Cutter's Lady

by Candace Camp

  “Cutter finally went up to his room to sleep,” Mary Margaret continued. “Poor guy. He’s constantly working whenever he’s here. Who knows why he keeps coming back.”

  “He seems very fond of you.”

  “Yes, he likes us, especially the children. And you can see how much they love him.”

  “I was a little surprised,” Leslie admitted. “I wouldn’t have figured him for a man who liked children—or vice versa.”

  “There’s a lot more to Cutter than meets the eye. When he was younger, he was easier to read—more open—but then, well… life changes us all, doesn’t it? He doesn’t trust as easily.” Sister Mary Margaret opened the back door of the hospital, and they were once again in the courtyard.

  Leslie wanted to know what Mary meant. She wanted to know what Cutter had been through. Not that it would matter in the end; nothing real could ever exist between two people so different. But still, she couldn’t help but want to know everything she could about him. Leslie’s normal curiosity was in overdrive. But she didn’t know how to ask Mary without seeming like she was prying. Or, worse, seeming like she was obsessed with Cutter.

  Mary pointed toward a small building, and Leslie did her best to redirect her interest to the tour. “There’s the pump house for our well. I’m afraid everything is still very old-fashioned around here. I’m working on getting a Peace Corps volunteer to implement more modern farming methods. Of course, that means purchasing equipment.”

  “Where do you get your funding?”

  “Contributions. We receive almost nothing from the church, just the services of three nuns. Larry’s donated two years of his time. I don’t know what we’ll do when he leaves this summer. There’s a board of trustees, which does most of the fund raising for me.”

  “How does Cutter fit in to all this?”

  “Oh, he’s our biggest money saver.”

  “You mean he flies the things in free of charge?”

  “Sure, ever since he inherited that flying service. Before that we had to pay to rent a plane. But Cutter does more than fly things in. He transports the goods to his plane, and he finds a lot of the supplies. He’s always scrounging for us.”

  Leslie stared. “Somehow I can’t quite connect this picture of him with the Cutter I know.”

  “He tries to put on a hard front. He’s lived through a lot, seen a lot. It made him tough, but it also made him compassionate. He loves these kids as much as any of us.”

  “He said—he said you saved his life.”

  Sister Mary Margaret glanced at her, surprised. “He told you that? Yeah, I guess you could say I saved his life. About seven years ago, when I was first down here, he was brought into the hospital where I worked. It was in a remote place near Metapeque. There was only one doctor in the hospital. Cutter was brought in with several other men, all of them shot up. The doctor took the worst first, and another nurse and I tried to keep the others from bleeding to death. Fortunately, we were successful—in Cutter’s case, that is.”

  “Shot? How?” An icy band wrapped around Leslie’s heart.

  “That was back when he was an adviser in San Cristóbal.”

  “Adviser?”

  “Yeah—with the Air Force. He was in the U.S. Air Force and was assigned to the San Cristóbal army as a military consultant. That was under the old regime.”

  “I remember Mr. Maldenado saying he worked with the former government here. But if Cutter was just a consultant, what was he doing getting shot?”

  “Rebel fighters don’t stop to ask questions when they open fire on an army jeep.”

  “Oh.” Leslie frowned. “How do you live with so much violence?”

  Sister Mary Margaret sighed. “We just learn to. But it’s also a beautiful place with some of the kindest, friendliest people on earth. It’s awe-inspiring to me to see that spirit even amongst turmoil. And nothing is perfect. I get more out of my life here than I used to back in the U.S.”

  “One thing I don’t get is why bringing supplies here is dangerous. Cutter was dodging around on back roads, eluding the army patrols, as if we were carrying munitions. What’s so secretive about carrying medical supplies to a mission run by nuns?”

  “Ask the government. They think we’re a threat to their security.”

  “Why?”

  Mary lifted her shoulders. “They say our mission aids the rebels. Many of the children’s fathers are in the rebel army—they stay in the mountains, where it’s remote and easy for them to hide out. The wives and children usually continue to live in the villages after the men move to the rebel camps, so the military lays waste to their villages.”

  “You mean even though the fighters aren’t living there, the government is bombing their family homes?”

  Mary nodded solemnly, “Due process is practically unheard of with this regime.”

  Leslie’s chest constricted. “You see this kind of thing on the news but it’s still hard to really picture.”

  “If you had seen the children I’ve treated here as a result of the bombing raids—it becomes hard not to picture it. Not much fighting goes on during the rainy season—the tanks and jeeps bog down. But that ended recently, and the army’s gearing up again. Pretty soon Dolorosa will be overflowing with people needing shelter and medical attention. The government thinks we’re slowing down their campaign, by aiding the families of the rebels. They haven’t let supplies through to us in over a year.”

  “If they caught Cutter bringing in the supplies, they’d arrest him?”

  “Sure. They’d love to get him; they’re sure he’s the one helping us. I’ve tried to get him to stop, to turn it over to someone else, but he says no one else knows San Cristóbal the way he does. He could land a plane almost anywhere in the country.”

  “But he can’t continue indefinitely. It’s too risky.”

  “That’s never stopped Cutter before.”

  Despite the heat of the San Cristóbal sun, Leslie was suddenly chilled all through.

  Chapter 9

  Leslie and Mary had finished their tour and were walking back toward the large dormitory building. Cutter leaned against a low wall, somewhere between standing and sitting, smoking a cigarette. When he spotted the women he stabbed it out and cut across to intercept them. His eyes flickered over Leslie briefly, but he didn’t speak to her. Instead he turned to Mary. “How’s the generator?”

  “Fine.”

  “Excuse me,” Leslie stuck in. “I think I’ll go back to my room.”

  “Sure. Dinner’s at five-thirty.”

  Leslie gave a vague, general smile and headed toward the dorm. Cutter watched her for a moment, his mouth grim. He slipped the butt of his cigarette into the Altoids tin he carried. He needed to remember to dump it—it was starting to reek. “I’m heading into the mountains tomorrow to find Mora. Can I borrow some donkeys and equipment?”

  “Of course. But why are you looking for him? I thought you were planning to settle down and live a normal life from now on.” Mary paused, and her eyes jumped to Leslie’s retreating figure. “Oh. For her?”

  “Yeah. Her ex-husband was kidnapped by terrorists, and she wants to ransom him. I’m hoping it’s Mora.”

  “She must mean something special to you.”

  “Don’t be silly. She’s paying me good money, and it gave me an excuse to enter San Cristóbal legally. I knew you’d freak if I passed up that much money.”

  “Not as bad as I’ll freak if you get yourself shot. Again.” She paused, then went on. “Leslie’s very pretty. As pretty as Teresa.”

  “Prettier. But she’s nothing like her.”

  “Really? I got the impression she was rather strong.”

  Cutter shrugged. “Willful’s more like it. There’s no softness to her, like Teresa had.”

  “She seemed interested in the children and our work here.”

  “Mary, you think everyone’s interested in the mission.”

  “She’s going to send us a check.”


  “She’s rich. It’d be like paying a parking fine for the rest of us.”

  “She also offered to pressure the government about lifting their embargo on our supplies.”

  Cutter grinned. “I’m sure she will, but I wouldn’t count on them doing that. Leslie Harper is persona non grata with the government right now.”

  “You’re evading the issue.”

  “Which is: will you lend me the donkeys?”

  “Which is: are you in love with her?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. What I feel for her is equal parts fury and lust, neither of which is fit for your ears.”

  Mary laughed. “This sounds serious indeed. Remember how you fought with Teresa when you first knew her?”

  “This is nothing like Teresa,” Cutter growled.

  “Cutter—” Mary laid a cautionary hand on his arm, and her eyes turned warm and pleading “Teresa was a wonderful person, and you had a beautiful love with her. But don’t make her into a saint or think that you can’t ever have that kind of love again. When Teresa died, she didn’t take your capacity to love with her. There’s another woman out there for you. I know it.”

  “Well, it’s not Leslie Harper. Trust me. Whatever you see between us, it’s not love. It’s something else, something…”

  “Something a nun wouldn’t know about?” Mary finished primly. “Come on. I may be a nun, but I’m still human.”

  “All right. All right. Look, can we drop this? My major concern right now is getting to Mora.”

  “If you insist. Yes, you may have the donkeys and anything else you need. You know that. Just tell Miguel.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Cutter flashed her a smile and took off, loping across the courtyard to the gates. Mary looked after him, her face pensive.

  ***

  Leslie didn’t see Cutter again until dinner. She had sat down at a table with the bearded doctor, who bombarded her with eager questions about the States, and she was halfway through with her red beans and tortillas when Cutter plopped his tray onto the table. Leslie glanced up at Cutter and away. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore. She gripped her tray and started to rise.

  Cutter reached out and wrapped a hand around her wrist. He leaned toward her and whispered, “There’s no need to run away every time I come near. I’m not going to try to kiss you right here in front of all these spectators.”

  Leslie’s cheeks flamed. “I didn’t think you would. I’m simply through with my meal.”

  “Uh-huh.” He looked at her half-eaten dinner significantly. Leslie glared, settling back into her seat, and picked up her fork. Defiantly she shoved another bite into her mouth. Cutter grinned. “I put together the supplies for my trip into the mountains. I should be able to leave tomorrow morning. We need to discuss what you want to offer him.”

  Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, you should be able to leave? We’re both leaving. I’ll know what to offer Mora when I hear what he demands.”

  Cutter regarded her steadily. “I thought you’d finally realized the dangers of this trip.”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going.”

  Cutter closed his eyes as if struggling to maintain his calm. “You’re not going.”

  “I am. We’ve been through this already—more than once. I thought it was settled. When I hired you, you agreed I would go with you.”

  “That’s only because I never dreamed you’d make it this far!”

  Leslie crossed her arms and regarded him suspiciously. “Have you rigged this whole trip to try to make me back out?”

  “No! I haven’t been trying to scare you off. I figured the trip itself would have done that. After what you’ve been through the past few days, any woman with sense would have gone back to La Luz.”

  “Except Teresa,” Mary put in as she came up to the table and set her tray down.

  “Teresa? Who’s Teresa?” Leslie asked.

  “Just a woman Mary and I knew,” Cutter stated flatly, casting a warning glance at Sister Mary Margaret. The young nun studiously kept her eyes away from his and began to butter her tortilla.

  Leslie frowned. She sensed a secret here, all the more enticing because it concerned Cutter and an unknown woman. However, she wasn’t going to forget her point by chasing after red herrings. “Cutter, I expect you to uphold our original agreement. I’m going with you to find Mora.”

  Sister Mary Margaret’s eyes opened wide, and she choked on a piece of tortilla. “What? You’re going to the Morista camp?”

  Cutter and Leslie spoke at the same time.

  “No, she’s not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Sister Mary Margaret and Larry glanced curiously from Cutter to Leslie. “There seems to be a difference of opinion here,” Larry pointed out.

  “Cutter promised,” Leslie appealed to Mary. “He said he’d take me to the Moristas’ camp and let me negotiate for Blake’s life.”

  “Blake is your ex-husband?”

  “Yes. When Cutter and I made our deal, he agreed to that.”

  Mary turned her gaze toward Cutter. “It’d be pretty bad to back out now.”

  “Will you stop taking her side?” Cutter growled. “I don’t expect her to have any sense, but you should. You live here. You know what it’s like.”

  “Well, you do know Mora; he’s not as likely to shoot you.”

  “Yeah, provided the guerrillas stop to ask me who I am before they take aim. And provided it’s the Moristas who find me, not the NLF.”

  Sister Mary Margaret looked over at Leslie. “He’s right, you know. It’s too dangerous. Stay here with us. You’ll be safe.”

  “I didn’t come all this way to be safe! I could have been safe—and a lot more comfortable—back in New York. I refuse to sit here at the mission like a good little woman while Cutter goes off to talk terms! They aren’t going to kill us; we’re the ones who will pay them the ransom.”

  “Which they haven’t asked for,” Cutter added in disgust.

  “What?” Mary looked amazed. “That doesn’t sound like Mora. Why haven’t they asked?”

  Leslie shrugged, and Cutter replied shortly, “Because Blake Westfield is dead, that’s why.”

  “He’s not!”

  “Face facts,” Cutter told her flatly. “Why else would the rebels not have asked for a ransom?”

  “Why wouldn’t they ask for one if he’s dead? We wouldn’t know whether he was or not,” Leslie shot back. She’d gone over the question too many times herself not to have a ready answer. “How do we know the Moristas didn’t ask for a ransom from the government, and the government just didn’t tell us? They don’t want us to pay the rebels anything. And why would the government follow us, unless they knew there was a demand for a ransom and we might find it out and pay it?”

  Cutter glared. “You’re not going.”

  Leslie leaned forward, pointing a forefinger at her mouth. “Read my lips: I am going.”

  Cutter crashed his fist against the table, making the dishes jump. Larry and Sister Mary Margaret stopped eating and all the other diners turn to stare. “Why can’t you understand? You could get killed! And not just by the rebels—there are fifty different kinds of poisonous snakes in this jungle.”

  “You told me.”

  “You won’t be in a car this time. You’ll be right out there with them.”

  “You have a gun. Two, in fact.”

  “A woman like you could drive a saint to murder.”

  “Thank you, but I already know what you think of me.” Leslie leaned forward earnestly. “Cutter, I haven’t slowed you down yet, have I? Have I bitched about the sleeping conditions or crappy food?”

  “I actually like the food here,” Larry said to no one in particular.

  Cutter gave him a long look and Larry fixed his gaze on his plate. Cutter turned back to Leslie. “Any woman who was so terrified about crossing the old bridge over the Hondo doesn’t belong in a guerrilla camp.”

  “That’s not
fair! I thought you were endangering us needlessly. I didn’t know about the supplies.”

  “There’s a hell of a lot you don’t know about, and it’ll get us into trouble.”

  “I’ll do exactly what you say,” Leslie promised.

  “Well, that’s something that’s hard to pass up, but it won’t help me much when you get a bullet between the eyes.” They were head to head now, their faces only inches apart, their voices angry hisses, oblivious of the people around them.

  “What do you care?” Leslie flared.

  “Oh, I care, all right. I promised you we’d finish what we started in the dormitory, and I don’t like the idea of sleeping with a corpse!”

  Leslie’s face flushed beet red. “Cutter! What is wrong with you?” She glanced at Sister Mary Margaret and Larry and the numerous other pairs of curious eyes all turned in their direction.

  “Besides, how am I going to get the other half of my money if you’re dead?”

  “Well, you aren’t going to get either one if I don’t go with you to the Morista camp tomorrow.”

  “Are you offering a trade?” Cutter’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

  “No! That is, you’ll get the money if I go with you.”

  “But not if I go alone.”

  “Right.” Leslie gave a decisive nod.

  “Then I might as well stay here and keep what you’ve already paid me.”

  “You can’t!”

  “What’s to stop me?” Cutter folded his arms.

  Leslie stared at him, all her hopes suddenly crashing around her. She couldn’t keep back the tears that welled in her eyes. “Cutter, no…please. Please go. Please let me go with you.”

  Cutter had thought he was immune to anything Leslie could do to convince him, but he wasn’t prepared for this. The sight of her luminous dark eyes awash with tears shook him deep in his soul. He sighed. “Yes, damn it, I’ll go.”

  Leslie put her hand on his arm. “With me. Please? Don’t say no. I can’t bear to stay here and not know what’s going on. Let me go with you.”

  “Oh, all right!” Cutter jumped up, shooting his chair back from the table. His brows were drawn together in a dark frown. He spoke roughly. “It’s your neck. But be ready to move at 5:00 A.M.”