Cutter's Lady

by Candace Camp

  Leslie was too stunned to speak. She sat back in her seat and stared in front of her. She was beginning to realize just how dangerous her plan to rescue Blake really was. She had known there would be physical hardships, and, of course, guerrilla fighters would not be easy to negotiate with. But she had never imagined that the San Cristóbal government might try to stop them, too. She hadn’t had any notion that they would have to dodge army units and checkpoints or cross primitive bridges in the middle of the night.

  She suddenly wondered if her father had been right, after all. Had she been acting horribly impulsively ever since she came up with the idea to accompany Cutter? She normally researched things from every angle. She read every report about a property she was interested in before she even thought about going to see it, and once it had been properly vetted on paper she always went herself to look over every nook and cranny. Perhaps she could be forgiven for not researching the country where she sent someone she had hired. But why hadn’t she even opened Wikipedia before she’d decided to come along? Was there some reason that this endeavor made her so capricious or was she just becoming more like her mother the older she got? Or was it simply a case of not knowing any better? Maybe she had been too wrapped up in the cocoon of her upbringing, too used to the freedoms and safety of her home, to really understand what a country of revolution was like.

  “What are the guns for?” she asked quietly.

  “I told you, it’s not guns,” Cutter retorted impatiently.

  Leslie pointed down at the holster beside his seat.

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that. And that.” Leslie pointed a finger to the narrow space between the rear wall of the cab and the back of their seats.

  “Protection, what else?” He shrugged. “There’s not just guerrillas and army around here. There are also gangs taking advantage of the turmoil to commit various criminal acts. Let’s see, what else? Oh, yeah, snakes, assorted wild animals. Didn’t you hear all this when I told you the first time around?”

  “Yes, of course I did. It’s just—” Leslie frowned. “I couldn’t quite conceive of what it’s really like. I probably still don’t.”

  “I’m sure you’re right about that,” he agreed grimly. He hit one fist against the steering wheel. “Why in the hell couldn’t you have got on the plane with John?” He glared in front of him for a moment, then went on, “At least you can stay at Dolorosa.”

  “Where?”

  “Where we’re taking the cargo. You’ll be relatively safe there.”

  Leslie turned toward him. “Wait a minute. Who said anything about my staying there?”

  He cast her a brief glance. “I thought you said you understood now how dangerous it is.”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m backing out.” Leslie’s expression was aghast. “I’m not a coward.”

  “What does it take to get through to you?”

  “It’s not a question of ‘getting through’ to me,” Leslie snapped. “I understand your warnings. I understood them when you first made them, and now I think I have more of a feel for what you were talking about. But I haven’t changed my mind about paying Blake’s ransom or going with you to bargain with the guerrillas.”

  Cutter let out a string of low, vivid curses. That ended their brief conversation, and for the rest of the drive, there was only silence in the cab. They started climbing into the mountains; Leslie could feel it and hear it in the whine of the engine, though she could see little of the mountains beginning to rise around her. They went up, then down again, snaking around the feet of the mountains, but the upward movement continually increased. Finally they reached a switchback road and began to climb it, going back and forth, steadily rising.

  Leslie knew, without having to be told, that they were in the greatest risk of discovery on this road. There could not be more than one main road over a mountain like this, surely, and that meant Cutter had to take the same one used by the army. Leslie said nothing, but she clenched her hands in her lap, and she could feel the dampness of sweat in them. They started going down in the same sort of zig-zag pattern and at last reached the bottom. The road wasn’t good, but Cutter picked up speed. Leslie guessed he was racing to a back road. The sky was lightening. Leslie glanced at her watch and was surprised to find that she could now make out the numbers. It was a little after five o’clock. It would be full-fledged dawn soon. So Cutter was racing two dangers: daylight and a major road. She wondered if they would pull off the road and hide somewhere until it was night again. She had no desire to spend a whole day hiding in a truck cab with Cutter.

  Cutter downshifted and slowed down. He pulled off onto a road that was nothing but two faint tracks and took it into what appeared to be a narrow valley between the mountains. They turned left and bumped along beside a tumbling creek for a while on what seemed to Leslie to be no discernible path at all. Then they were again on a more major road, but they stayed on it less than ten minutes before turning left again onto a dirt track. The road twisted and turned, climbing slowly. They were going into another set of mountains.

  Suddenly they left the heavy cover of the trees and burst into a clearing. Cultivated land lay on either side; it looked like farmland to Leslie. In front of them stood a few thatched shacks and a long white adobe wall. Behind the wall rose the jagged rooflines of buildings. The walls were brilliantly white, splashed with the gold of the rising sun. One rectangular shape thrusting upward held a large bell at the top. A church. This must be a village. Leslie’s heart began to pound a little in excitement. Was this the end of their run? Was this the Dolorosa that Cutter had mentioned?

  Leslie glanced at him; she thought there was a faint smile hovering about his mouth. This was it. Two wide gates stood open in the wall. Cutter slowed to a crawl and stopped just outside the gates. He hopped out of the cab, and Leslie quickly followed suit, not waiting for him to help her or, as she feared, to order her to stay put. Cutter stretched and glanced around, then walked through the gates. Leslie was right on his heels.

  Inside the wall there was grass beneath their feet. Large trees dotted the lawn, and beneath two of them were crude wooden benches. Hens marched in jerky little steps in front of Cutter and Leslie and cocked their heads to stare with bright, unblinking eyes at them. Leslie heard something that sounded like children’s laughter.

  A church stood in the center, as Leslie had guessed. There was also a small house, a long building, another one of medium size and several much smaller ones scattered around the complex. It was a strange sort of village, Leslie thought, especially as solidly built as it was. Where were all the little thatched houses?

  Light shone through two windows at one end of the largest building. A child appeared at a window, peered out and darted away. More faces appeared at the windows, both children and adults, then a woman came out onto the porch and lithely jumped off the side onto the ground. She ran across the grass toward them, her arms open wide.

  “Cutter!” she cried, and Cutter grinned and waved at her, breaking into a trot. Leslie stopped dead and watched.

  The woman was young—no more than thirty, Leslie thought. She was dressed in a loose-fitting cotton top and cotton pants. The clothes were plain, but her long, lean model’s figure needed nothing to show it off. Her hair was short and practical but thick and a lustrous red; it blazed in the dawn’s light. Her skin was slightly tanned, and there was a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, highlighting the bright blue eyes above. She was very pretty, Leslie noted sourly, and she was glowing with pleasure.

  “Cutter! I’m so happy you’re here!” she cried, and threw herself into his arms.

  As Leslie watched, Cutter wrapped his arms around the woman and picked her up, whirling her around. She laughed, head flung back, lovely throat arched.

  “Ah, Mary, my love,” Cutter said as he set her down. “It’s good to be back.” He planted a firm kiss on her mouth.

  Chapter 8

  Though Cutter’s kiss was s
hort and rather chaste, raw jealousy stabbed Leslie. Immediately she struggled to suppress it. It couldn’t be jealousy, she thought; she didn’t care about Cutter or his girlfriends. She was simply tired and disgruntled from the long, nerve-racking drive and still angry with Cutter for using her as a cover for his other, nefarious activities. Leslie wondered how the pretty, fresh-faced woman was involved. She didn’t look like someone to be embroiled in shady dealings.

  The woman stepped back a little from Cutter, holding him at arm’s length to look at him. “Well, you seem none the worse for wear. You’re earlier than we expected.” She gave him another brief hug. “I’m so happy to see you. Every time you make this trip, I worry about you more. The army’s cracked down the past few weeks.”

  “So I heard in La Luz.”

  He certainly hadn’t heard it anytime she was along, Leslie thought irritably, and she wondered where he had been and what he had been doing all the time he had been out of her sight in the capital city.

  Now the woman turned to Leslie and smiled. “I’m sorry. I get carried away when I see Cutter. I’m glad to see he’s brought us a visitor.”

  Leslie forced a smile. Cutter looped an arm around the woman’s shoulders and led her over to Leslie. He was grinning like an idiot, Leslie couldn’t help but notice. “Sorry,” he said. “Mary, this is Leslie Harper. Leslie, this is Mary Kubiak.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Leslie extended a hand, and Mary shook it in a friendly manner. Given the way she ran up and hugged Cutter, Leslie wondered why Mary wasn’t jealous of her. Yet she seemed perfectly as ease, if a trifle puzzled.

  “You’re a fellow American,” Mary noted.

  “Yes.”

  Mary cast a short, curious glance at Cutter, then returned to Leslie. “Did Cutter bring you here to show you Dolorosa?”

  “Leslie doesn’t know anything about this place,” Cutter put in. “Though I’m sure you’ll be happy to tell her all about it.”

  “Of course I would. That is, if you’re interested.” She looked inquiringly at Leslie.

  “She’s just the type you like, darlin’,” Cutter went on jokingly to Mary, and made a rubbing motion with his fingers that indicated money. “Leslie’s rolling in it.”

  “You’re awful.” Mary jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “Actually I’d rather have a reporter.” She looked hopefully at Leslie. “I don’t suppose you write for any news outlets, do you?”

  Leslie frowned and shook her head. It hurt to hear Cutter talking about her to this woman, as if Leslie were a mark he’d found for Mary. Which was no doubt exactly what she was to him—someone to exploit for this woman, whom he obviously genuinely cared for. Somehow, the pain was greater than the anger she would have expected to feel.

  Smiling, Mary reached out to take Leslie’s arm and, arms linked with both of them, walked Cutter and Leslie toward the long building, chatting as she went. “First of all, we’re going to put some food into you. I’ll have the men unload that supplies while you eat. Then I suspect you both need a good rest. Did you drive all night?”

  “Yeah.” Cutter yawned, cracking his jaw. “Before that we slept two nights on the deck of a cargo boat.”

  “A boat? What happened to the plane?”

  “John flew the supplies in on the C-46. But Leslie and I actually entered the country legally.”

  “What a change for you,” Mary teased, eyes twinkling. “You must not have known how to act.”

  “I managed.”

  They stepped up onto the porch and entered the large front room of the building. It was high ceilinged, and four fans hung down from the ceiling, though none was turning this early in the day. Long folding tables were set up over the room, with six folding chairs at each. At the far end was a counter lined with platters and bowls of food and pitchers of milk and various juices. Scattered around the tables were a few men and women and lots of children who watched the new couple curiously. Some of the children wore bandages on their arms or legs or faces, startlingly white against their skin. Leslie frowned, wondering what had befallen so many of them.

  “Cutter!” one young boy cried, and jumped up from his seat to run to him. About two feet away, the child launched himself straight at Cutter, and Cutter caught him deftly. The boy wrapped his legs around Cutter’s waist and grabbed his broad shoulders with his hands as he spoke excitedly in Spanish. As they stood there, several other children left their seats and darted over. One little girl, not more than two or three years old, hobbled behind the others, one of her tiny legs encased in a white cast. Cutter squatted down among the children and set down the boy who had jumped into his arms. He smiled and talked to them, reaching out to hug or touch each one. When the little girl with the cast reached him, he swept her up in his arms and hugged her tightly, ritualistically kissing her three times, on the forehead and both cheeks. The little girl’s cheeks flamed with color and she leaned shyly against Cutter, one finger in her mouth.

  Leslie smiled, amazed at the scene before her. She would never have imagined Cutter surrounded by adoring children or obviously enjoying it so much. She glanced at Mary, who was also beaming at the children and Cutter. Mary shook her head and sighed. “They adore him. They always want to know when he’s coming back. Come on, let’s get you some food. They can keep him here for hours.”

  Mary guided Leslie to the counter and handed her a plate and utensils. “Dig in.” She indicated the bowls of eggs, fruits and breads. “Sit anywhere you want. I’m going to start the unloading, then I’ll come back to settle you in your rooms. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  “I am a little tired.”

  “Well, eat up. This is the best meal of the day here.”

  Mary walked over to two men sitting at one of the tables and began to talk to them, gesturing back at the entrance. Leslie turned her attention to the food. She realized suddenly that she was starving. The nervous tension in her stomach all night long had masked her hunger, but now it burst forth. She loaded up her plate and sat down at an empty table, well aware that practically every eye in the room was on her. This place was nothing like what she had expected, and she wondered exactly what it was. Mary was clearly from the U.S., but all the others appeared to be San Cristóbalians. With most of them being children, and so many of them being injured, Leslie figured it must be some sort of charitable group or children’s hospital.

  One of the men Mary had sent out came back in, grinning and crying out, “Hermana!” He rushed up to Mary and began speaking in Spanish. Mary grinned broadly, clapped her hands together and ran to Cutter, who was still swarmed by the children.

  “You brought it!” she exclaimed delightedly, hugging him. “You’re amazing! Wait tell I tell Larry.”

  “Tell Larry what?” A short, bearded man entered the room through the door leading into the rest of the building. He wore the thin pants and embroidered cotton shirt that was favored by most of the men Leslie had seen in San Cristóbal. Yet he was also obviously American. “Cutter! Hey, great, we weren’t expecting you so soon.”

  “Larry, he brought you the X-ray machine.”

  Larry’s face lit up. “You’re joking! Where is it? I’ve got to inspect it and set it up, ASAP.” He hurried out of the room after the worker.

  An X-ray machine? That was in Cutter’s cargo? Leslie was wondering more about the cargo every minute. Cutter had said it wasn’t guns, and she didn’t think it was likely that Cutter was supplying hard drugs to a mission for injured children. Perhaps none of Cutter’s goods had ever been illicit like Avery had guessed; maybe it was all medical supplies? But why wouldn’t he have told her that? Why had he taken such pains to hide it from the army?

  Cutter finally pulled free from the children and picked up a plate of food. He plopped down at Leslie’s table to eat just as an older woman bustled in from outdoors. She glanced around, spotted Cutter and hurried over to their table. She was middle-aged and dress in sensible white shoes and a plain white dress. A wimple was on her head and a bl
ack-beaded rosary was tucked into her belt, cross dangling.

  “Cutter! I’m so excited.” She down beside him and took his hand, squeezing it. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “The books. You got the books. And in Spanish! How’d you do it?”

  Cutter smiled. “Negotiated with a bilingual school system in south Texas. They’d bought a new set of texts this year.”

  “You don’t know how I appreciate this. You are truly a gift from God.”

  Leslie would have sworn that Cutter actually blushed. “Now, Sister Catherine…”

  The woman glanced over at Leslie and gave her a happy smile. “Hello. I’m Sister Catherine. I’m the teacher here. You came with Cutter?”

  “Yes. I’m Leslie Harper.”

  “Sister Mary Margaret said Cutter had brought someone with him. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “Sister Mary Margaret?” Leslie repeated.

  “Yes. The one who met you when you first arrived. She runs the mission.”

  “Mary? You mean Mary is a nun?” Leslie stared. The lovely young woman who had hugged Cutter had taken a vow of chastity. The idea immediately picked up Leslie’s spirits. “But she wasn’t—I mean—” Leslie gestured vaguely toward the other woman’s head.

  “She doesn’t wear a veil?” Sister Catherine supplied. “Most nuns don’t anymore. I find it gives me more authority with the children, but the women who work in the hospital don’t.”

  “Is this a children’s hospital?” Leslie asked.

  The older woman looked a little surprised. “Didn’t Cutter tell you?”

  Leslie shot a glare toward Cutter. “No. He just said we were delivering some ‘cargo’ here.”

  Sister Catherine smiled. “Cutter is so modest. Some ‘cargo,’ indeed. He flies in supplies, medicine, clothes, dried and canned foods, school materials—well, just about everything we get from the U.S. He’s been helping us for ages now, ever since Sister Mary Margaret set up Dolorosa—that’s the mission, ‘Our Lady of Sorrows.’ We call it Dolorosa, for short.”