The trees.” She sniffled. “The trees are planted in rows back there. And they’re all the same. Hickory, I think. Or maybe—”
“Pecan,” he supplied reluctantly. It wasn’t as though she wouldn’t have figured it out on her own, and he needed her to rack her brain for what might have triggered the attack instead of focusing on identifying what kind of trees she’d been flying over.
“Pecan,” she repeated in a whisper and looked at him, recognition crossing her features.
She knew. But how much did she know? She didn’t know everything, did she? Eight years before, he’d foolishly shared with her his dream of reclaiming his grandfather’s pecan groves and clearing the McCutcheon name. And now here he was, already admitting things to her that no one else knew.
Cutch tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. What mattered right now was Elise’s safety, and he couldn’t do anything to help her until he understood what had just happened. “Did you get a good look at the guys who were shooting at you?”
“No. Nothing. They were too far behind me, and the trees blocked my view.”
“You ever fly out this way before?”
“Not really. Where were we, exactly?”
“Five miles west of Rink’s Mound.”
“Do you know who owns that property?”
Cutch returned her gaze, feeling a tiny trickle of relief that she’d regained enough of her composure to ask him such an intelligent question. Of course he knew who owned the property. As the Holyoake County Assessor, he knew down to the last lot and acre who owned what in the whole county. “Yup.”
“Who?” An undercurrent of impatience ran through her voice.
He closed his eyes. “Nobody who’d be shooting at you.”
“Cutch—” a strangled half panic, half impatience infused itself in her tone “—somebody was trying to kill me. Do you know something?” She glared at him and reached into one of the many zippered pockets on her pants, pulling out a phone. “That’s it! Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I’m calling the sheriff.”
“Wait.” He reached out his hand to stop her. The last thing he needed was the sheriff stomping around on his property—especially if somebody was doing something illegal out there. And attempted murder was certainly illegal.
He felt Elise freeze the second his fingers brushed her hand. She looked up at him, and for a moment, time rolled back and they were young again, certain their love could conquer all. They’d been so naive back then.
“Just wait a second. Let’s sort this out first.” He watched as she swallowed and obediently lowered the phone, though she still held it tightly in her hand.
She repeated her earlier question. “Who owns that property?”
He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t even want to think about why someone had been shooting at her from his land or what the legal implications might be. But if she was in danger, he couldn’t withhold information that might help keep her safe. He met her eyes.
“I do.”
TWO
Elise stared at Cutch, the old feelings he stirred up making her heart flop around like a glider caught in a gale. She needed a steady head to sort out what was going on. Having Cutch so close only made things worse. “You own the land from which someone was shooting at me?” she clarified.
He looked back out the window as though he could still see the spot, though it now lay five miles behind them. Meeting her eyes again, he nodded. “Yup.”
“That settles it.” Elise jerked the door open and slid out of the truck, flicked her phone open and dialed 911. The McCutcheons and the McAlisters had been rivals for generations, even before the McCutcheons had sabotaged her grandfather’s plane long before she was born, though it wasn’t until his fiery death that the feud had become so fierce. It had been eight years since she’d experienced their direct hostility, and she hadn’t thought they’d be so territorial, but she’d always been wrong when she’d dared to trust a McCutcheon in the past. She needed to wise up.
Cutch was out of the truck and around to her side before she could hit Send. “Hang on just a second. This isn’t as bad at it looks.” His hand slid down her arm to her fingers.
Her eyes followed the shiver that ran down her arm at his touch and settled on the place where his strong, calloused hand covered hers. Her heart gave another dying gasp. “Somebody tried to kill me, Cutch. From your land. And now you’re trying to stop me from calling the sheriff? I don’t think so.” She jerked her hand away and looked at him with begging eyes, wanting him to explain, wanting him to say something that would make everything right. But he hadn’t been able to do that eight years ago, and she doubted he could do it now. She knew better than to spend even one more second getting any closer to him than she already was.
“Fine.” He took a step back and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Go ahead and call the sheriff, but where are you going to have him meet you? Here? Or at the scene of the crime?”
“At the scene of the crime.”
“And where is that?” Cutch challenged.
“Where I was being shot at. Where my glider went down.”
“Yeah? Where’d your glider go down?”
“In your stupid, old pecan grove,” she snapped, clicking her phone shut and shoving it back into her pocket. She hated to admit it, but Cutch had a point. She couldn’t explain to him where the incident had happened, and he knew the land better than anyone. Before she could direct the sheriff to the spot, she’d need to find out a little more information.
Cutch continued. “My stupid, old pecan grove happens to cover over six-hundred acres. And you can’t see something stuck in the trees from one tree to the next, let alone one acre to the next. I’d love to catch whoever was shooting at you, but I doubt they’re going to stick around and wave their hands in the air for us to find them. So if you want to direct the sheriff to a crime scene, maybe you ought to figure out where that is first. ’Cause he’s a busy man, and I doubt he’ll want to tromp around in the woods all day.”
“Fine.” Elise stomped across the cut-grass parking area toward the lookout tower. “Let’s see what we can see from here.”
She climbed the sturdy wooden steps with Cutch right behind her, furious with how self-conscious he made her feel. In the eight years since their ill-fated relationship, she’d managed to avoid him almost completely, though that was tough to do in a county of fewer than ten-thousand people.
Once, a few years ago, he’d shown up at one of her glider tutorials at the Holyoake County Fair, and she’d taught him the basics of power gliding in front of a crowd of people. He was clearly a natural at flying and had performed well, but she’d ended up going home that night and crying into her pillow. That was the kind of effect he had on her. And she didn’t need that kind of complication when she was trying to sort out who’d shot down her glider.
Elise reached the top of the scenic tower and leaned on the western rail. The land spread out before her in a jagged, tree-covered expanse, the hills jutting up at steep angles, the valleys dipping down in deep shadows. The Loess Hills were beautiful in their own way, though the sandy soil and harsh terrain made farming them all-but-impossible. Everyone who’d tried to make a living off the hills had ended up impoverished. They were nice to look at—that was all.
A haze of late-summer heat made the air shimmer on the horizon.
“Where’s your pecan grove?” she asked as Cutch joined her by the rail. “My stupid, old pecan grove?” His icy-blue eyes swept over her, chilling her. “It’s over there.”
Elise tried to look where he pointed. Trees. Trees. More trees. Hills with trees on them and more trees. Nothing that screamed pecan grove.
“Where?” she asked impatiently.
His arm extended, his finger still pointing westward, Cutch stepped closer to her, his body fitting neatly against hers like a bird tucking its young under its wing. A warm rush flooded through her as he settled his other hand on her shoulder and aligned his face with hers.
“See where I’m pointing?” His gentle breath joined the breeze as it cooled her cheek.
“Uh-huh.” Elise could see nothing. She was aware of Cutch and his closeness and how much she wanted to just let those strong arms wrap around her and hold her after the scare she’d had in the air. But thoughts like that would only get her into trouble. Cutch had sweet-talked his way into her heart before, though he’d only done it to make a fool out of her. She could do without a repeat of that lesson. She blinked and tried to focus. “Do you see anything?” She licked her lips and tried to restore some moisture to her mouth, but her throat had gone completely dry.
“Pecan trees.”
Elise sighed. “No sign of my glider?”
“Nope. Just trees.” Cutch stepped away from her and lowered his hand to the wooden railing.
Finally able to breathe again, Elise kept her eyes on the distant trees, not trusting herself to look at him while she spoke. “I think I should call the sheriff. Even if we don’t know exactly where my glider went down, and even if those guys are long gone, I’ll feel a lot better once I report what happened.” Or at least she hoped she’d feel better.
She turned and saw the hesitation in his eyes, and when he first opened his mouth, she thought for sure a protest was on his lips. Instead, he worked his face into a grimace and pinched his eyes shut. “Fine. Call the sheriff. I’ll do whatever I can to cooperate with an investigation.”
Though his obvious struggle made her curious, Elise didn’t give Cutch an opportunity to change his mind. She pulled her phone back out and started to dial.
“I’m going back down,” Cutch said quietly, then turned and headed for the stairs.
“Wait,” she called after him, her finger hesitating over the Send button. “You’re not going to leave me out here all alone, are you?” She didn’t know who had been shooting at her or where they were now. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone where they might catch up to her.
“Of course not. I just thought you might appreciate some privacy. I’ll wait on the ground for you to finish your call.” He looked slightly injured that she might have thought he’d abandon her.
Elise felt chastised and realized she was infringing on his time. “You don’t have somewhere else you need to be?”
“Nothing so important that I’d leave you out here.”
The look in his eyes addled her brain. She couldn’t decide if he looked resentful or hurt or honestly as though he cared about her. Though she knew that last one couldn’t be it, she couldn’t deny the gentle compassion that fueled his words. Not willing to think about why he’d speak to her like that, she pressed Send and held the phone to her ear.
Cutch headed down the stairs of the lookout tower, and Elise watched him go, her heart still hammering hard, though the fear and the long run through the woods was now twenty minutes or more behind her. No, she was pretty sure the reason her heart was hammering was Henry McCutcheon IV.
Cutch slowly walked to his truck, listening to the sound of Elise’s voice over the birdsong in the woods around them. He couldn’t clearly make out any of her words any more than he could sort out how his morning had taken such an about-face turn in one startled moment.
When he’d headed out to clear trees that morning, he’d promised his mother he’d be back to the house in time for his dad’s exam. That was the whole reason they’d scheduled it for a Saturday—so he could be there. The home-visit nurse was set to arrive in less than ten minutes. There was absolutely no way he could make it there in time—not unless he abandoned Elise. He pulled out his phone and called his mother, letting her know he’d stopped to help a friend and wouldn’t be back in time for the appointment.
As much as Cutch wanted to be there to support his parents through the most difficult parts of his father’s hospice treatment, he knew ultimately there wasn’t any tangible reason for him to be there. No matter what he did, his father was going to die. He’d accepted the inevitable, though it tore at him.
After placing the call, Cutch shoved his phone back into his pocket and leaned on the truck. On the lookout tower above him, he could still hear Elise talking. He closed his eyes and listened to the feminine cadence of her voice carrying on the late summer breeze.
Elise. Falling in love with her eight years before had been too easy. Getting over her—well, the only way he’d figured out to cope with that was to pretend she didn’t exist. He’d long ago given up trying to sort out a way to make a relationship between them work. McCutcheons and McAlisters were destined to hate each other. He’d endured enough heartache the last time he’d tried to defy that truth.
Though he tried to cut off his feelings toward her, his heart squeezed thinking about how frightened she’d been when she’d jumped into his truck. Who would have been on his property that morning? No one was supposed to have been out there, certainly not with a gun. He had No Trespassing and No Hunting signs posted all around the property’s perimeter. His land was a tranquil retreat—not a place for a young woman to be shot out of the sky and left running for her life.
Could it have been an accident? From what he’d seen of her crash from his truck, she’d gone down pretty fast. In fact, he’d slowed down and been watching the woods when she’d burst out of the bushes in front of him. Though he didn’t know of anyone else in Holyoake County who owned a powered hang glider, he was still shocked to see her frightened face when he’d opened the door of his truck.
But why would someone want to hurt Elise? Other than the McCutcheons, who’d held a grudge against the McAlisters for far too long in his opinion, there wasn’t anyone in town who didn’t like Elise—at least not that he knew of. She was a sweet, spunky girl whose soft side showed through a little more than she’d like. He smiled just thinking about her.
At the sound of footsteps, Cutch looked up and watched Elise trotting lightly down the steps. She appeared to be in better spirits and certainly looked less shaken. Relief coursed through him. He hadn’t liked seeing her so distraught.
“Did you get in touch with the sheriff?” he asked.
“Yes.” She offered him a smile. “I spoke with Sheriff Bromley. He agreed there probably wasn’t much sense in him driving out here when we don’t have a crime scene for him to look at. But he took down all the details I could remember.”
“And you’re all right with that?” Cutch pressed.
Elise looked sheepish. “I guess I feel a little silly asking him to come out here and poke around when there probably isn’t much for him to find.”
“But if someone tried to kill you—”
“We don’t know for a fact that’s what they were doing.”
“That’s not the conclusion you reached earlier.”
“I’m calmer now that I’ve talked with Sheriff Bromley. He didn’t sound too concerned—”
“He didn’t sound concerned?” Cutch had to interrupt. Elise’s safety was important, even if she didn’t think so.
“Well, of course he was concerned for me. But he didn’t figure there would still be any threat now that I got away safely. Probably just some teenagers goofing around.” She shrugged.
“Teenagers? Goofing around by shooting buckshot at a person? The teenagers I know are all smarter than that.” Cutch didn’t want to upset her, but he’d rather have her upset than dead. And if she underestimated the threat against h
er, well, he didn’t want to consider what could happen.
Elise glared at him. “Whatever. You should be glad I’m not pressing charges against you.”
“Charges for what? Picking you up before the gunmen caught up to you?”
“No. Because I was being shot at from your land.” Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. “I need to call someone to come pick me up.”
“No, you don’t. I can give you a ride. Where are you headed?” He didn’t like the way she accused him, then dismissed him. Did she really not trust him at all?
“The airfield. But that’s really not necessary.”
“It’s no problem,” he insisted, rounding the truck to the driver’s seat.
She didn’t budge from where she stood in front of his truck. Her lips twitched, but she didn’t speak.
He met her eyes. Why did she have to be so stubborn, anyway? “Elise?”
She looked from him to the passenger seat and back again. “I don’t know.”
Folding his hands over the hood of the truck, he leaned on his arms and looked at her. “Why not? You need a ride, and the airfield is on my way. It’s no big deal.”
“If Uncle Leroy sees me with you—”
Cutch blew out an exasperated breath. He knew the McAlisters didn’t like his family, but he couldn’t imagine Elise’s father’s brother getting into that big of a fit. Still, if she was concerned… “I’ll hide,” he offered.
The little hint of a smile that peeked out at him warmed his heart, though a second later she replaced it with a scowl. “I don’t want to keep you from your busy schedule.”
Thinking of his father’s exam that he’d already missed, he shrugged. “If I say I have time to drop you off, I have time.”
Elise took a tentative step toward the passenger side of the truck, then looked back at him. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
For a moment the humid air stilled between them, and that simple courtesy seemed to shout so much more. Could thank you mean I still love you? Or I’m sorry for the past eight years? Or even I wish none of our family’s feud had ever come between us? He thought he heard those words hidden between her simple thanks, but then he’d always been a dreamer. Time to pull his head out of the clouds.
Out on a Limb Page 2
