RattlingtheCage

by Ann Cory

  He cleared his throat. “Nope.”

  She didn’t believe him. Montana pushed open the door for air. “Can’t you give us a chance?”

  “I said no.”

  Tears filled her eyes and she glanced away. “If you’d let down your guard…”

  “I’m not looking to be used,” he snapped.

  Twisting back, she quipped, “I’m not using you.”

  “Sure you are. All you care about is getting out of here.”

  She shook her head and stared at the dashboard. At one time that had been true. But the more they were together, the more he touched her, made her feel like the most wanted woman in the world, the more it messed with her head and her emotions. What she’d experienced with him had more substance to it than a brief lust-fueled fuck. He’d filled her with more than flesh.

  “You’re wrong. I care about you.”

  “Bullshit. You like that I’m something new.”

  “I said you’re wrong.”

  He smiled as if it hurt his face. “You’re a sweet thing. You’ll find someone who wants you back.”

  Anger bubbled from her core. She slid out from the truck, body quivering. “You’re a goddamn coward. You’re too scared to care about anyone because you’ve lost everyone you’ve ever cared about.”

  His face flamed. “I didn’t come here for you, and I don’t want you with me.”

  Montana kicked at the dirt. “You plan on being alone forever?”

  “Alone is safe.”

  “How so?”

  “It means when I die, I won’t leave someone behind to grieve.”

  She understood that. Her mother had left her behind. “Sounds like you’re scared.”

  Lawson slipped out from the truck and came toward her, his arm outstretched, finger pointing. “What have you done to get out of here on your own?”

  “Done?”

  “You whine about how much you hate this place, that you’re a victim. Do something to change it.”

  Her lips trembled. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “The only thing I see is you helping everyone to be stuck here just like yourself.”

  “How?”

  “You serve alcohol to people who have nothing left to live for. They drink to numb the pain, to help them forget that they used to have a good life. Why do you think they’re given such a large tab? The sheriff wants them inebriated and stupid so he can get away with anything he wants, because if he’s ever called on anything, it’s his word against a bunch of drunks.”

  “It’s a job. I have a debt to pay.” She swiped at her eye, cursing the stupid tears.

  “Don’t start crying.”

  “I’m not. I’m mad. I’m mad at you. You push me away, pull me back and push me away again. You’re a selfish bastard.”

  “Good. Get mad if that means knocking you off the pity stool.”

  She stepped forward, readying to swing, and then froze, her eyes wide.

  His brows arched. “That’s right. You have fight in you. Fight me, I don’t care, get passionate about something. You’re beautiful but you’ve got more going for you than looks. You’ve got survival skills. You can get out of here if you want to bad enough.”

  “And you’re just a jerk.”

  “The only way I know how to be. Don’t plan on changing.”

  “Whatever.” She knew that he wanted her to believe that, but she wasn’t so sure.

  “I mean it when I say keep your distance. You’re a distraction that I don’t need.”

  “Fine. I’m gone.”

  Montana left without looking back. She didn’t care what he thought. She wasn’t using him. Not anymore. And he did need her. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. Even if he found out too late.

  * * * * *

  Lawson fished the condom wrapper from the seat and crumpled it in his fist. He was getting dangerously close to fucking everything up.

  After checking the truck once more, he dragged his tired ass to his room and into bed. A few hours’ sleep would refresh him. He did a mental checklist of where he’d stashed his guns in case the sheriff or deputy visited, and palmed the magnum beneath his pillow.

  Eyes closed, he thought of his grandfather. Cole Cage wouldn’t be too pleased about his reason for returning. But he’d live with it. Sometimes violence made the most sense.

  The sound of rocks hitting his window sent him diving to the floor. More rocks splattered, this time with more force. Another round and they’d crack the glass. He reached beneath the pillowcase and grabbed his magnum. Someone wanted a few rounds pumped into his chest.

  Gun cocked, he waited. His eyes darted between the door and window. Like hell he’d go to jail without a fight.

  Minutes passed and his pulse stabilized. He moved to a crouch and snuck toward the window. Not seeing anyone, he unlocked the door and poked his head out. An elderly man motioned to him from about ten feet away.

  Lawson placed a finger on his chest.

  The old man nodded.

  He checked both sides of the street.

  “Hurry,” the man said.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Just come on.”

  Lawson tucked the gun in his pants and checked the street again, certain it was a trap.

  “Look, I don’t…”

  The man’s voiced raised. “Mr. Cage, you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”

  Shocked to hear his last name, he sped up. “Shit, man. You’ve got my attention.”

  “Come inside.”

  He ducked under the eaves and followed him in.

  The shabby house, with its burnt-corn smell and scant belongings, barely allowed him to stand straight. An old radio in the corner played a scratchy tune. The elderly man motioned toward two pea-green recliners. “Have a seat. My back gives out pretty easy these days.”

  Lawson noticed several pictures of a pretty woman scattered around the room. “How do you know my name?”

  “You look like your grandfather.”

  His eyes widened. “You knew Cole Cage?”

  “Went to school with him,” he said and broke into a wheezing fit. “Excuse me a moment.” He coughed into a rag for another minute and then inhaled deeply through his nose. “We weren’t in the same class or anything,” he continued, “but back then we only had the schoolhouse and all of us kids learned together.” He stuck out his other hand. “Name’s Jake Sanderson.”

  Lawson returned the handshake and occupied the other recliner. “I’d appreciate you keeping who I am under wraps.”

  Jake tapped his finger against his lips. “Your secret’s safe.”

  “Much obliged.”

  “My wife passed last year. I don’t have much need to talk to anyone else.”

  Lawson looked back to the pictures and removed his hat. “My condolences. Ruth, my grandmother, died last year, too.”

  “Now that’s a shame. She turned many heads around here. Plenty of suitors lined up for her hand in marriage.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “She chose the right man.”

  Lawson nodded.

  “Your grandfather was a good, honest man,” he continued. “Smart too. Excelled in math. Could work any problem put on the chalkboard. Married young, right after finishing up his final year. Worked hard to care for his family.”

  “Afraid I didn’t pick up any math from him.”

  “I’m more of a craftsman myself. Used to rebuild cars, until Mitchum decided to have them all towed.”

  Lawson interrupted. “You wanted to tell me something.”

  “I wanted you to know that your grandpa was well thought of around here. Nothing was ever the same after Mitchum reduced Cage Crossing to ashes. He might’ve hoped people would forget what he did to your family, but no one did.”

  “I appreciate hearing that.”

  Jake leaned in. “Cole knew something was up at the bank, and knew JR Mitchum took money from the people. That’s why they made his life he
ll.”

  “I know it,” said Lawson. He scowled. “I plan to find that money. Mitchum doesn’t deserve it.”

  The old man sat back and patted the top of his bald head a few times. “I heard the money is hidden someplace where no one will find it.”

  “You mean other than in the bank vault?”

  “I reckon.”

  Lawson frowned. “But you don’t know where.”

  “I hear the talk. There’ve been many who’ve lost their lives searching for that money. It’s around. Waiting for the right man to find it.”

  Lawson’s leg bobbed.

  “I knew change was coming when you drove into town.”

  “How so?”

  “A Cage has returned home. Already the town is better for it.”

  Uneasy with the praise, Lawson stared at his boots. On a whole, the townspeople were kind folks. He’d imagined them gutless, having done nothing to help his grandfather. Getting to know the people, caring about them, made his task difficult. He’d meant to burn the place to the ground. But now, he found himself conflicted.

  A cold sweat started along his back. He’d overstayed. He started to get up. “I should get going now.”

  “He’d be proud of you,” said Jake.

  Lawson went ramrod straight. “I don’t think so.”

  “I know it,” the old man said firmly. “He believed in fairness.”

  Throat tight, he said, “I don’t share his philosophy on handling problems peacefully.”

  “Then you’ve learned a valuable lesson from him.”

  “I’ve learned how to live and breathe hate.”

  Jake shook his head. “You’ve learned to survive.”

  “Thanks.” He stuck his hand out and patted the man’s shoulder. “I appreciate your words about my grandpa.”

  “Sure. Like I said, he was a good man. Better man than the rest of us.”

  Lawson placed his hat back on. “I’ll see myself out.”

  A light mist hung in the air. Warm and pleasant. He stepped off Jake’s porch. Fresh prints in the dirt drew his attention. Boot prints that trailed to the parking lot. He clutched his gun and followed past the rusted cars, glancing inside and underneath each one. Whoever had been there didn’t stick around long.

  The footprints ended at the driver’s side of his truck. He checked the seat, the tires and the glove box. Someone had indeed rifled through his belongings. No paranoia about it. Someone had something on him.

  Things were about to escalate fast.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Garvey whipped through the side streets home, white-knuckled and riding high on adrenaline. Images of Montana with her head thrust back through the fogged-up windows replayed in his mind. He’d wanted to open the door and shoot the bastard, but feared harming Montana. After they’d finished and Lawson went with Sanderson, he’d looked through the truck and found a birth certificate. His dad would be proud of him this time.

  He peeled into the driveway and nearly took apart the door in his haste to get out. His legs burned as he raced through the house.

  “Pop. Where are you?”

  “Around back. Having a smoke.”

  Winded, Garvey took a moment to catch his breath.

  Toward the back of the house, he repeated, “Pop.”

  “What is it, boy?”

  “He ain’t no stranger,” he said through a grin.

  “How do you mean?”

  He thrust a piece of paper in his father’s face. “Poked around the inside of the stranger’s truck and found this.”

  His father straightened and held the paper close to his face.

  “Cage? He’s a goddamn Cage?”

  “That’s not all. I saw him go inside Jake Sanderson’s place. He had to have been in there for fifteen, twenty minutes.”

  Admiration streaked his father’s face.

  “Now you’re acting like a Mitchum. I’m proud of you, boy.”

  His pride soared. “What do we do?”

  “Well, first I’m going to pay Jake a visit,” he said. “And then I’ll figure things out from there.”

  “Yes, sir.” Garvey masked his disappointment.

  His father took a long drag of his cigarette and snuffed it out on the bottom of his boot. “I knew we should’ve done away with every last Cage,” he grumbled. “But my father had too much stock in that woman, Ruth. Let her go thinking she’d run back into his arms once Cole was gone. Course she never did. She shouldn’t have been allowed to take that brat with her and leave.”

  Garvey followed his father into the kitchen and watched him check his gun. He selected a box of bullets from the side drawer. “That was the only time my old man showed weakness. Around that woman. Not a single one of ’em is worth it, you understand?”

  “Yeah, Pop.”

  Clint pressed the bullet into the chamber and shoved it into his holster. “I know you think that whore’s daughter is worth it, but I’m telling you, they’re selfish creatures. That’s why I keep telling you to get a handle on her.”

  “I know. I’m working on it.”

  “You’re going to have to work harder.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His father smiled at him again. A genuine smile that made all the years of eyeing him with disappointment fade. “I’m off to see Jake. We’ll catch up later.”

  “Sure, Pop.”

  He’d show his father he wasn’t a coward. He’d shoot Lawson Cage himself.

  * * * * *

  Clint knocked several times before the door opened and Jake Sanderson peered out, his face lined with age.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff.”

  “Afternoon,” he said, offering his hand with a big Texas smile. “And it’s Clint. I’m not here on business, so how about we talk like the old friends we once were.”

  Jake ignored his hand and directed his gaze to the ground. “We were never friends.”

  “Sure we were.” He rocked back on his heels and gestured inside. “You plan to invite me in?”

  “Hadn’t thought to.”

  Clint held his smile. “Suit yourself. Figured we hadn’t talked much, wanted to see what you’ve been up to.”

  The old man’s shoulders rolled like wheels in sand. “Nothing much.”

  “Been talking to anyone I should know about?”

  Jake’s head lifted. “Nope.”

  Pissed that he’d lied, Clint didn’t bother with niceties. “How about any interesting visitors?”

  “Nope. Not that I recall.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “Yep.”

  Clint pulled out a cigarette and lit a match on the side post. He took a few puffs, shook out the flame and looked out into the street. “Seems we have ourselves an outsider with an agenda. You sure you don’t know anything about that?”

  He turned in time see the old man flinch.

  This time his lips curled naturally. “I need you to be honest, Jake.” He slid his vest open and exposed his gun. “Otherwise innocent people get hurt. Did you talk to him?”

  “Might’ve.”

  Clint let the vest slip back. “Well now. What did you two talk about?”

  “The past. How Cole and I were old friends. Such a shame what happened.” Jake paused to wipe his mouth. “Then again, I guess you aren’t too heartbroken over it. Seeing as how your family destroyed his.”

  Flicking ash to the porch, Clint sneaked a glance behind him again. “What else was said?”

  “Nothing.” The old man’s calmness made him angrier. “I just thought he should know this town has been nothing without the Cage family.”

  Clint dropped the remainder of his cigarette and twisted his boot overtop. “Is that right.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’d hate to think you are the sort of man who sides with the enemy.”

  Jake put his hand on the doorway and shifted his foot forward. In a clear, even voice, he said, “I’ve never sided with a Mitchum in my life.”

  Clint close
d his fist around the gun and loosened it from his holster.

  “Still not going to invite me in?”

  “Nope.”

  Mitchum checked the street once more and then rammed into Jake, knocking him back and onto the floor. With the gun pressed to the old man’s forehead, he got to his feet and kicked the door closed. He rested his boot on Sanderson’s belly and redistributed all his weight.

  Jake groaned against the pressure, his face turning cherry-red.

  With a chuckle, Clint dug his boot heel in further. “Sorry to have to kill you. But then, we weren’t friends anyway.”

  He pulled the trigger and watched Jake die.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lawson struggled with the way his plans were unraveling. While he still carried around the rage of what Mitchum did to his family, something had tempered him since he’d stepped back into his past. He needed to get himself fired up. Maybe he didn’t want to blow up the town anymore, but he intended to find the money and kill Mitchum.

  The air made him sticky and his throat burned. He needed to find his edge. A beer sounded ideal.

  On entering, the entire room went quiet. Montana motioned him over, eyes frantic.

  “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here.”

  Lawson smirked. “Why? Because I roughed up the deputy?”

  “No.” She lowered her voice. “Because of Jake Sanderson.”

  “What about Jake?”

  “He’s dead.”

  The room swayed. “The hell?”

  “He was shot and two people witnessed you go inside his house.”

  “Who?”

  “Amos and Bigsby.”

  Lawson massaged his right temple. “But I didn’t kill Jake. He invited me into his house. Knew I was a Cage. We talked about my grandfather. Son of a bitch. He got killed because he talked to me.”

  Montana reached out and squeezed his arm. “You didn’t know.”

  Heat lashed his face. “I should’ve known. Someone saw me, not sure who, but Bigsby and Amos weren’t anywhere around. Dammit.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  The edge he’d been missing ignited. He streaked through the bar, flinging anything and anyone out of his way.

  “Lawson, wait!”

  Ignoring Montana, he charged outside. He thought of Jake. A kind man who’d just lost his wife. A man who insisted he talk with him. Whether he knew the result of talking with him or not didn’t matter now. But he couldn’t let it go. Jake had mentioned the money. All but told him that his grandfather would want him to find it. He needed answers and only one place came to mind.