Free RattlingtheCage by Ann Cory Page B

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