Chapter 8
Mim met Cutter at the front door, all but dragging him into the house.
Her set jaw and narrowed eyes said she meant business, so he didn’t resist. Fuzzy slippers slapped the wood flooring, the loose terry-cloth robe trailed behind her like a cape as she marched him past the kitchen, where her twin nine-year-old sons were locked in fierce battle over who got to crack the most eggs—Matthew, the more emotional, or Michael, the oldest by twelve minutes.
The boys’ sixteen-year-old sister, Constance, stood at the kitchen island pouring buttermilk into a measuring cup. Arliss thought she was showing remarkable restraint until he realized she was making pancakes with AirPods in her ears.
If the kids were surprised when their mother breezed by with him in tow, they didn’t show it.
Mim shut the door behind them and then fell back on the bed with an exaggerated gasp. She kicked off her slippers and then closed her eyes. Her T-shirt rode up below her breasts, exposing a very pregnant belly above the low waistband of her sweats.
Cutter stood rooted in place, war bag in hand, blinking stupidly at the sight of this beautiful woman who was carrying his child.
He’d not imagined it possible that she could ever be more beautiful than when they’d first met as sixteen year olds, but the pregnancy had exaggerated the freckles across her smallish nose and the brightness of her peaches and cream complexion.
Mim snapped her fingers, bringing him out of his stupor. “These feet aren’t going to rub themselves, mister. And anyway, you look like you should sit down before you fall down.”
Cutter dropped his bag to the floor and all but collapsed on the edge of the bed.
Mim’s eyes fluttered when he bent back her toes.
“I assume you’re flying down to Ketchikan to check on Joellen,” she said.
Cutter raised a brow. “Well, hello to you, too.”
“Sorry.” Mim chuckled. “This brain fog is hitting me hard. I have to triage important thoughts before they fade into the ether. You know, it really ticks me off when my doctor calls this a geriatric pregnancy, but I’m beginning to think she has a point.
Anyway, you’re absolutely right. Welcome home. Sounds like you enjoyed England.”
“It was an eventful trip,” he said. “I brought you a fridge magnet and a scarf from an Irish wool store near the British Museum.”
“Nice!”
“I like this new normal,” he said.
“New normal?”
“You know, rubbing your feet while the kids make breakfast for dinner. It’s … it’s new to me.”
Mim’s head fell to one side. She looked up, her hair splayed across the pillow.
It was astonishing to Cutter how easily she’d taken to being married.
He’d worried that the specter of his dead brother would hang over their relationship forever, but this incredible woman was somehow capable of loving him completely without diminishing her feelings for Ethan.
“I like it, too,” she said. “Except for the bloating and indigestion.” She came up on both elbows with such speed, Cutter thought he’d hurt her.
“So, like I said, you are going to Ketchikan to check on Joellen, aren’t you?”
“What? No. I just got back. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Come on, bud.” Mim often called him bud when she wanted him to know she was serious. “Your ex-wife calls you out of the blue …”
“So?”
“Let me ask you this, then,” she said. “Did you end on good terms when you divorced?”
“Not especially,” Cutter said. “We weren’t tearing out each other’s throats, but it wasn’t what you’d call amicable.”
“Good,” Mim said. “It’s not like the woman’s carrying a torch for you. She needs help—and you, Arliss Cutter, are not the kind to let a call for help go unanswered, even from an ex-wife.” Mim gave a tight chuckle. “Especially from an ex-wife.”
“I’m still processing the conversation.” Cutter yawned, stretching his shoulders. He was so tired his eyes were starting to roll back in his head. “It’s a two-night sail from Seattle to Ketchikan. Nothing I can do until day after tomorrow.”
“Ursula’s bringing Geoff and your sister for dinner on Sunday,” Mim said. “That’s five days.”
“My long-lost mother’s coming for dinner?”
“I thought we’d have leg of lamb. Just make sure you’re home by then to make the gravy.”
“My mother, huh …” He gave her a wry grin. “This might take longer than I thought. …”
“Not a chance, bud,” she said. “Your mother and I have different ways of doing things.”
“That’s a blessing,” Cutter said.
“Did you know she keeps her tomatoes in the fridge?”
Cutter stifled a grin. “I told you she was a monster—”
Michael, the older twin, burst through the door before Cutter could say more. Matthew was hot on his heels. Constance hustled in after them, grabbing the trailing boy by the shoulder.
“Mom’s resting. Y’all leave her alone!”
Cutter was accustomed to seeing Constance decked out in black, dyed hair hanging in her face. Today she could have passed for an emo Betty Crocker, with an apron over faded jeans and one of her mother’s garnet and gold Florida State T-shirts dusted with flour.
“Thank you, Constance, but they’re fine,” Mim said. “Uncle Arliss and I are just talking.”
Cutter scooted up against the headboard and looked at his niece.
“How’s swim going? Your mom told me you’re killing it at breaststroke and freestyle.
” Constance was beyond prickly after her father was killed and Cutter came to Alaska to help out.
His relationship with Mim was strictly platonic then, but that didn’t matter to Constance.
For a while she’d even suspected Cutter was her real father—until Mim set her straight.
It was still touch and go, but swimming was one thing the two had in common.
Cutter leveraged that as much as he could, hopefully without being too weird. “You have a meet Monday, right?”
“We do.” She winked at her mom. “But you’re not allowed to come, Uncle Arliss. You get too excited.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that,” Mim said. She eyed the boys. “What’s the problem, men?”
“Everything’s sigma,” Michael said, wagging his head and looking away. There was obviously a problem. “We were just wondering if you wanted creamy scrambled eggs or fried eggs. Because the fried ones will still be a little bit scrambled.”
“No cap!” Matthew stifled a giggle. “Michael just doesn’t know how to crack eggs.”
“I’m good with whatever,” Mim said.
“Uncle Arliss, I heard you say you’re going to be gone somewhere,” Matthew said. A pained look crossed the boy’s face. “That’s freakin’ suss! You just got home.”
Cutter turned to Mim and raised an eyebrow at this Generation Alpha speak. She shrugged.
“He doesn’t want to go,” Mim said.
“She’s right,” Cutter said. “This is kind of an emergency.”
“Skibidi,” Matthew said, pooching out his bottom lip. “You sure have a lot of emergencies.”
Michael, the more contemplative of the twins, gave a slow nod. He’d apparently grown tired of the slang. “What happens if Uncle Arliss isn’t around when the baby comes?”
“Yeah,” Matthew said. “What if he’s away on a big case?”
Cutter patted Mim’s belly. “No case bigger than this one.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I like how you said that.”
“Sounded better in my head,” Cutter said.
Constance met her mother’s eye and then shooed the boys out. “Come on, hellions,” she said. “Let’s set the table.” She closed the door behind her. Then, more quietly, when she thought her mother couldn’t hear, “And speak English when you’re with me or I’ll kick your Skibidi asses!”
Mim started to say something, but Cutter patted her hand. “Go easy on her,” he said. “She just said what we were thinking.”
“Who’d have thought Constance would be the sensitive one?” Mim said, as if to herself. “Do you mean what you said about making sure you’re here?”
“Mim,” he said. “Nothing will keep me away. I’ll give Jill my two-weeks’ notice tomorrow if—”
“And do what?” She rolled her eyes. “Sell wood carvings? Come on, Arliss. I’d sooner lose a leg than see you quit marshaling.”
He patted her thigh. “I’m kinda partial to these legs.”
“You know what I mean. You’re a man hunter. Baby Ursula and I will not be the ones to take that away from you.”
Cutter nearly choked. “Ursula? Not in a million years will we saddle our child with my mother’s name!”
Mim grinned. “I guess Joellen’s off the table, then.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Seriously, though,” she said. “What is your plan?”
Cutter groaned. “Lola and I have been putting off a couple of warrants in Ketchikan. We can fly down late tomorrow and make our arrests. That’ll get us there well before the ship docks the next morning. I’ll get a feel for the situation and then fly right back home to you.”
“Lola’s not going to be happy about traveling.” Mim beat her head softly against the pillow. “She still working on those homicides?”
“TBO, she calls them,” Cutter said. “The Branded Ones. I call them way the heck outside our swim lanes.”
“Dead bodies, all of them with a wolf or bear head branded on their necks …” Mim shuddered. “Sounds like one of the true crime podcasts your mother listens to. Still, a couple of the victims were Marshals Service prisoners.”
“They were,” Cutter said.
“Seems like that’s right in your wheelhouse.”
“Nope,” Cutter said. “We hunt down outlaws and put them in the slammer. Something happens to them while they’re there, we can investigate the jail’s procedures. The FBI takes the homicide.”
Mim rolled her eyes. “Friggin’ FBI …”
“They’re okay,” Cutter said. “The agents, anyway. I’m not so sure about their bureaucracy—or ours, either, for that matter. Lola’s just let these cases get under her skin. It’s all-consuming. Not good for her.”
“Says the one who is consumed about virtually every case he works.”
“Anywaaay,” Cutter said. “We had a relatively slow week planned. I told her she could run down what few leads she’s been able to come up with. Maybe I should let her sit out this Ketchikan trip. I can get some locals to go with me.”
“To check on Joellen?”
“No,” Cutter said. “To arrest our outlaws.”
“I know it’s not up to me,” Mim said. “But I wouldn’t mind if Lola went with you.”
“I’ll let her know it’s your decision that she go.”
“Ha ha,” Mim said. “Just so I’m clear, why has Joellen kept your last name?”
“Convenience, I guess.”
“Maybe,” Mim said. “And how many times has she contacted you since the divorce?”
Cutter thought for a minute, whispering numbers like he was adding them up. Mim punched him in the arm.
“How many?”
“Let’s see …” Cutter said. “There’s today and … that’s it.”
“Yep,” Mim said. “You should definitely go.” She lifted a leg and wiggled her toes. “Come on,” she said. “The kids will be arguing about how to set the table for the next fifteen minutes. Pretty sure this wasn’t part of your fantasy.”
“Rubbing my pregnant wife’s feet?” Cutter asked, incredulous. “Are you kidding?” I dreamed of this every day.”
Mim grinned, slyly raising a beautiful brow. “And other stuff.”
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Cutter.” He scooted in close and put a hand on her belly. “I was sixteen years old when we met. I dreamed about other stuff all the time.”
“I imagine so,” she said. She lay a hand on her stomach beside his. “I’m not sorry about this baby … but I do feel bad we didn’t have more of a honeymoon.”
“You’ll get no complaints from me,” Cutter said. “No, ma’am.” The baby stirred inside her. His baby. He was suddenly seized with the notion that this was all too good, too much—and he was bound to lose it.
Mim piped up, saving him once again from his natural melancholy.
“I almost forgot. Speaking of Ursula, your mother dropped off a pair of baby socks your Nana Cutter made for you before she passed. Kind of cool to think about our little girl wearing something your grandmother made with her own hands. Wish I could have met her.”
“Me too,” Cutter said. “Grumpy talked about her so often, it feels like we grew up with her in the house.” Cutter collapsed against the pillow with a groan, his head alongside Mim’s.
He could feel the tension flowing out of his bones.
“I remember this particular evening when I was still in grade school, Grumpy took a couple of days off to take us fishing, and then we built a big fire in the backyard pit. He usually steered clear of expensive luxuries like soda, but that night he’d brought home a six pack of Frostie Root Beer for me and Ethan.
Usually, he’d quiz us on geography or science or some such, but that night, he’d taken a rare drink of whiskey.
He just sat there and stared at her photo, big tears rolling down his face in the firelight.
I was ten—so that would have been the tenth anniversary of her passing.
It was the only time I ever saw him break down like that. Ethan cried, I cried …”
Mim turned on the pillow to face him. “Ten years old,” she whispered. “That must have been scary.”
“Nope.” Cutter gave a long, shuddering yawn. “It was beautiful.”