Out on a Limb

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “Makes sense,” Cutch agreed in a whisper as Elise clicked through to the first shot of the pecan grove. The anhydrous tank was clearly visible, right down to the block letters on the side that identified its contents.

  “Crazy,” Elise murmured. “You’d think they’d at least cover the label.”

  “Nah,” Cutch disagreed. “There’s nothing illegal about having or using anhydrous ammonia. But the law requires the tanks to be correctly labeled as an inhalation hazard. If they were to transport that tank without it being labeled, it would only raise suspicions.”

  “And having anhydrous in a pecan grove wouldn’t raise suspicions?”

  “Not unless it’s seen. I’m the only person who’s ever out there, and that’s rare enough.”

  “How did they even get it out there? It’s thick trees all through there.”

  “There’s an old road that runs through the middle of the section, but they’re still a good stretch off that. The pecan trees are evenly spaced with plenty of room between them for a vehicle to pass. There’s quite a bit of undergrowth in most places, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be able to get in between it.”

  “Not without leaving a trail,” Elise noted.

  “Hopefully not,” Cutch agreed. “I haven’t been through that stretch since spring, so whatever marks we find are evidence as far as I’m concerned. We’ll have to keep that in mind when we get out there.”

  “We?” Elise turned the swiveling office chair to face him. “You’re planning to go out there with me?”

  He glared down at her, already at a height advantage with his tall, lanky frame, the difference between them that much greater since he stood while she sat. “Yes, Elise. I’m going out there with you. I know the land. You don’t. And you’re going to need my help if you expect to get your glider out of the trees without damaging it any more than it already is.”

  Elise turned her chair back around—not because she needed to look at the computer screen again but because she needed to look away from Cutch. His good looks were distracting. “I’ll call Sheriff Bromley. If he can’t come out himself, I’m sure he’ll send somebody. After all, we found the crime scene. The last thing we should do is tamper with it.”

  “Elise.” The pleading way Cutch said her name twisted her heart.

  She spun back around, angry that he could have so much power over her just by saying her name. “What?” she asked, scooting the chair back and standing. It wasn’t fair that he should have such a height advantage, either. She leveled a glare at him. “Why don’t you want the sheriff to investigate?”

  “Because it’s my land.” His blue eyes looked stormy as he pinched his lips shut.

  “So? I thought you were mad these guys were trespassing. I thought you wanted them caught. How is that going to happen if we don’t get the authorities out there?”

  Cutch ran his hands over his tired-looking face and back up through his hair, leaving the thick black waves shooting upward at odd angles. For a moment, Elise felt distracted by the attraction she felt toward him. Was it possible he was even better looking today than he’d been eight years before?

  Stepping a little past her, Cutch leaned one leg against the computer desk and half sat on its sturdy steel surface. Now she had the height advantage.

  “I’d like to believe,” he began slowly, “the authorities will be able to catch whoever is behind this. But unless they can find evidence pointing to someone else, I’m going to be their main suspect.”

  “But you have no criminal record,” she began, about to list off the many reasons why they’d never be able to pin the blame on him.

  The look on his face gave her pause. He looked hurt. He looked guilty.

  Elise gasped as she recalled a vicious rumor that had circulated in the years after their romance had ended. She’d refused to listen to the gossip, and most of her friends knew better than to talk about Cutch anywhere around her, but she knew enough to remember the main theme. Cutch and drugs. Meth?

  “Do you?” she asked softly.

  He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Something in their blue depths begged for understanding. “I was a person of interest under investigation, but I was never arrested because they never found anything. There was nothing to find. I didn’t do anything.”

  Elise took a step back and let out a slow breath. She knew better than to trust a McCutcheon. How many hundreds of times had she heard her father say, “There’s nothin’, no nothin’ worse than a McCutcheon”? The rhythmic slant rhyme mimicked the old “a stitch in time saves nine” and “early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy wealthy and wise,” giving the phrase the same ageless voice of authority as those well-accepted aphorisms. She knew better than to trust Cutch. She’d learned that lesson the hard way herself when he’d betrayed and humiliated her eight years before. But as she looked down at him perched there on the edge of the desk, took in the defeated slump of his broad shoulders under his worn T-shirt and watched his calloused hands sweep back through his hair again—sending it spiking up in an adorable mess—she felt her heart give a little groan. She wanted to believe him. She really did.

  Cutch shook his head regretfully. “What am I doing? I’m not going to try to stop you from calling the sheriff. This is your safety we’re talking about. I trust Sheriff Bromley to find the real offenders. Really, I do. Go ahead and call him.”

  Unsure what to do, Elise obediently pulled out her phone, wishing she had more time to decide, to pray about what was the right thing to do. She flipped her phone open.

  As her fingers poised above the number pad, Cutch’s stomach gave a loud grumble. Elise looked at him with a wry smile. “Are you hungry?”

  “Sorry about that,” he quickly apologized, patting his toned midsection. “I had breakfast at five this morning, and now it’s—”

  “Well past noon,” Elise said before him, already on her way to the fridge in the kitchenette corner of the office, wondering if she’d be crazy to offer him lunch. But she was hungry and needed to think, and she couldn’t think on an empty stomach. Nor would she be so rude as to eat in front of a hungry man, even if he was a McCutcheon. She pulled out a foil-covered pan, glad to have an excuse not to have to make the call just yet. “Do you like lasagna?”

  He grinned. “Of course I do. But you’re not thinking of sharing your lunch with me, are you?”

  Standing at the counter with her back to him, Elise pulled back the foil to reveal a huge pan of cold lasagna with only a couple of pieces missing. “Why not? The recipe always makes too much, and I get bored of the leftovers after about the fourth or fifth meal. This will help me use it up faster. Besides, we can’t catch the bad guys on empty stomachs.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” he said amiably. Sincerity filled his voice. “Thank you, Elise. You really don’t have to—”

  She turned around, headed for the cupboard where they kept plates, not realizing he’d walked up behind her and was looking almost over her shoulder at the food. She was startled to see him so close to her. His hands steadied her arms.

  “Oh!” she gasped, instantly aware of his closeness and the tension she’d felt between them all morning. She felt her heart rate revving up like an engine ready for takeoff. “I, uh—”

  “Sorry about that,” he apologized, but didn’t let go of her.

  “Plates,” she said, not taking her eyes off his face. The once-so-familiar jawline angled toward her, his lips curved in an almost-amused expression, while his brow knit with a hint of concern.

  “Plates,” he repeated.

  “In the cupboard,” she whispered, her voice regrettably breathless as she gestured with a nod of her head toward where the plates were stashed.

  Cutch dropped her arms. “What can I do to help?”

  Elise turned away from him and pulled out the plates. “Um, drinks?” she suggested, taking a deep breath and telling herself whatever had just happened was nothing.

  Too bad she didn’t believe herse
lf.

  “There should be some tea in the fridge. Leroy always runs a fresh batch when he gets here in the mornings.” Elise directed him to find glasses and tried to pretend nothing had happened between them. She nuked generous servings of the lasagna and focused on getting lunch on the table so they could be out of there before her uncle returned. Cutch helpfully placed forks and napkins at the tiny table beside the wall.

  “I hope it’s warm through,” Elise apologized in advance as she carried the plates over.

  “It smells delicious,” Cutch assured her as she set the plates down and sat across from him, her knees all but brushing his. Reaching across the table, he surprised her by taking hold of her hand. “Mind if I bless it?”

  The rough touch of his calloused fingers sent a shock right up her arm. “S-sure,” she nodded, unable to form a more coherent response, her mind mostly occupied with his warm touch. The man did crazy things to her heart. She pulled together her thoughts just enough to bow her head as Cutch sent up thanks to God not only for providing the meal but also for keeping Elise safe that morning. He ended with a plea that God would help them find her attackers and that God would keep them safe.

  Cutch gave Elise’s hand a final squeeze before releasing it as he said, “Amen.”

  Elise kept her head bowed and her eyes closed, though she pulled her hand back. How could she even consider that a man of prayer might be guilty of producing drugs or worse yet be associated with whoever had taken a shot at her that morning? Though they didn’t go to the same church, Elise knew Cutch was actively involved in the church he’d been raised in. And though she knew some people resented the power Cutch held as county assessor, most of the people in Holyoake County respected him. It didn’t fit that he’d be involved with the drugs, but she wasn’t certain she could trust her own judgment.

  Silently, she pleaded for God to guide her decisions, especially the decision of when to call the sheriff. Though the McAlisters had hated the McCutcheons for generations, she’d never forgive herself for sending one of them to jail—at least if he was innocent. How could she know?

  Peeking her eyes open, she watched as Cutch took a bite of lasagna. He chewed for a second, smiled and looked up at her. After he swallowed, he pronounced, “Excellent. Did you make this yourself?”

  She blushed at his appraisal and shrugged. “I do most of the cooking. After Mom left when I was six, Aunt Linda, Leroy’s wife, used to bring us supper sometimes. At first I think she figured Dad would eventually remarry. When he never did, she decided her only hope of getting out of the job was if she trained me. Now I try to make it up to her by bringing meals out here, but Leroy likes to sneak off for fast food when he thinks he can get away with it.” She dug into her lasagna and wondered why she’d shared so much. She didn’t usually talk about her mother, but Cutch had a knack for making her babble.

  He seemed to welcome her burst of sharing, too. “Do you ever hear from your mother?”

  “We e-mail. She’s happily married in Oklahoma and has three other kids. They’re almost grown now, too. She’d like for me to come visit, but I just—” Elise caught herself before she shared any more. Why was Cutch so easy to talk to?

  “That must be hard,” he empathized.

  “It’s complicated,” she agreed, hoping he’d leave it at that.

  They ate in silence for a few more minutes until Cutch finished and wiped his mouth, setting his napkin atop his empty plate. “Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. We should be getting on our way. I can wash these dishes while you call the sheriff.”

  Elise froze, her last bite of lasagna poised on her fork midway to her mouth. She set it back down on her plate and looked into his eyes. Could she trust this man? Her father would say no. But her heart seemed to think otherwise. “I thought maybe we could wait to call the sheriff until we get out there and see what we’re dealing with.”

  Cutch felt relief hit him like the first drops of rain after a long dry spell. Of course, he’d been nervous about what Sheriff Bromley might find on his land and what conclusions those findings would lead the lawman to reach. But more than that, Elise’s words held a promise he’d been too hurt to even hope for. She trusted him, however slightly. She was willing to give him a chance, however small. Her concession soothed his parched soul.

  But he couldn’t let her jeopardize her safety on his account. He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to put off calling him. It was selfish of me to voice my fears to you. Go ahead and make the call. Your safety could be at stake.”

  Elise finished her last bite of lasagna and offered him a tiny smile. “The sheriff already told me he was busy today. By calling him once we’ve been out there to see what we’re dealing with, we might actually be able to save him time on his investigation. I’m not risking my safety—not at this point. Once we find something for him to look at, then I’ll give him a call.”

  “But we already have the coordinates for the location of the ammonia tank.”

  “And I already gave you my answer.” She rose and carried their dishes to the sink.

  Guilt hit him like a punch to the stomach. Why had he even said anything? Unless Elise had changed dramatically in the eight years since he’d last been involved with her, he knew once she’d made up her mind that she wouldn’t budge. And everything from her body language to the glint in her eyes told him she’d made up her mind.

  “If anything happens to you—” he began.

  “I’m trusting you to protect me,” she said, her back to him as she ran water to wash their plates. “Now if you don’t mind, there’s a ladder just inside the hangar we were in earlier. If you load that into your truck, we can use it to help us reach my glider.”

  Cutch’s shoulders dropped. “Sure thing,” he answered, knowing he’d been dismissed. Reluctantly, he turned and left her behind, wondering if he shouldn’t just call the sheriff on his own. But she’d be furious with him if she felt he’d gone behind her back. Whatever tiny bit of trust she’d placed in him would be lost.

  I’m trusting you to protect me. Her words filled his heart with a mixture of joy and dread. He felt honored she’d grant him that responsibility, but at the same time, he wondered if he was really up to the challenge. He couldn’t bear the idea of letting Elise down again.

  His mind swirling with all the risks that still lay ahead of them, Cutch headed straight for the hangar without going around the side of the office to see if Leroy’s truck was back, though the time he’d stated for his return had passed a few minutes before. Instead, Cutch hurried inside to fetch the ladder. After the bright Iowa sunshine outside, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the relative darkness of the metal building’s spacious interior.

  As his eyes adjusted, he scanned the walls for the ladder Elise had talked about. He saw an aluminum ladder along one wall and headed over, picking it up and hefting it above his shoulder.

  Just as Cutch began to turn around, Leroy’s voice boomed through the cavernous room, “Well, I’ll be! Is that a rat or a McCutcheon? I wouldn’t waste a bullet trying to shoot a rat, but I would if that’s a McCutcheon there.” The sound of clicking metal echoed through the hangar. “Drop the ladder, boy.”

  FOUR

  Something nagged Elise as she finished washing up the dishes—something uncomfortable. She tried to shake the feeling—to tell herself she was just jittery after being shot out of the sky and forced to spend her morning with Cutch. Just thinking about Cutch made her feel off-kilter. But the knot in her stomach couldn’t be so easily explained away.

  Feeling distracted by everything on her mind, she finished rinsing their plates, set the clean dishes on angle in the drying rack and carried the soapy sponge over to the table. When the table’s clean surface gleamed up at her, she spun around to return to the sink, and something caught her eye outside the window.

  Something red. Her heart jolted, but she told herself it was nothing. Only Leroy’s truck. She’d seen it sitting in that spot a thousand times before. He
’d probably step into the office any second. She had the sponge back at the sink and was rinsing it out when the tangible sense of fear hit her. Leroy hadn’t come into the office—which meant he was still outside, or worse yet, in the hangar. With Cutch.

  Elise dropped the sponge and ran. She tore around the corner of the hangar and sprinted inside. “Leroy, no!” she shouted, mortified to see her uncle pointing a shotgun at Cutch.

  “Caught this varmint trying to steal our ladder,” the big man snarled, not tearing his eyes from his prey.

  Cutch glared at them both but remained silent.

  Silence was probably a good strategy on his part, Elise decided. She quickly moved to stand between Leroy and Cutch. “It’s okay, Uncle Leroy. I asked him to get the ladder.”

  “You asked a McCutcheon to steal our ladder?” Leroy didn’t even lower his gun. “Now that don’t make any sense at all. This boy’s been addling your brain again, child.”

  Elise did not appreciate having her uncle talk down to her, even if he’d been right about Cutch before. She also wished he’d put the gun down. Since she’d gone to stand between them, he now had the barrel aimed at her as well as Cutch. “He’s helping me,” she explained slowly. “My glider went down on his land, and he offered to help me retrieve it.”

  Leroy lowered the gun slightly, concern softening the anger in his voice. “Your glider went down?”

  “Yes. And I’m kind of in a hurry to get it back. It may take us a while, and you know I don’t like to leave it out overnight—dew isn’t good for the body or the engine.” Buckshot was even worse, but she hoped her uncle would let her skip over the longer, more detailed version of the story.

  His eyes narrowed, Leroy held his ground. “I don’t like the sound of that. Your glider went down over McCutcheon land—”

  “Leroy!” Elise couldn’t let her uncle continue questioning her. If he found out she’d been shot down, he’d never let her leave with Cutch. “It’s okay. I know what I’m doing. But we have to get going, okay?” She met his eyes. “Can you just trust me on this?”