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,
