Out on a Limb

by Rachelle Mccalla

  Because she trusted people too much, that was why.

  Elise stuck a slice of cheese atop a burger, placed it on a plate and let it warm in the microwave until the cheese was just melted. The smell hit her again when she opened the microwave door, the burnt odor of abandonment. Her mother had rejected her. Though Elise had seen the strength of the mother-daughter bond between other mothers and their girls, for whatever reason, her mother hadn’t loved her enough to stay. Or even to take her with her when she went.

  Twenty-three years later, the disappointment was still strong enough to make the burger in her mouth taste like charcoal briquettes.

  That, and her father really wasn’t a very good cook.

  Ravenous enough to eat even the charred burger, Elise choked down the last couple bites and tiptoed down the hall toward the stairs. As she passed by the living room, she saw the dim glow of a lamp and paused.

  “Elise?” Her father looked up from his Bible and peeled back the wire-framed reading glasses that perched on the end of his nose.

  “Hey, Dad. I hope you weren’t waiting up for me.” Elise didn’t stay out late often, and she was pretty sure she’d outgrown a curfew by the time she’d left her teenage years.

  “Leroy called.”

  “Did he wake you?”

  Bill McAlister ignored the question. “He told me who you were with. Elise, there’s nothin’, no nothin’—”

  “Worse than a McCutcheon,” Elise finished the phrase in rhythm with her father. “I know, Dad. But sometimes in life you have to work with people you don’t like.”

  “You don’t like Young Cutch?”

  “Of course not,” Elise tried to convince herself her words weren’t a lie. She didn’t like Cutch. She might still feel some residual attraction toward him but not on purpose, and anyway, that was a lot different than liking him. Wasn’t it? “I need to get to bed. I’m exhausted.”

  “Fine.” Her father slid his reading glasses back into place but looked over their top rim with a firm warning in his eyes. “Just be careful, honey. You can’t ever trust a McCutcheon.”

  “I know.”

  Elise hurried to her room, taking a moment before she shut down her computer to send an e-mail to her friends who’d be at the Labor Day Powered Glider Festival, letting them know she wouldn’t be able to make it after all. Then she dragged her exhausted body through her nighttime routine. Through it all, her mind spun with her father’s warning and the sheriff’s assessment of the break-in at the airport office.

  Sheriff Bromley had confiscated the airfield office computer in an attempt to try to retrieve the files, but Elise was fairly certain the pictures Cutch had taken of the anhydrous tank were irretrievably gone. The sheriff himself had made plans to meet them both in the pecan grove to investigate the tank itself right after church the next day. He’d said he didn’t have much time to spare, though she didn’t know what his other plans were or what could possibly be more important than going after violent drug producers. She’d promised to bring her portable GPS so he’d be able to find the exact spot as they’d tagged it.

  As near as anyone could tell, someone had broken into the office through the window and deleted the picture files from both the computer and her camera’s memory card—someone who’d known about the picture files and who’d known where they’d be.

  Peeling back her blanket and sliding into bed, Elise couldn’t seem to quiet the voices inside her head that kept shouting out conspiracy theories. Maybe the window hadn’t been broken by someone breaking in. Maybe whoever had deleted the files had only broken the window to make it look as though there had been a break-in. Leroy could have done it. He had a red truck, too.

  And Leroy hated the McCutcheons. What better way to get back at their old enemy than to frame him for producing drugs? Elise didn’t like to think her uncle would do such a thing, but after seeing the way he’d held a gun on Cutch that afternoon in the hangar, she knew his hatred ran deep. Deep enough to frame Cutch? Maybe—though she couldn’t imagine her uncle would allow anyone to shoot her out of the sky.

  Which left one other possibility: Cutch. She’d seen how quickly he jumped into the conversation, asking her to call Leroy as soon as she’d mentioned to the sheriff that Cutch had been with her when she’d downloaded the photos. He was the one with the tank on his land. He was the one with the suspicious history. And though she wasn’t exactly sure how he could have done it without them noticing, there was every possibility he hadn’t found the broken window at all. In order to divert suspicion from himself, Cutch may have broken the window.

  Which would mean she wasn’t just cavorting with the enemy. She was cavorting with the man who’d tried to have her killed.

  SIX

  Exhausted, Elise hit the snooze button too many times the next morning and found herself sneaking into the early church service right after the opening prayer. She ducked into a pew near the rear of the sanctuary, grateful that the Labor Day weekend meant many of the regulars were out of town, so there was still a space big enough for her to squeeze in near the back. From across the sanctuary she caught the eye of her friend Phoebe, who gave her a conspiratorial smile.

  Elise immediately wondered what Phoebe knew. Her best friend since kindergarten, Phoebe had been the reason she and Cutch had become involved with one another in the first place. When Phoebe had married Sam Scarth eight summers ago, Elise had been her maid of honor. Since Sam and Cutch were good friends in addition to being first cousins, Cutch had been the best man. He’d simply been too easy to fall for.

  Between the couple’s shower they’d cohosted and the urgent secret planning meetings they’d held—not so much because they’d needed to, but because they were looking for an excuse to see each other—it hadn’t taken long for Elise to fall head over heels.

  Looking back, Elise realized part of the problem began with her father’s long-running insistence that she avoid Cutch completely. She’d always been curious about their dark-haired sworn enemy and wondered why he was so terrible. Given her expectations, he’d seemed so much more the opposite of terrible once she’d gotten to know him.

  “Love your enemies.” Pastor Carmichael’s Scripture reading cut through her thoughts, and Elise quickly flipped her Bible open to the passage from Luke chapter six, wondering, as she often had before, how Pastor Carmichael always seemed to know just what to preach about to speak to her heart. Funny thing was, loving her enemy had been what had gotten her into trouble in the first place.

  If she hadn’t been so enamored with Cutch, she might have been able to see past his charm and good looks. Instead, she’d been delighted with his plan to announce their relationship at Sam and Phoebe’s reception. Once the newlywed couple left for their honeymoon, Cutch was going to get up on stage and announce that the longstanding McAlister-McCutcheon feud was over, based on the grounds of their love for one another.

  At least, that was the way Cutch had said it would happen. Instead, he’d pulled Elise back behind the stage curtains and planted a kiss on her lips just in time for his young cousins to jerk open the curtains and reveal their private moment in front of everyone. Even as laughter had filled the room, even as Cutch had laughed along with everyone else, Elise had stood there, looking like a total idiot, waiting for him to proclaim his love.

  Finally, when the laughter had begun to die down—and she’d looked at him pleadingly—he’d shaken his head and simply said, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  She’d been so shocked that she’d barely made it off the stage before bursting into tears. And the worst part? All along, she’d secretly hoped he was planning to propose to her that night. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  No, loving her enemy was a bad idea. After what she’d experienced, Elise was that much more curious about what the Bible and Pastor Carmichael had to say on the subject. She was convinced the biblical instructions were correct but couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong in her case. She’d loved Cutch. To her shame, she st
ill felt attracted to him.

  While the pastor gave examples and told moving stories to elaborate on his message, Elise listened intently and felt her heart softening. She wanted to do God’s will, to love others and reach out to them, but why did God have to make things so complicated? Surely God didn’t really mean for her to love a McCutcheon, did He? She couldn’t imagine God would ask her to turn her back on her father and uncle and all the other McAlisters who would probably disown her if she and Cutch got together.

  No, loving Cutch would only lead to more division. It would only cause problems and not solve them. In retrospect, she realized Cutch’s betrayal eight years before had done her a favor by forcing her out of a relationship that was doomed to failure in the first place. There was no way she and Cutch would ever make a good match—not with the way he kept secrets and especially not after he’d plotted to embarrass her. The fact that their families hated one another only made the reality that much clearer.

  Elise looked down at the Bible on her lap. Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Her heart felt torn, and she prayed God would help her sort out what she should do—before her heart got broken again.

  She still felt conflicted after the worship service when Phoebe met her near the back of the sanctuary.

  “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d be leaving to go to that glider festival in Kansas City.”

  Elise shook her head. “It didn’t work out. It’s a long story.” Which she didn’t want to have to explain—at least not until everything was sorted out. There was no sense in making Phoebe worry. She changed the subject. “What are you guys doing this weekend?”

  Phoebe’s response was suspiciously nonchalant. “We’re having a small family barbecue after church. Just me and Sam and the kids.” She eyed Elise as she spoke. “Cutch was planning to join us, but he suddenly developed more pressing plans.”

  Elise tried to keep her expression blank, but her friend pressed on.

  “He mentioned doing something with you.” Phoebe raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  “It’s really nothing.” Elise moved forward as the milling line of worshippers slowly inched toward the rear doors where Pastor Carmichael chatted with each one in turn as he shook everyone’s hands.

  “I guess I’m just confused,” Phoebe said frankly. “You know, I originally wanted to invite you over to the barbecue, too, but I didn’t think I could because Cutch was going to be there, and you always refuse to have anything to do with him. But now the two of you are spending time together—”

  “It’s not what you think.” Elise didn’t want her friend getting any wild ideas.

  “So you’re not going to tell me?” Phoebe looked hurt. She and Elise shared almost everything. Phoebe turned, blocking the rear sanctuary doorway as the rest of the crowd moved through to the atrium without them. “Just like you’ve never explained what happened after Sam and I left the reception. What did Cutch do that was so bad?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Elise knew Phoebe had heard all about the kiss, but she’d never explained to Phoebe that Cutch had claimed he was going to publicly announce his love that evening. How could she admit to anyone that she’d been foolish enough to fall for the guy who’d only been out to humiliate her?

  Phoebe stepped back so they could move forward toward the waiting pastor. “Fine. But do yourself a favor, Elise, and think about it, will you? Because I don’t think Cutch hates you nearly as much as you hate him.”

  Elise tried to keep her expression blankly cheerful, but her friend’s words hit a soft spot near her heart. Her reaction must have showed on her face, because Phoebe leaned in and added quietly, “In fact, I sometimes think he feels quite differently.”

  Before Elise could recover enough to ask Phoebe to clarify what she meant, the two caught up to Pastor Carmichael, and Phoebe began asking the minister questions about the morning’s message. Elise gave his hand a quick shake and ducked out the door, trying to shove all thoughts of Phoebe’s words from her mind. Of course Cutch hated her. Why else would he have been so cruel?

  Cutch stopped his truck at the corner at the north end of his property. He could see Elise’s little blue Honda topping the next hill. He wondered how the tiny car would do on the soft dirt road that split his property. Not well, he was sure.

  He hopped out of his truck and waited as she approached. For a second, he thought she might try to drive right past him, but at the last moment she stopped and rolled her window down.

  “Yes?”

  “Thought you might want to ride in with me. I have four-wheel drive.” He expected her to make a smart retort and maybe even turn him down flat, so it surprised him when she nervously tucked her hair back behind her ears before agreeing.

  “That sounds like a smart idea. Where should I leave my car?”

  After helping her find a flat, out-of-the way spot near some bushes along the road, Cutch climbed back in his truck and buckled his seatbelt in wonder. Elise McAlister was sitting in his truck for the second time in two days. He regretted that it had taken such dangerous circumstances to bring them back together. The truck rumbled over the soft loess soil as he made his way down the unfinished road.

  They pulled to a stop behind where Sheriff Gideon Bromley leaned against his silver truck, casually dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a dark blue polo shirt instead of his uniform.

  “Ready?” he called out as Cutch and Elise hopped out of the truck.

  “Are you in a hurry?” Cutch asked.

  “The sooner I get out of here, the less chance I’ll get in trouble for being late.” The sheriff’s dark eyes glinted, and he pointed off into the woods. “This way.”

  Cutch and Elise followed closely. Though he was unsure what the sheriff was worried about getting in trouble for, he could commiserate. Most people feared the sheriff and figured he was above reproach—just like many people were intimidated by Cutch’s powers as county assessor. Cutch’s job involved determining the value of all the properties within the county, which established their property tax rate. Since he held power over what people paid in taxes, many of the people of Holyoake respected him. Others resented him. He was sure the sheriff was in a similar position because of his power to fine and arrest people.

  As they made their way through the grove, Cutch kept his eyes peeled for any sign of the large white tank he’d seen from the sky. Between his familiarity with the land and what he’d observed as they’d circled over in Elise’s plane the day before, Cutch could tell when they were closing in on the spot.

  As he walked, his sense of foreboding increased. Ever since he’d spotted the tank from the sky, he’d been itching to get a closer look at it. Helping Elise had set him back. The slashed tires and missing photographs had set him back even further, as had going to church that morning. But church and helping others came first—always. Now Cutch feared he was about to pay for that priority.

  The hills opened up into a wide valley, and Cutch was certain he recognized the same area where he’d seen the tank. At the same time, Sheriff Bromley came to a stop in front of them. He looked down at the GPS Elise had let him hold, then made a slow circle, looking carefully around the clearing.

  “Well,” the sheriff said finally, “I don’t see anything.”

  Elise looked over his arm at the GPS unit. “This is the right spot. This is the location we tagged from the sky.” She turned to Cutch. “Where’s the tank?”

  His fears had been realized. The tank was gone. And Elise seemed to think he knew something about it. He looked around for some sign of what might have happened. They needed clues—preferably clues that would point away from him as a suspect.

  Rutted, disturbed soil caught Cutch’s eye, and he stepped past the pair to where broken plants and trampled leaves revealed the fresh presence of some disruptive activity. “I don’t know where they took it, but you can see exactly where it was.” He crouched down to get a closer look.

  The expression
on Elise’s face was one of disbelief. “So the tank is gone? Where is it?”

  Cutch’s eyes followed the wheel ruts that trailed back to join the others on the rough road. “They moved it.”

  Elise felt fear creeping back over her. She’d seen the anhydrous tank clearly in the pictures Cutch had taken—the pictures that had been erased. Now the tank was gone, too. Obviously the guilty party didn’t want any evidence found that could incriminate them. Much as she’d like to believe they’d leave her alone, Elise was afraid they’d go to equal lengths to eliminate any potential witnesses.

  Sheriff Bromley crouched next to Cutch and inspected the tracks. Finally he shook his head. “There’s nothing here to tell me one way or another what was pulled through here. There’s absolutely nothing that links these tracks—or this site—to the tank in the pictures that I have also never seen.” He stood. “Is there anything else?”

  Realizing the sheriff probably felt as though they’d wasted his time, Elise looked frantically around the valley. Trees and underbrush obscured everything. “Don’t you think you ought to do a thorough search? We saw it.”

  The sheriff sighed. “I have no evidence that says any illegal activity took place here. Even if there was an anhydrous tank here, having and transporting the tanks aren’t illegal unless they’re being used to produce drugs. You claim someone was trespassing on your property, but I don’t have any evidence that points to any suspects.” He shook his head. “If you turn up anything new, I’ll look into it. But there’s nothing more to look at here, and right now I have somewhere I need to be.”

  Cutch stepped closer to the sheriff. “But somebody shot Elise’s glider down out of the sky. She could still be in danger.”

  Appreciation rose inside Elise at Cutch’s words.

  The sheriff looked back at Elise. “Do you want me to take a look at your glider?”

  She hesitated. What good would that possibly do? He’d see there were holes in it. The holes wouldn’t mean anything more than the ruts on the ground. “Do you think it would do any good?”