Out on a Limb

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“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 had her portable GPS out and watched the screen as it counted down their longitudinal progress.

“Right about here,” she said.

Cutch slowed the truck to a stop off to the side of the road a bit. He hopped out and grabbed the ladder from where he’d stored it in back. Elise pulled out the neatly folded nylon bag that she’d explained would carry the folded glider.

“Ready?” he asked.

She had her eyes on the GPS screen but looked up at him and smiled. “Ready.”