EIGHT
The smoldering anxiousness she’d been feeling burst into flames of fear. Elise glanced over at the window. Someone, probably Uncle Leroy, had taped clear plastic across the opening. That wouldn’t stop an intruder.
The door rattled again, and Elise looked around the small office, trying to think of what she could use as a weapon to defend herself.
“Elise? Are you in there?” Cutch’s voice called from the other side of the door.
Hurrying to open the door, Elise didn’t try to mask her relief. “Oh, Cutch. You scared me half out of my wits!”
“Are you okay? Why didn’t you answer when I knocked?”
The sound of his voice hit her burning fear like a splash of cool water, and she stepped back into the room, making way for him to follow after her. “Yes. I’m okay.” The hitch of a terrified sob broke through her words, but she bit it back. “I didn’t hear you knocking. I was listening to the radio.”
“It’s okay.” Cutch settled a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I saw your car parked here as I was driving past, and I didn’t like the idea that you were here alone. I was only going to check on you, but then when you didn’t answer the door—” his voice faded, and he looked a little sheepish “—I thought maybe something had happened to you.”
An odd, tender feeling swirled in her heart at Cutch’s protective words, but Elise chose to ignore it. Since she hadn’t spoken to him since leaving him at Gary’s Garage, she asked, “How were your tires?”
“Slashed.”
“All four?”
“Yes. They finished the job this time.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing that I’ve found. These guys obviously want us to know they know who we are. They’re trying to scare us, that’s all.”
“Well, it’s working. I’m scared,” Elise admitted, hugging herself. “Did you call the sheriff about your tires?”
Cutch made a strained face, “I don’t think we can trust him, but at the same time, if he’s in on this, I don’t know what I can possibly gain by not telling him, since he’d know about it already. That might just make him more suspicious. So, I went ahead and reported the camping fuel tanks and other debris we found, too. If nothing else, I’m doing my part by being forthcoming about what I’ve found.”
“I think that’s wise,” Elise assured him. “Even if the sheriff is involved—and I still hope he’s not—we’ve got to do the right thing and trust that justice will be served.” She met his eyes. He looked so uneasy, and she realized he probably felt the same way about the situation as she did. Though she didn’t want anything else connecting her to him, it was still a comfort to know she wasn’t alone.
His grateful smile told her he appreciated her understanding. “Were you planning to stay out here by yourself much longer?”
After the scare she’d had when Cutch had arrived, Elise gave an involuntary shudder that shook her whole body. “I don’t plan to. But I need to finish downloading the pictures of the corn maze, and I was hungry….” Recalling how he’d enjoyed the lasagna the day before, and realizing she still had several pictures to download, she asked, “Have you had supper?”
Cutch was glad Elise made good lasagna and that she was willing to share it with him. If that was the only thing he had to be glad about after all the rotten things that had happened that day, then he was determined to focus on that blessing.
While Elise pulled out the pan of leftover lasagna, Cutch casually scrolled through the pictures of the corn maze on the computer. “You’re a really great photographer,” he observed.
Elise laughed from the kitchenette area a few feet away. “Can I quote you on that for a brochure? Maybe it would help drum up business.”
Cutch turned toward her. “Are you hurting for customers?”
“I could always use more.” Her tone sounded lighthearted as she scooped lasagna onto plates to reheat.
“You know, I was thinking that I’d love to hire you.”
“Really? What’s the project?”
“I could use your help with the county assessments. Every time someone’s property increases or decreases in value, it should affect their tax rate. But sometimes I don’t find out about these things for years. Did you know Rodney Miller’s barn burned to the ground three years ago? He’s been paying taxes on that thing, and it hasn’t even been there. But if I could fly over the county a few times a year, I could spot major property value changes without having to wait to hear about it through the grapevine.”
Elise looked intrigued. “I didn’t know about Rodney’s barn, and he even works for Leroy. You’d think he’d report it so his taxes would go down.”
“He claimed he never thought about it.” Cutch shrugged. “But he’s far from the only one. People love to make improvements on their properties without reporting them. Bruce Bromley built several outbuildings and an inground swimming pool. I was finally tipped off about it a few months ago. He claimed the work had just been completed, but some of that stuff had to be a few years old, at least.”
Setting the timer on the microwave, Elise shook her head. “He’s the sheriff’s brother. You’d think he’d know better.”
“People will do whatever they think they can get away with. And trust me, Bruce Bromley’s property taxes went up considerably. Since I can’t prove those improvements weren’t there in previous years, he’s saved himself a bundle on the past few years’ taxes,” Cutch noted. “That’s why I think it might be helpful to fly over the county on a regular basis. Bruce is far from the only person who’s put in buildings of late, and Rodney’s probably not the only guy who’s been overpaying. I’m familiar enough with the land that I should be able to spot changes from the sky.”
“We could probably work something out,” Elise offered agreeably.
“That would make my life easier,” Cutch said, turning back to the corn maze pictures on the computer while Elise monitored the reheating lasagna. He scrolled through the shots of the labyrinthine cornfield and gave a low whistle. “This is quite the maze the Mitchums have this year.”
Elise came up behind him. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” she said, tracing a path over the screen with her fingernail.
“There’s a pattern to it,” Cutch noted, letting his index finger hover above the screen near hers. “Three right turns, three left turns, two right turns, two left turns,”
“One right, one left, then back to three again,” Elise finished. “Mr. Mitchum told me he likes to keep to a formula when he cuts out the path that leads through the maze to the other side. Then he comes back through and puts in all the dead ends.”
“So there’s only one way out of the maze?”
“Only one. There’s a playground at the end to reward the children who make it through.” Elise traced the path, her fingers skirting close to his. “A person could spend hours in there looking for the right path. If you didn’t know the formula, you might never find it.”
He closed his fingers around her small hand.
She looked up into his eyes. “Cutch,” she chided him softly, but he heard the question in her voice, the faint undertone of possibility that gave him hope. Or tormented him for no reason.
His heart squeezed out a prayer for help as he risked telling Elise, “I want to be friends.”
“What?” Her words were soft, but she pulled her hand away.
He let her go. “When this is all over, when these guys are caught, I don’t want to go back to never talking to you again. I want to be friends.”
Elise turned her back on him and tended to the lasagna.
For a moment as he watched her check to make sure the lasagna was heated through, he wondered if she wasn’t about to rescind her supper invitation. Maybe he should have kept their small talk light and kept his hands to himself, but he was tired of the wall that stood between them. He felt as though he had to open up the lines of communication, even if it meant risking getting thrown ou
t by Elise. He waited for her verdict, fully expecting her to order him away.
Instead, she carried the plates to the small table with her lips pinched shut. She settled the plates on the table and looked up at him with a frustrated expression. “Why would I be crazy enough to trust you again?” she asked, pulling her chair roughly out from the table and sitting down. “You proved to me eight years ago—” her voice caught and she folded her hands over the lasagna.
“Can I bless it?” he asked tentatively, sitting down across from her.
“Fine.”
As Cutch asked a blessing over the food, he felt the weight of the decision he’d made eight years ago—the promise he’d made to his father and what had resulted because of that promise. He wished he could go back and do things differently, but he didn’t know what he would change. He’d done his best.
He looked up, expecting to find her glaring at him, but instead her eyes brimmed with tears. His heart twisted a little more. If he hadn’t already felt guilty for what had transpired between them, he would have started to then. Instead, he just felt that much worse. There had to be a way to make things right with Elise. But how?
Elise had already started in silently on her lasagna. The lump in his throat told Cutch he wouldn’t be able to swallow anything until he’d tried to make amends.
“Eight years ago at Sam and Phoebe’s wedding reception,” he stated slowly.
Before he got any further, Elise jumped up and turned her back on him again. “I need a drink,” she muttered, pulling out a glass and filling it with water at the sink. “Would you like some water?”
“Yes, please.”
Elise shoved the filled glass toward him, and the water sloshed toward the rim. “Thank you.”
With a shrug, Elise sat opposite him. She picked up her fork and started cutting into her lasagna with force. The noodles were no match for her angry dicing.
Cutch knew he needed to say something to make things right between them, to soothe her injured heart, but he couldn’t think what that would be. Words caught in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, at a loss. “I’m sorry for what happened at the reception.”
The fork fell from Elise’s trembling hand and clattered against the table. She didn’t pick it up but instead reached for a napkin, which she knotted in her hands. “Are you? Are you really? Because let me tell you how it came across from my perspective. You said you were going to announce our relationship to everyone. It was your idea, Cutch. I didn’t put you up to it. You told me you wanted to end the feud with our—” she choked, and the word came out as a whisper “—love.”
“I was going to.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Elise backed her chair away and threw her hands into the air. “It was a setup—the whole time. You didn’t care for me. You intentionally made me believe there was something between us so you could get me up on that stage and kiss me in front of everybody, in a deliberate plot to humiliate me and the whole McAlister clan in front of the entire town of Holyoake.”
It hadn’t been the entire town of Holyoake, but Cutch figured that was a moot point. Their dearest friends and relatives had all been there. “It was never my intention to embarrass you.”
“Then what was your intention? If you really were going to announce our relationship, you missed your shot.”
“I know.” Cutch could feel her torment and wished there was something he could do to relieve it, but he was still bound by his promise to his father. Until the older man died or freed him from his vow, he couldn’t tell Elise what had motivated his actions. And without that critical bit of explanation, none of the rest of what he’d done would ever make sense to her.
There was a conversation he desperately needed to have—but not with Elise. Not yet. He finished his lasagna silently and then pushed away from the table. “Thanks for supper,” he said. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
Elise looked over at the computer. “It’s okay. My pictures are done downloading.” She’d finished her lasagna as well. “We can go.”
While Elise grabbed her portable hard drive and shut down the computer, Cutch stood in the doorway, waiting and watching her.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, as she came to a stop next to him in the doorway.
Elise shrugged off his apology. “Forget about it.” Her eyes lingered on his, sparking torturous hope. “I don’t want to think about the past anymore. We have enough trouble to deal with.”
“It’s okay,” he assured her, wishing he could pull her into his arms but certain she’d only push him away again—and rightfully so. But he couldn’t leave her so melancholy. “God knows what’s going on. We just have to trust Him.”
“I trust God,” Elise assured him as she stepped past him through the door. “I just don’t trust whoever’s been after us.” She locked the door behind them and hurried to her car.
As Cutch watched her leave, he felt a small part of his heart go with her. The promise he’d made to his father had stolen too much from him. Eight years ago, he’d been forced to choose between his love for his father and his love for Elise. They’d been so young, and their relationship so new that at the time he couldn’t justify turning his back on his dying father in favor of a relationship that might not ever get off the ground.
But his father had fought the cancer off—twice. And Cutch’s love for Elise had never gone away. Though he’d told himself for years that he’d made the right decision, lately, every time he saw the woman he loved, he wondered if he hadn’t made the wrong choice. If so, there was only one way to make things right.
He had to talk to his dad. Though he feared the emotional discussion might be difficult for his father given his fragile condition, he couldn’t let the old man die without at least trying to clear things up from the tangled way they now stood. As Elise’s taillights disappeared, Cutch climbed into his truck and prayed.
“Lord, I need your help. I need to talk to my father, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He looked up into the darkening sky. Menacing clouds swirled ominously in the distance. “Amen.”
NINE
Elise woke up in pain. She’d tossed and turned all night, her dreams haunted by gunshots and fear. Now her legs throbbed from their desperate flight through the woods and the cramped quarters of the latrine pit. She winced when she attempted to stand. Though high school cross-country had been years before, she still recalled that the best way to get rid of the pain was to get out and run again. With a grimace, she dug her sneakers out from under her bed.
When she stepped out the back door of the farmhouse, the scent of rain and early autumn filled her nostrils, and she took a deep breath. Late summer was fading quickly, and the rain that had fallen overnight had brought down the first of the yellowing leaves, covering the farmyard in a sodden carpet of gold. A hazy mist hovered near the tree line, and even the sun seemed reluctant to rise.
Elise smiled. If she had to run, she was at least glad to do so in her favorite kind of weather.
The gravel crunched under her running shoes as she headed off down the road, hobbled by her pain but determined to stretch out her stride and force the burning acid from her muscles. Early morning birdsong filled the air, lifting her spirits.
By the end of the first mile, Elise felt like she was going to crumple into a ball. She considered heading back, maybe even at a walk, but she refused to give the men who’d chased her the day before even that small victory. Instead of turning home, she pressed on down the road, realizing only after the intersection was long behind her that she’d pointed herself on a direct course toward the McCutcheon farm.
Whatever. She wasn’t afraid of the McCutcheons.
Her legs were screaming by the time she came up on the windbreak that circled the McCutcheon home. Though the farm had once filled an entire section, Elise had heard that Cutch’s grandfather had sold off all but the house and surrounding acreage after he’d lost his pecan grove. The McCutcheons still lived in the house, though
Cutch’s dad had spent a thirty-year career at the First Bank of Holyoake and had never shown any interest in farming.
Elise had never been to Cutch’s boyhood home. From what she understood, he still lived with his parents. She tried to tell herself she ought to think less of him for that, but she honestly found it sweet that he’d moved back to help take care of them. There’d been some rumor that his father wasn’t well, but Elise didn’t like to listen to gossip—especially gossip about McCutcheons, and she had no idea how much of what was whispered in town was true.
In response to the cries from her throbbing muscles, Elise slowed her pace as she came up toward the house. She’d driven by it only a couple of times over the years; even though it was close to the McAlister farm, she tended to plan her routes around it. McCutcheons, she’d found, were best avoided.
Wet leaves clung to her sneakers, threatening to make her slip. She stopped and flicked them off her feet before glancing up. The gracious gabled dormers of the third floor peeked above the trees in front of her. It was a lovely house, really.
Elise picked her way across the leaves toward where the lilac bushes that rimmed the windbreak put on their last sparse show of late summer flowers. She wondered if Cutch had arrived home safely the night before. She knew it wasn’t any of her business, but she peeked around the bushes and felt relieved when she saw his truck, new tires gleaming, parked in front of the garage.
She blinked. The farmstead was spotless, with hanging baskets of red geraniums highlighting the wide front porch and cheerful mums showing off from the beds around the foundation. An old windmill’s blades were held hostage by magenta-and-white clematis, while flowers of the same colors curled around the mailbox by the road. In all, it was a charming picture—one that made her wonder how anyone who lived in such a precious place could really be as evil as the McCutcheons were supposed to be.
Out on a Limb Page 10
