LITMIR.BIZ

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and Cutch. “It’s okay, Uncle Leroy. I asked him to get the ladder.”

      “You asked a McCutcheon to steal our ladder?” Leroy didn’t even lower his gun. “Now that don’t make any sense at all. This boy’s been addling your brain again, child.”

      Elise did not appreciate having her uncle talk down to her, even if he’d been right about Cutch before. She also wished he’d put the gun down. Since she’d gone to stand between them, he now had the barrel aimed at her as well as Cutch. “He’s helping me,” she explained slowly. “My glider went down on his land, and he offered to help me retrieve it.”

      Leroy lowered the gun slightly, concern softening the anger in his voice. “Your glider went down?”

      “Yes. And I’m kind of in a hurry to get it back. It may take us a while, and you know I don’t like to leave it out overnight—dew isn’t good for the body or the engine.” Buckshot was even worse, but she hoped her uncle would let her skip over the longer, more detailed version of the story.

      His eyes narrowed, Leroy held his ground. “I don’t like the sound of that. Your glider went down over McCutcheon land—”

      “Leroy!” Elise couldn’t let her uncle continue questioning her. If he found out she’d been shot down, he’d never let her leave with Cutch. “It’s okay. I know what I’m doing. But we have to get going, okay?” She met his eyes. “Can you just trust me on this?”

      Grumbling, Leroy looked past her to Cutch. “You take and load that ladder, but I expect to get it back by sundown or you’ll wish I’d just shot you!”

      Elise had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Her uncle could be such a throwback sometimes. “Thank you, Uncle Leroy,” she said calmly as she began to follow Cutch out the door.

      Leroy caught her arm. “You be careful out there, honey.”

      Elise saw the concern in her uncle’s brown eyes and realized he referred to more than just her safety. Leroy was familiar with enough of her history with Cutch to know her heart was in just as much danger as the rest of her. Probably more.

      “We’ll be fine,” she assured him with a smile she only wished she felt. Grabbing her portable GPS unit and the storage bag for her glider, she hurried toward Cutch’s truck. Would she be fine? She could only pray she would.

      Cutch had to ignore his curiosity about the anhydrous tank he’d seen. Much as he wanted to check out the site they’d spotted from the air, he knew Elise was in a hurry to get her glider out of the trees, and he’d already risked her safety by agreeing to postpone the phone call to the sheriff. He could investigate the drug lab later once she was safely home and unlikely to return.

      “Thanks for telling your uncle not to shoot me,” he said after they’d driven in silence for over a mile.

      “I didn’t have much choice, did I? If he’d killed you, there’s no way I could have gotten my glider back today.”

      Her words came out in a perfectly serious voice, but when Cutch looked over, he thought he caught a hint of a smile. He fought back a grin. “Worse yet, if he’d have wounded me, you might have had to do CPR.” Expecting her to slug him for such a bold comment, he braced himself for the impact of her little fist.

      “Nah. I’d have made Leroy do the mouth-to-mouth. He’s the one with the EMT training.” She shot him a look and laughed at the horrified expression he gave her in return.

      Cutch tipped his head back and chuckled, too. It felt so good to laugh with Elise, especially after the stress-filled day they’d had so far. “Then I’m glad he didn’t shoot me after all.” He glanced her way. She had her eyes trained out the window, and her slender fingers played nervously with the shoulder strap of her seatbelt. Her laughter had already faded.

      Tension settled back over them. He felt it like a thick choking cloud, the same elephant in the room that had always come between them. And though his logical side knew it would always be there—knew they’d never overcome the chasm between them—he couldn’t help praying God would show him the way past all that.

      “So, pecans, hmm?” Elise’s question drew him back from his thoughts.

      Cutch’s instinct was to clam up. Not even his folks knew what his plans were, and he wasn’t expecting to tell anyone, either, not until he knew if his plans would succeed. Eight years ago, he’d let his guard down with Elise and shared his dream with her. She was the only one besides his younger sister, Ginny, who knew what he’d wanted. Would it be okay to let her know how far he’d come? Sharing went against his secretive nature.

      “Yeah,” he replied in a noncommittal voice and kept his eyes focused on the road in front of them.

      “Those trees looked pretty old. One of them had a dead branch, as I recall.”

      She was baiting him. Cutch warred with what to tell her. Nobody in Holyoake County knew what his plans were—and for good reason. If people thought he was foolish enough to believe in his grandfather’s ruined dream of converting the otherwise infertile hills into a productive pecan farm, they’d never believe he could do an adequate job as county assessor. He was up for reelection again this fall. He could lose his job.

      “About sixty years old,” he told her quietly, wondering how he could possibly change the subject without raising her suspicions. Who was he kidding? This was Elise. She already knew enough to be suspicious.

      “Over six hundred acres of pecan trees.” She said it like a statement, not a question, her words quiet, unobtrusive.

      She knew.

      To spare her from digging any deeper, he came right out and admitted, “Grandpa’s.” He took the next corner quietly, and they began to close in on the property.

      “You bought it all?”

      “Yup.”

      “Congratulations,” her voice stayed soft, calm. “I hope it works out for you. If anyone can make it work, you can.”

      Like taking his work boots off after a long day, like loosening his belt after a huge Thanksgiving feast, something inside his soul gave a long-suppressed sigh at her words. She believed in him? She’d said so eight years ago, but he’d figured—

      “You have any success with it yet?” she interrupted his thoughts.

      “Not really. The trees are strong, just not productive.” Though he hoped Elise would know better, he felt he had to say, “Don’t mention the pecan trees to anyone, okay?” He glanced over at her.

      “I never have.” She returned his look. “Although I don’t see why you have to be so secretive about it.”

      Cutch looked back at the road. “Everybody knows loess soil isn’t good for anything,” he explained. “If people thought I was deluded enough to think it was good for growing pecans, they’d not only figure I was crazy but they might decide I don’t know enough about land value to be the county assessor after all.”

      “Oh.” Elise filled that lone syllable with understanding. “You don’t think—”

      “I didn’t win the last election by a very large margin. And county assessors tend to make enemies faster than they make friends.”

      “Oh.” The syllable came out an octave lower this time, as though weighed down by the gravity of his words. “I won’t say a thing about the pecan trees, Cutch. Or your plans.”

      “Thanks.” For all the bad blood between their families, Cutch knew Elise would be true to her word. When he looked her way again, she had her eyes on the trees before them.

      Cutch turned onto the road where he’d picked up Elise, which ran along the north end of the property. He headed in from the west, on the far end from where he’d spotted the anhydrous tank. Somewhere in the trees south of them they’d find Elise’s glider. Unless the gunmen found them first.

      Elise

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