“This isn’t as bad at it looks.” His hand slid down her arm to her hand.

Her eyes followed the shiver that ran down her arm at his touch, and settled on the place where his strong calloused hand covered hers. Her heart gave another gasp. “Somebody tried to kill me, Cutch. From your land. And now you’re trying to stop me from calling the sheriff? I don’t think so.” She jerked her arm away and looked at him with begging eyes, wanting him to explain, wanting him to say something that would make everything right.

But he hadn’t been able to do that eight years ago, and she doubted he could do it now. She knew better than to spend even one more second getting any closer to him than she already was.

RACHELLE MCCALLA

is a mild-mannered housewife, and the toughest she ever has to get is when she’s trying to keep her four kids quiet in church. Though she often gets in over her head, as her characters do, and has to find a way out, her adventures have more to do with sorting out the carpool and providing food for the potluck. She’s never been arrested, gotten in a fistfight or been shot at. And she’d like to keep it that way! For recipes, fun background notes on the places and characters in this book and more information on forthcoming titles, visit www.rachellemccalla.com.

Out on a Limb
Rachelle McCalla

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you…Do to others as you would have them do to you.

—Luke 6:27–31

Special thanks to my father, retired City of Norfolk Police Sergeant Brian M. Richter, and to my brother-in-law, Page County Sheriff’s Deputy Charles McCalla, for answering all my questions about ballistics, bail and meth. And thank you for keeping the places we live safe for all these years. You make the world a better place every day.

Thank you to all the powered hang glider enthusiasts and pilots of small aircraft who’ve taken the time to post videos and instructional materials for every conceivable flying procedure on the Internet. I couldn’t have written this book without your help. You make me feel like I can fly.

Thanks also to all the wonderful people at Steeple Hill, especially my editor, Emily Rodmell, for doing such a bang-up job on my books. I feel so tremendously blessed to work with you all!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Elise McAlister wouldn’t have paid any attention to the sound echoing up from the hills below her if she hadn’t felt a sharp sting as something grazed her leg. Even then, putting two and two together took her a moment, because the situation went so far beyond anything she’d experienced flying before—or even heard of anyone experiencing. Nobody would really attempt to shoot down a hang glider, would they?

Pop! There it was again.

A spray of shot punched through the fabric of her right wing. The powered glider listed heavily.

“Lord, help me,” Elise began to pray as she looked down, frantically trying to assess her situation. Only moments before, she’d been enjoying her Saturday morning flight, soaring peacefully above the scenic Loess Hills of southwestern Iowa, lost in thought and equally detached from any navigational landmarks. Now she was going down and didn’t even know where she was.

Pop!

Elise braced herself for this hit, almost relieved to hear the spray take out her motor instead of what remained of her wings. She could glide without a motor. She couldn’t stay aloft without wings.

Her hang glider sagged in the air, and the wind messed with the damaged wing, creating drag. Elise spotted a gravel road in the distance. At the rate she was going, there was no way she’d make it—not with all the treetops she’d have to pass over. She was losing altitude fast enough as it was.

Without the steady purr of the motor behind her, she could hear the wind flapping through the torn fabric of her right wing—and below her, the distinctive chinking of metal on metal as a gunman racked the slide on his shotgun. In her mind’s eye, she could picture the empty shell kicking out and falling to the ground as a fresh shell was loaded into place, ready to be shot. Sure, she’d taken her dad’s twelve gauge out plenty of times, but she hadn’t been shooting at anyone.

A dust cloud rose where the gravel road topped a nearby hill. A vehicle was headed this way. If they saw her go down, maybe they could help her—unless they were with whoever was trying to shoot her down.

Blam!

They were getting closer. Elise heard the shots rattle through the thick canopy of leaves below her before ripping through her Dacron again, this time tearing through her left wing. Grateful she’d at least begun to level out, Elise felt her stomach dip as the glider sank toward the treetops.

The jagged hills lunged up to meet her. Below, she could hear shouting, scrambling noises as her pursuers crashed through the underbrush. The gentle breeze, which had clocked in at a pristine six miles per hour when she’d checked it that morning, stilled to almost nothing.

The gun cocked again.

“Please, God, please,” Elise begged, knowing that, as low in the air as she was now, those shots were going to penetrate deeper. If she was hit again, it would do a lot more than sting a little.

Blam!

The shots tore through her wings again, and a couple balls slammed into the soles of her feet. Maybe her heavy steel-toe hiking boots hadn’t been such a bad choice for her morning flight, after all. She didn’t usually wear them for flying, but—

Whap! Trees leaves slapped her toes as she skirted the top of a high hill, causing her body to tilt and her wounded craft to tip unsteadily in the air.

Not good. The drag on her wings increased, sapping her momentum, pulling her down. With her pursuers clambering up the hill behind her, she didn’t dare go down in this valley. She’d be a sitting duck. They’d be on her before she ever got unstrapped from her harness.

“Lord, I really need your help now,” she whispered, her shoulders tensing as she tried to angle upward for maximum lift. She had nothing. No wind. No updraft. She was going down in this valley, and she could hear the gunmen crashing through the woods on the backside of the hill behind her. They’d be on her in a moment.

The next hill careened toward her, its tree-covered sides a mess of fingerlike branches, ready to grab her out of the air and hold her captive until the gunmen caught up to her. Praying hard, she tried to guide her damaged wings upward.

The trees moved closer. She could see each branch. She could see each leaf. She braced herself.

The updraft hit her face at the same second it caught her wings, lifting her clear from the hilltop. “Thank you, God,” she prayed, almost-sobbing, instinctively running through the air as the treetops slapped her feet. Though she knew sudden thermal updrafts often occurred on hillsides, between the timing and her desperation, she felt as though God had reached down from heaven and pulled her up the side of the hill just in time.

A dead branch jutted into the sky, and for a moment she was sure she’d hit it straight on. Lifting her legs, she pulled up her whole body, bracing herself against her speed bar. The sole of her boot made contact with the branch, and she pushed off, effectively propelling herself another ten feet through the air.

After clearing the trees on the hilltop, her wounded glider seemed to crumple right out of the sky as the updraft that had filled her wings dissipated. At least with one more hillside between her and the gunmen, she’d have some chance of escaping, however small.

She went down in the treetops of the next valley in a tangle, her lines, wires and splayed-open fabric wrapping in branches, squeezing her in an unfriendly embrace. She struggled to unhook her harness, but it wouldn’t even budge against the overwhelming tension as she dangled from the snarled mess in the treetop.

Elise slapped the side pocket of her parachute pants. Yes, she’d dutifully remembered to bring her hook knife, though she’d never had to use it before. Now she whipped it out and slashed through the nylon restraints, not even regretting destroying the expensive equipment—not if it meant saving her life.

With one arm tightly gripping the wedged speed bar, she tossed the knife uphill where it would be out of her way, looked down and said another quick prayer before dropping the last ten feet to the ground. The soft soil of the Loess Hills felt hard enough when she hit it, meeting the earth with as much of a roll as she could muster, and half sliding, half running down the rest of the hill. She could hear her pursuers shouting as they crashed through the valley behind the hill she’d just crossed over.

She didn’t have much time.

Ducking to avoid the jutting branches that jabbed at her from all sides, Elise ran the length of the valley, hoping to skirt the hill and save herself the effort of climbing up the steep, rugged hillside, while at the same time, hopefully, losing her pursuers in the undergrowth.

She ran blindly, fear pushing her as she leaped over fallen logs, swung around saplings and tried to pick her way as quickly as possible over the uneven ground. It would never do to turn an ankle now.

At the side of the hill, the evenly spaced trees gave way to thick bushes, and their sharp briars snagged her as she ran headlong into their midst. About to recoil, she nearly missed seeing the aging fence line that ran through the windbreak. Windbreaks and fence lines didn’t just occur randomly. They followed property lines, which usually followed roads.

Elise remembered the road she’d seen from the air. Had she really made it that far? Or would forcing herself into the thick bushes only trap her for the pursuers she could hear topping the last hill behind her?

She threw one arm up in front of her face before ducking headfirst into the briars.

The thorns grabbed relentlessly at her windsuit, tearing through her clothes and snagging her skin. She made it to the barbed-wire fence in one lunge and grabbed the line between the barbs, grateful when it sagged enough to permit her to scramble over. A barb tore at her pants, but she was beyond caring. She could hear the gunmen closing in behind her as she tried to press forward through the unrelenting bramble. She was stuck.

Terror filled her, reminiscent of the nightmares in which she tried to run but couldn’t and awoke to find her self tangled in her bedsheets. But this was no dream. She was stuck in the bushes, and the bad guys were closing in.

Twisting, turning, pushing, she snapped through branches with desperate force, her eyes stinging with tears as thorns bit through her arms and stiff sticks jabbed her ribs. “Please, God. You didn’t bring me this far to let me down now.”

Scrambling frantically forward, she fell free of the trees and stumbled out onto the chalky, white gravel road.

Right into the path of an oncoming truck.

Brakes squealed as the vehicle threw up a cloud of dust that powdered her face in the same dirty white as the road. Her outstretched hands slapped against the warm hood as the truck’s brakes locked, and it slid another couple feet on the loose gravel, roaring to a stop nose-to nose with her. The instant it came to a stop, she ran around to the passenger side of the vehicle, peeling off her flying goggles as the dust began to settle.

The passenger door opened just as Elise recognized the shade of indigo-blue paint underneath the dust-covered sides of the older Dodge Ram. For a second, she thought about diving back into the bushes.

“Need a lift?”

“No,” Elise answered instinctively. No way was she getting into a truck with Henry McCutcheon IV. McCutcheons were trouble, and Cutch was the worst kind of trouble. He’d broken her heart eight years ago, and she’d never fully recovered. She certainly didn’t need a run-in with him today. His blue eyes twinkled at her from underneath a shock of thick black hair as he leaned across the front seat to address her.

“Elise?” Recognition crossed his perfect features. “Were you flying that glider that just crashed?”

“Uh—”

Before she could fully answer, another gunshot rang through the woods, spitting gravel and shot around her feet and peppering the sides of the truck.

Cutch’s blue eyes widened. “Get in!” he shouted.

Elise dived into the cab, pulling the door shut after her as Cutch took off in a cloud of flying gravel. She ducked down as another shot rang out behind them.

“Is somebody shooting at you?” Cutch asked as he gunned the engine, quickly shifting gears as he accelerated.

“Yes,” Elise admitted, keeping her head low and wishing her flying helmet was insulated with more than a shock-absorbing layer of Styrofoam. It wasn’t made to block a bullet. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Her trembling fingers fumbled with the seatbelt as she attempted to strap herself in. She’d had just about enough after what was supposed to have been a peaceful morning flight through the hills. Her panting stilled as she began to catch her breath.

Cutch quickly put a few more hills between them and their pursuers. “Those guys on foot?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Anybody else after you?”

“I don’t know.”

The truck slowed as they reached the top of Rink’s Mound, the highest hill in the area. Cutch pulled into the parking area near the Loess Hills scenic viewing tower and the old Dodge rumbled to a stop.

It wasn’t until the truck had completely stopped moving that Elise realized she was shaking.

Cutch killed the engine and looked over at her.

She shrank against the door and pinched her eyes shut. It was one thing to be shot out of the clear blue sky. It was another thing entirely to be sitting in a truck with Henry McCutcheon IV. Elise wasn’t sure which was worse, exactly, but she sure wished she could stop trembling long enough to get the truck door open. They’d dated for a couple of months eight years ago, and he’d only kissed her once, but ever since he’d purposely humiliated her in front of half of Holyoake, she’d steered plenty clear of him.

“Hey.” Cutch reached toward her.

She instantly recoiled. “Stay back,” she snapped.

He slumped against his seat. “You’re the one who jumped into my truck.”

“I wouldn’t have if there hadn’t been somebody shooting at me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with sarcasm cutting through his voice. “Who was shooting at you, and why?”

“I told you I don’t know.”

“They shot you out of the sky?” Cutch clarified.

Elise nodded, her shoulders sagging forward as the rush of fear she’d felt was replaced with exhaustion. She pinched the clasp on her chin strap and let her helmet sink into her hands. Then she ran her fingers back through her short, cropped hair, freeing her loose brown curls before tucking the ends behind her ears with trembling fingers.

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would somebody shoot you out of the sky?”

“I don’t know.” She sucked in a deep breath and tried to think. Why would somebody shoot her out of the sky?

“Do you think it was some teenagers playing around?”

“They acted pretty serious.” Elise inspected the scratches on her hands and arms from her tangle with the thorn bushes. Drying blood wept from the more serious cuts, but that was the worst of it. She stuck a finger through the hole in her pants where she’d been shot and fingered the spot on her calf where the steel ball had grazed her. It had already stopped bleeding.

Thoughtfully, she prodded the fabric where it gathered at the elastic band near her ankle and felt a ball hiding inside. She leaned down, cautiously peeled back the cuff of her pants and plucked it out.

“What were they shooting?” Cutch continued questioning her. “Birdshot? Do you think they were trying to scare you or something?”

Elise held up the hard metal ball. “Not birdshot. Buckshot,” she held the steel ball—over a half centimeter in diameter—in the palm of her hand so he could see. Shot that size was meant to deeply penetrate flesh. “They weren’t trying to scare me. They were trying to kill me.”

Cutch looked into the warm brown eyes of the woman he’d once loved, and the eight years since their romance seemed to melt away. Elise. She was still so attractive, even covered in dust and perched like a frightened bird in the corner of the cab of his truck. So attractive and in spite of the long separation of time, still so familiar to him. What had happened?

“Why would somebody try to kill you?”

“I don’t know,” she told him again, and he could see from the fear in her eyes that she meant it.

He just couldn’t accept it.

“Okay. Help me figure this out. What would you be doing to cause someone to take a shot at you?”

“I was just out flying.” Her usually strong voice sounded weak.

“In your powered hang glider?”

She nodded and bit her lower lip.

Cutch felt his heart give an unfamiliar flop. He had no business wanting to pull her into his arms and comfort her, and he had no doubt she’d smack him if he tried it, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to reach for her. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel, though the truck was parked and the cooling engine tapped out a tune in concert with the grasshoppers whose late-summer songs poured in the open windows.

“So you were out flying in your glider,” he prompted.

The woman beside him sniffled, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she swiped at her cheeks. Elise McAlister was crying in his truck, and somebody had just been trying to shoot her—from his land. He did not need this, especially not today.

“Did you see anything unusual before they started shooting?” He risked a glance her way, realizing that if he hadn’t gone out early to clear brush on the north quarter, her pursuers would likely have caught up to her. His stomach knotted.

She had her eyes pinched shut, and a trail of wet tears meandered down her dust-cloaked face. “The trees.” She sniffled. “The trees are planted in rows back there. And they’re all the same. Hickory, I think. Or maybe—”

“Pecan,” he supplied reluctantly. It wasn’t as though she wouldn’t have figured it out on her own, and he needed her to rack her brain for what might have triggered the attack instead of focusing on identifying what kind of trees she’d been flying over.

“Pecan,” she repeated in a whisper and looked at him, recognition crossing her features.

She knew. But how much did she know? She didn’t know everything, did she? Eight years before, he’d foolishly shared with her his dream of reclaiming his grandfather’s pecan groves and clearing the McCutcheon name. And now here he was, already admitting things to her that no one else knew.

Cutch tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. What mattered right now was Elise’s safety, and he couldn’t do anything to help her until he understood what had just happened. “Did you get a good look at the guys who were shooting at you?”

“No. Nothing. They were too far behind me, and the trees blocked my view.”

“You ever fly out this way before?”

“Not really. Where were we, exactly?”

“Five miles west of Rink’s Mound.”

“Do you know who owns that property?”

Cutch returned her gaze, feeling a tiny trickle of relief that she’d regained enough of her composure to ask him such an intelligent question. Of course he knew who owned the property. As the Holyoake County Assessor, he knew down to the last lot and acre who owned what in the whole county. “Yup.”

“Who?” An undercurrent of impatience ran through her voice.

He closed his eyes. “Nobody who’d be shooting at you.”

“Cutch—” a strangled half panic, half impatience infused itself in her tone “—somebody was trying to kill me. Do you know something?” She glared at him and reached into one of the many zippered pockets on her pants, pulling out a phone. “That’s it! Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I’m calling the sheriff.”

“Wait.” He reached out his hand to stop her. The last thing he needed was the sheriff stomping around on his property—especially if somebody was doing something illegal out there. And attempted murder was certainly illegal.

He felt Elise freeze the second his fingers brushed her hand. She looked up at him, and for a moment, time rolled back and they were young again, certain their love could conquer all. They’d been so naive back then.

“Just wait a second. Let’s sort this out first.” He watched as she swallowed and obediently lowered the phone, though she still held it tightly in her hand.

She repeated her earlier question. “Who owns that property?”

He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t even want to think about why someone had been shooting at her from his land or what the legal implications might be. But if she was in danger, he couldn’t withhold information that might help keep her safe. He met her eyes.

“I do.”

TWO

Elise stared at Cutch, the old feelings he stirred up making her heart flop around like a glider caught in a gale. She needed a steady head to sort out what was going on. Having Cutch so close only made things worse. “You own the land from which someone was shooting at me?” she clarified.

He looked back out the window as though he could still see the spot, though it now lay five miles behind them. Meeting her eyes again, he nodded. “Yup.”

“That settles it.” Elise jerked the door open and slid out of the truck, flicked her phone open and dialed 911. The McCutcheons and the McAlisters had been rivals for generations, even before the McCutcheons had sabotaged her grandfather’s plane long before she was born, though it wasn’t until his fiery death that the feud had become so fierce. It had been eight years since she’d experienced their direct hostility, and she hadn’t thought they’d be so territorial, but she’d always been wrong when she’d dared to trust a McCutcheon in the past. She needed to wise up.

Cutch was out of the truck and around to her side before she could hit Send. “Hang on just a second. This isn’t as bad at it looks.” His hand slid down her arm to her fingers.

Her eyes followed the shiver that ran down her arm at his touch and settled on the place where his strong, calloused hand covered hers. Her heart gave another dying gasp. “Somebody tried to kill me, Cutch. From your land. And now you’re trying to stop me from calling the sheriff? I don’t think so.” She jerked her hand away and looked at him with begging eyes, wanting him to explain, wanting him to say something that would make everything right. But he hadn’t been able to do that eight years ago, and she doubted he could do it now. She knew better than to spend even one more second getting any closer to him than she already was.

“Fine.” He took a step back and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Go ahead and call the sheriff, but where are you going to have him meet you? Here? Or at the scene of the crime?”

“At the scene of the crime.”

“And where is that?” Cutch challenged.

“Where I was being shot at. Where my glider went down.”

“Yeah? Where’d your glider go down?”

“In your stupid, old pecan grove,” she snapped, clicking her phone shut and shoving it back into her pocket. She hated to admit it, but Cutch had a point. She couldn’t explain to him where the incident had happened, and he knew the land better than anyone. Before she could direct the sheriff to the spot, she’d need to find out a little more information.

Cutch continued. “My stupid, old pecan grove happens to cover over six-hundred acres. And you can’t see something stuck in the trees from one tree to the next, let alone one acre to the next. I’d love to catch whoever was shooting at you, but I doubt they’re going to stick around and wave their hands in the air for us to find them. So if you want to direct the sheriff to a crime scene, maybe you ought to figure out where that is first. ’Cause he’s a busy man, and I doubt he’ll want to tromp around in the woods all day.”

“Fine.” Elise stomped across the cut-grass parking area toward the lookout tower. “Let’s see what we can see from here.”

She climbed the sturdy wooden steps with Cutch right behind her, furious with how self-conscious he made her feel. In the eight years since their ill-fated relationship, she’d managed to avoid him almost completely, though that was tough to do in a county of fewer than ten-thousand people.

Once, a few years ago, he’d shown up at one of her glider tutorials at the Holyoake County Fair, and she’d taught him the basics of power gliding in front of a crowd of people. He was clearly a natural at flying and had performed well, but she’d ended up going home that night and crying into her pillow. That was the kind of effect he had on her. And she didn’t need that kind of complication when she was trying to sort out who’d shot down her glider.

Elise reached the top of the scenic tower and leaned on the western rail. The land spread out before her in a jagged, tree-covered expanse, the hills jutting up at steep angles, the valleys dipping down in deep shadows. The Loess Hills were beautiful in their own way, though the sandy soil and harsh terrain made farming them all-but-impossible. Everyone who’d tried to make a living off the hills had ended up impoverished. They were nice to look at—that was all.

A haze of late-summer heat made the air shimmer on the horizon. “Where’s your pecan grove?” she asked as Cutch joined her by the rail. “My stupid, old pecan grove?” His icy-blue eyes swept over her, chilling her. “It’s over there.”

Elise tried to look where he pointed. Trees. Trees. More trees. Hills with trees on them and more trees. Nothing that screamed pecan grove.

“Where?” she asked impatiently.

His arm extended, his finger still pointing westward, Cutch stepped closer to her, his body fitting neatly against hers like a bird tucking its young under its wing. A warm rush flooded through her as he settled his other hand on her shoulder and aligned his face with hers.

“See where I’m pointing?” His gentle breath joined the breeze as it cooled her cheek.

“Uh-huh.” Elise could see nothing. She was aware of Cutch and his closeness and how much she wanted to just let those strong arms wrap around her and hold her after the scare she’d had in the air. But thoughts like that would only get her into trouble. Cutch had sweet-talked his way into her heart before, though he’d only done it to make a fool out of her. She could do without a repeat of that lesson. She blinked and tried to focus. “Do you see anything?” She licked her lips and tried to restore some moisture to her mouth, but her throat had gone completely dry.

“Pecan trees.”

Elise sighed. “No sign of my glider?”

“Nope. Just trees.” Cutch stepped away from her and lowered his hand to the wooden railing.

Finally able to breathe again, Elise kept her eyes on the distant trees, not trusting herself to look at him while she spoke. “I think I should call the sheriff. Even if we don’t know exactly where my glider went down, and even if those guys are long gone, I’ll feel a lot better once I report what happened.” Or at least she hoped she’d feel better.

She turned and saw the hesitation in his eyes, and when he first opened his mouth, she thought for sure a protest was on his lips. Instead, he worked his face into a grimace and pinched his eyes shut. “Fine. Call the sheriff. I’ll do whatever I can to cooperate with an investigation.”

Though his obvious struggle made her curious, Elise didn’t give Cutch an opportunity to change his mind. She pulled her phone back out and started to dial.

“I’m going back down,” Cutch said quietly, then turned and headed for the stairs.

“Wait,” she called after him, her finger hesitating over the Send button. “You’re not going to leave me out here all alone, are you?” She didn’t know who had been shooting at her or where they were now. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone where they might catch up to her.

“Of course not. I just thought you might appreciate some privacy. I’ll wait on the ground for you to finish your call.” He looked slightly injured that she might have thought he’d abandon her.

Elise felt chastised and realized she was infringing on his time. “You don’t have somewhere else you need to be?”

“Nothing so important that I’d leave you out here.”

The look in his eyes addled her brain. She couldn’t decide if he looked resentful or hurt or honestly as though he cared about her. Though she knew that last one couldn’t be it, she couldn’t deny the gentle compassion that fueled his words. Not willing to think about why he’d speak to her like that, she pressed Send and held the phone to her ear.

Cutch headed down the stairs of the lookout tower, and Elise watched him go, her heart still hammering hard, though the fear and the long run through the woods was now twenty minutes or more behind her. No, she was pretty sure the reason her heart was hammering was Henry McCutcheon IV.

Cutch slowly walked to his truck, listening to the sound of Elise’s voice over the birdsong in the woods around them. He couldn’t clearly make out any of her words any more than he could sort out how his morning had taken such an about-face turn in one startled moment.

When he’d headed out to clear trees that morning, he’d promised his mother he’d be back to the house in time for his dad’s exam. That was the whole reason they’d scheduled it for a Saturday—so he could be there. The home-visit nurse was set to arrive in less than ten minutes. There was absolutely no way he could make it there in time—not unless he abandoned Elise. He pulled out his phone and called his mother, letting her know he’d stopped to help a friend and wouldn’t be back in time for the appointment.

As much as Cutch wanted to be there to support his parents through the most difficult parts of his father’s hospice treatment, he knew ultimately there wasn’t any tangible reason for him to be there. No matter what he did, his father was going to die. He’d accepted the inevitable, though it tore at him.

After placing the call, Cutch shoved his phone back into his pocket and leaned on the truck. On the lookout tower above him, he could still hear Elise talking. He closed his eyes and listened to the feminine cadence of her voice carrying on the late summer breeze.

Elise. Falling in love with her eight years before had been too easy. Getting over her—well, the only way he’d figured out to cope with that was to pretend she didn’t exist. He’d long ago given up trying to sort out a way to make a relationship between them work. McCutcheons and McAlisters were destined to hate each other. He’d endured enough heartache the last time he’d tried to defy that truth.

Though he tried to cut off his feelings toward her, his heart squeezed thinking about how frightened she’d been when she’d jumped into his truck. Who would have been on his property that morning? No one was supposed to have been out there, certainly not with a gun. He had No Trespassing and No Hunting signs posted all around the property’s perimeter. His land was a tranquil retreat—not a place for a young woman to be shot out of the sky and left running for her life.

Could it have been an accident? From what he’d seen of her crash from his truck, she’d gone down pretty fast. In fact, he’d slowed down and been watching the woods when she’d burst out of the bushes in front of him. Though he didn’t know of anyone else in Holyoake County who owned a powered hang glider, he was still shocked to see her frightened face when he’d opened the door of his truck.

But why would someone want to hurt Elise? Other than the McCutcheons, who’d held a grudge against the McAlisters for far too long in his opinion, there wasn’t anyone in town who didn’t like Elise—at least not that he knew of. She was a sweet, spunky girl whose soft side showed through a little more than she’d like. He smiled just thinking about her.

At the sound of footsteps, Cutch looked up and watched Elise trotting lightly down the steps. She appeared to be in better spirits and certainly looked less shaken. Relief coursed through him. He hadn’t liked seeing her so distraught.

“Did you get in touch with the sheriff?” he asked.

“Yes.” She offered him a smile. “I spoke with Sheriff Bromley. He agreed there probably wasn’t much sense in him driving out here when we don’t have a crime scene for him to look at. But he took down all the details I could remember.”

“And you’re all right with that?” Cutch pressed.

Elise looked sheepish. “I guess I feel a little silly asking him to come out here and poke around when there probably isn’t much for him to find.”

“But if someone tried to kill you—”

“We don’t know for a fact that’s what they were doing.”

“That’s not the conclusion you reached earlier.”

“I’m calmer now that I’ve talked with Sheriff Bromley. He didn’t sound too concerned—”

“He didn’t sound concerned?” Cutch had to interrupt. Elise’s safety was important, even if she didn’t think so.

“Well, of course he was concerned for me. But he didn’t figure there would still be any threat now that I got away safely. Probably just some teenagers goofing around.” She shrugged.

“Teenagers? Goofing around by shooting buckshot at a person? The teenagers I know are all smarter than that.” Cutch didn’t want to upset her, but he’d rather have her upset than dead. And if she underestimated the threat against her, well, he didn’t want to consider what could happen.

Elise glared at him. “Whatever. You should be glad I’m not pressing charges against you.”

“Charges for what? Picking you up before the gunmen caught up to you?”

“No. Because I was being shot at from your land.” Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. “I need to call someone to come pick me up.”

“No, you don’t. I can give you a ride. Where are you headed?” He didn’t like the way she accused him, then dismissed him. Did she really not trust him at all?

“The airfield. But that’s really not necessary.”

“It’s no problem,” he insisted, rounding the truck to the driver’s seat.

She didn’t budge from where she stood in front of his truck. Her lips twitched, but she didn’t speak.

He met her eyes. Why did she have to be so stubborn, anyway? “Elise?”

She looked from him to the passenger seat and back again. “I don’t know.”

Folding his hands over the hood of the truck, he leaned on his arms and looked at her. “Why not? You need a ride, and the airfield is on my way. It’s no big deal.”

“If Uncle Leroy sees me with you—”

Cutch blew out an exasperated breath. He knew the McAlisters didn’t like his family, but he couldn’t imagine Elise’s father’s brother getting into that big of a fit. Still, if she was concerned… “I’ll hide,” he offered.

The little hint of a smile that peeked out at him warmed his heart, though a second later she replaced it with a scowl. “I don’t want to keep you from your busy schedule.”

Thinking of his father’s exam that he’d already missed, he shrugged. “If I say I have time to drop you off, I have time.”

Elise took a tentative step toward the passenger side of the truck, then looked back at him. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

For a moment the humid air stilled between them, and that simple courtesy seemed to shout so much more. Could thank you mean I still love you? Or I’m sorry for the past eight years? Or even I wish none of our family’s feud had ever come between us? He thought he heard those words hidden between her simple thanks, but then he’d always been a dreamer. Time to pull his head out of the clouds.

“No problem.” Cutch nodded and hopped in the driver’s side, relieved when Elise climbed in, too. “So, to the airport,” he announced, turning the key. “What are you planning to do when you get there?”

“I’m going to take my Cessna up and fly over your property. I’ve got a portable GPS unit that I can use to get the exact coordinates of my glider’s location. Then I can take the GPS with me to find the spot when I go on foot to retrieve it.”

Cutch turned the truck around and headed back out onto the gravel road. “You’re planning to retrieve your glider, hmm? Do you have permission from the property owner to be on the land?” The words were meant to be a gentle tease. He hoped they’d elicit a smile.

But instead her pretty face frowned. “You said it was your land.”

“That’s right. So are you going to ask for my permission, or are you planning to trespass illegally?”

“Cutch,” she protested. “I can’t believe you’re making an issue of this—especially after what I’ve been through today.”

Hurt that she’d taken his words the wrong way, he defended himself, still maintaining the lighthearted undertone he’d begun with, though she obviously hadn’t picked up on it. “Yeah, well, I’ve recently become aware of issues with trespassers on my land. Apparently some of them shot down a hang glider earlier, so I feel like I need to crack down.” He glanced over to gauge her reaction.

“You’re a couple hours too late to do my glider any good.”

Something in the back of his brain screamed mayday! He couldn’t let her be mad at him—couldn’t let her walk out of his life again, not with her angry like this. “Then let me make it up to you. Take me up in your plane, and I’ll help you find the spot it went down.”

“I don’t think so!” she snapped.

“Why not? I know the land better than anyone. I can help you locate your glider more quickly, and I may be able to spot signs of where your gunmen may have been when they shot at you. If we could find an empty casing or footprint, then the sheriff would have something to come out and take a look at.”

Elise shook her head forcefully. “I can find my glider myself. Once I get a GPS lock on the location, I can find it from the ground. I don’t need your help.”

“But you need my permission to be on my land.”

“Did the gunmen have your permission?”

They were nearly to the airport by this time, and Cutch felt his hackles rising. What had started out as a hint of teasing had blown way out of proportion, but why was he surprised? Elise still knew how to push his buttons. It was a good reminder of why things hadn’t worked out between them eight years ago—why they would never work out. But he still wasn’t about to let her fly into danger alone. He’d never forgive himself if she was shot down a second time.

“The gunmen were trespassing—” he let his tone drop to a low, even rate, let the warning carry through in his words “—and if I ever find out who it was, you can believe I’ll press charges. Nobody hurts you and gets away with it.”

Elise felt a shiver run down her spine at the chilly threat behind Cutch’s words. But what made her nearly gasp was the zealous protection implied in his final statement. Didn’t he realize how much he had hurt her? Just the memory of the way he’d set her up for humiliation eight years before made her heart squeeze and the old wounds cry out in pain. Their first and only kiss, the moment she’d dreamed about since she’d first fallen in love with him, had turned out to be a trick, a stunt he’d pulled to embarrass her in front of half of Holyoake. In fact, their entire relationship had been a farce, another way for a McCutcheon to humiliate a McAlister.

Still, she figured she was mature enough to work with him without letting on to the distress he caused her heart. She’d just have to keep him at arm’s length and stomp down any tender feelings, such as those that had flooded her when he’d put his arm around her on the viewing tower. Surely she could handle that…

“I’d like to come with you. I’m sure I can help.” Cutch announced matter-of-factly as he parked the truck behind the hangar and killed the engine.

What could she say? He seemed intent on going up with her, and honestly, after the terror she’d felt that morning, it would be an enormous comfort to have along a strong man she could trust. She just wasn’t convinced Cutch was that man. But she was in a hurry to find her glider, and he was probably correct about being able to help her quickly locate it in the thick trees. She’d scrambled through the woods in such a blur that little clear memory remained to guide her.

“If I’m not imposing on your time—”

“You’re not.”

“Then let’s hurry. I still don’t want Uncle Leroy to see you.”

They ducked out of the truck and went around the hangar to the door facing the airfield. “Leroy’s probably in the office. He and Rodney are usually the only ones around on Saturdays,” Elise explained, opening the wide hangar door. “They shouldn’t see us if we use this door.”

She hurried over to her Cessna 172 Skyhawk and patted the white-with-red-stripes plane affectionately on one wing. “This is my baby,” she informed Cutch.

“Looks like your baby is older than you are.”

“She is,” Elise admitted, circling the plane as she initiated her preflight check. “But I’m saving my pennies to buy her a little sister. Aren’t I, darling?” She gave the rudder a gentle tug. “Anyway, she’s a good little bird and keeps me in the sky, which is more than I can say for my powered hang glider.”

“You don’t think there’s a chance somebody will try to shoot this girl down, do you?” Cutch looked concerned.

Elise faced him under the wing. “We should be out of the range of a shotgun. I fly my glider at a lot lower elevation than I fly my plane.”

“But when you’re dusting crops—”

“That’s different.” Elise wasn’t fond of crop dusting and wished her aerial photography business was self-sustaining enough so she could give up working for her uncle. But so far, her dreams had yet to pan out. “I’m capable of flying low, but I wouldn’t try it in those hills. Besides, this plane is a lot faster and way more maneuverable than my glider. I can get out in a hurry at the first sign of trouble.”

Cutch seemed to accept her response and stayed quiet as she finished checking the plane and climbed aboard. She reached behind his seat for the extra headset and noticed her camera still in the backseat of the four-seat plane. A thought occurred to her.

“Do you know much about taking pictures?” she asked.

He grinned back slyly. “Don’t you recall my 4-H entries?”

Elise almost smiled back, but then she remembered the year he’d swept the purple ribbon right out from under her. She’d been nine years old, he eleven, and though she now realized the composition of his scenic Loess Hills landscape had been precociously perfect, at the time, she’d been devastated. Her father had chalked up the incident to just another example of how she couldn’t trust a McCutcheon. “Can you still use a camera?”

“Maybe not as well as you can, but well enough.”

She handed him the digital camera and explained. “It’s all set for aerial photographs, so all you’ll have to do is point and shoot. Oh, and don’t erase the stuff on my memory card—I was out with Rodney yesterday taking pictures of the Mitchum’s corn maze. I haven’t had a chance to download the pictures yet.”

Cutch accepted the camera from her. “How’s the aerial photography business going?”

Her mind focused on the preflight check, Elise murmured a distracted response. “It keeps me busy, but it doesn’t pay the bills. I have to pay a pilot to take me up since it’s impossible to fly and take pictures at the same time. That takes a big chunk out of my profit.” She toggled a switch. “So I still do crop dusting for Leroy on the side.”

“That’s too bad. You’re such a talented photographer.”

Cutch’s comment surprised Elise, and she looked up from her checklist to find him leaning across his seat toward her, his face much nearer to hers than she’d have liked inside the close quarters of the cockpit. She felt her cheeks turn red and looked nervously back down at the laminated booklet in her hands. “As I recall, you’re the one who won the purple ribbon.”

“Only once. You won it every other year.”

“But that’s the year I remember.” When she dared to glance back up at him, she found him still leaning her way, still looking at her in that unsettling way that made her heart leap inside her more violently than it did during a bad landing.

“Funny what we choose to remember,” he said, chuckling softly and turning away to adjust the headset over his ears.

Elise pulled her attention back to her preflight checklist. She had to focus. Though she’d been flying for years and knew the drill backward and forward, having Cutch in her plane was just the kind of distraction that could cause her to miss something, and today was the last day she wanted that to happen.

“Sky Belle to Big Bird, Sky Belle to Big Bird.” She radioed Uncle Leroy in the office.

“Sky Belle, this is Big Bird. What are you up to this morning?”

Elise relayed their flight plan to her uncle, who okayed her for takeoff. Fortunately, he didn’t ask any questions about why she was headed out. If she’d talked to him in person first, he certainly would have done so then, but she knew he liked to keep their radio conversations strictly professional, which was why she’d waited until she was in the plane to talk to him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t suspect anything strange was up.

With Cutch safely buckled in, Elise taxied out and lifted off, feeling more in control with her plane in the air than she had since she’d heard the first shot that morning. She was at home in the sky. It was her peaceful retreat where none of the pain in her life—not her absent mother or her struggling business or the ongoing feud with the McCutcheons—could trouble her. The invasion of her peace was just another reason why the attack that morning had disturbed her so deeply.

The airspace of southwestern Iowa was empty as usual, and the clear skies and gentle breeze made for perfect flying conditions. They quickly and uneventfully found themselves closing in on Cutch’s pecan grove. Elise aligned the plane with what she could recall of her flight path that morning.

“We’re right above where I was flying earlier,” she explained to Cutch. “We’re coming up on the spot where I heard the first shot.”

“When we get to that area, can you try to get a little closer and maybe circle around? I haven’t had the opportunity to fly over the property in years, not since my Grandpa McCutcheon used to give me flying lessons, but I’d like to think if there was something out of place I’d be able to spot it from the air.”

“Sure,” Elise agreed. “There’s a pretty wide valley about there where it’s almost level for a good stretch. I shouldn’t have any trouble coming around.” She eased the plane a little lower in the sky. “Seems like I was right around here when I heard the first shot.”

Cutch had his face nearly plastered to the window. “Right there,” he said with excitement. “I see something below us. Can you come around again?”

“Go ahead and open that window,” Elise instructed as she swung the plane in a wide arc. “I’ve taken the screw out so you can remove the pane and stick your head out. You can even use the camera outside the window. Just make sure you don’t drop it.”

Elise kept her eyes on where she was headed, focusing on maneuvering between the tree-covered hills, but she heard the air rush in as Cutch successfully removed the Plexiglas window.

“Does that give you a better view?”

“Much better.” He started clicking away with the camera before asking, “Is this close to where they started shooting at you?”

“We just passed over the spot. Why?”

Cutch pulled his head in and lowered the camera. “I know why they were shooting at you. And you’re probably right—they weren’t just trying to spook you. I think they wanted you dead.”

THREE

“What?” Elise startled at the controls and had to force herself to pay attention to what she was doing. Her pulse rate kicked up. Though the nature of the attack had indicated malicious intent, she’d been trying to convince herself ever since that the cause was more innocent. She didn’t like what the alternative implied. “Are you serious?”

“I wish I could say I was joking. And I really wish I hadn’t seen what I just saw.” His words sounded somber, strained.

“What was it?” Elise nearly screeched in her fear and impatience.

“I’m almost certain that was an anhydrous ammonia tank down there.”

“Anhydrous ammonia? What’s so sinister about that?” The white tanks, their sides and ends brightly painted with warnings identifying the volatile contents, were a common site in agrarian Holyoake County. “Farmers use anhydrous all the time on their crops. I see those tanks every day.”

“Not in a pecan grove, you don’t.” Cutch replaced the window, and the air stilled inside the small cabin.

The relative silence felt suddenly oppressive. “I take it the tank doesn’t belong to you?”

“Absolutely not.” The force behind Cutch’s statement surprised Elise. “I don’t know how it got out there or who brought it out there. But unfortunately, I think I know what they’re using it for.”

Elise recalled reading something about anhydrous in a newspaper article some time back, but she hadn’t had a reason to pay much attention then. Now she tried to recall what the article had said. “Something about drugs?” she asked quietly.

“Yes. Drugs.” Cutch took a couple of deep breaths. From the corner of her eye, Elise could see his broad chest rise and fall, straining against the shoulder strap of his safety restraint. “I think someone’s making methamphetamine. On my property.”

Barely suppressed anger simmered in the air. Elise wished she knew what she could say to comfort him, be cause he appeared to be quite distraught by his discovery.

Finally she asked the question that had been haunting her. “And that’s why they shot at me? They think I saw what they were doing?”

“That would be my guess.” Cutch concluded. “And as much as I don’t like it, I’d also guess they know who you are. Most of the county is aware you’re the only person with a powered hang glider in these parts, just like pretty much everybody knows you’re into aerial photography. They might even think you already took a picture of them or were about to before they started shooting.”

Elise’s stomach plummeted as she dipped the plane back around, heading back out along the path her wounded glider had taken. For the first time, she regretted all the publicity she’d done to promote her fledgling business—the glider tutorial at the Holyoake County Fair, the aerial show during the Holyoake Fall Festival. Cutch was right. Everyone knew exactly what she did. And anyone who saw her flying over their drugmaking operation would logically conclude she not only saw them but was able to take pictures of what they were up to.

Ironically, Elise would have loved to be able to take pictures from her glider, but she’d never figured out a way to make it work. Too bad the gunmen hadn’t known that.

Pinching back the terrifying thoughts that filled her mind, Elise focused on the job at hand. “Okay. We’re coming up on where I think I lost my glider. I need you to get a lock on the spot with the GPS. Then I’ll go back over the anhydrous tank, and you can capture the coordinates of that location, too.” She quickly filled him in on how to use the GPS device.

With Cutch’s help, they spotted the glider, and she got both coordinates in a short time.

Elise pointed them back toward the airfield. She didn’t like what they’d learned. The idea that the gunmen might know her identity and want her dead was a chilling thought. Unfortunately, they seemed to know a lot more about her than she knew about them. That put her at a marked disadvantage.

The only good news was seeing an empty parking space where her uncle Leroy’s truck had been sitting when she’d left. She didn’t want to imagine how her uncle would react at finding a McCutcheon on his property. Both Leroy and her father made no apology for their blatant hatred toward the McCutcheon clan, and they seemed to despise Cutch worst of all.

“Looks like Leroy’s gone for lunch,” she said with relief as she brought the plane down in a smooth landing. “We can use the computer in the office to download those pictures. I want to see exactly what you saw.”

“The pictures should show more than I was able to see from the sky. I zoomed in on the tank as much as I could.”

Elise was impressed he’d thought to do that. “Excellent. That will help us see details more clearly. Maybe we can find something else that will give us an indication of who we’re dealing with.”

She parked the plane, did a quick postflight check and hurried with Cutch to the office where the sign on the door informed them Leroy didn’t expect to be back for another half hour. After making a mental note to be sure to be gone long before Leroy got back, Elise used her key to let them in.

As the pictures uploaded, she clicked through the shots of the Mitchum’s corn maze, which appeared on the screen first.

“Wow,” Cutch leaned over her shoulder as she sat in the only chair at the computer desk. “That’s a complex maze they’ve got going on there.”

Elise tried not to notice how closely he hovered behind her or the way her heart beat faster because he was there. “Yeah, they’re pretty proud of it. It’s their most complicated maze to date, and they’ve been doing this for fifteen years. That’s why they wanted me to take pictures, although they’re for next year’s publicity—they don’t want to give away the secrets of the maze to the general public. That would spoil all the fun.”

“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 herself.

“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.”

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