Showdown in West Texas

A sound from the front porch brought both women around in surprise. Grace had forgotten all about Ethan, but there he stood watching them.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just came back to see if I could give you a hand with anything else.”

Grace supposed the offer had been posed to her, but Ethan couldn’t take his eyes off Lily. He looked crestfallen, and Grace thought she knew why. Given his position at the county clerk’s office, he probably knew or at least suspected that Lily had plans to sell the ranch, but Grace was almost certain that until that very moment, he’d never contemplated the possibility of her sister actually leaving town.

When he realized that Grace was studying him, he quickly glanced away.

Lily, of course, noticed none of this. Where Ethan Brennan was concerned, she seemed completely oblivious.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Grace told him. “Thanks for the help.”

“Any time.” His gaze crept back to her sister. “See you around, Lily.”

She seemed to catch herself then and said, “Yeah, thanks for everything, Ethan.”

“Glad to help out.” He hesitated, obviously hoping for another bone, then turned with a defeated little shrug and left.

Grace waited until she heard the screen door close before she faced Lily. “You could have left Jericho Pass anytime you wanted. Why now? Is it because I’m back?”

Anger flared in Lily’s eyes. “Newsflash, Grace. Not everything is about you. If I decide to leave town, it’ll be because it’s what I want.”

Grace stared at her in exasperation. “Why the attitude, Lily? What did I ever do to you?”

Her sister folded her arms. “Like you don’t know.”

“It can’t be just about the job,” Grace said helplessly. “You’ve been like this for years. Why don’t you just tell me so we can try to work it out? We’re sisters. It shouldn’t be like this between us.”

Lily smiled. “Well, see, that’s the beauty of it, Grace. You don’t get to control how I feel about you.”

She turned and bounded up the stairs, then paused on the landing to stare back down at Grace. “Ethan was right, you know. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

THE SUN WAS ALREADY going down when Cage finally spotted the highway up ahead. He’d been walking due west since he set out, and early on, the light had been blinding. Now, as the sun sank below the horizon, the sky turned blood red, then deepened to a gilded violet.

As he gazed upward, Cage thought of Sadie and the way Frank had teased her about hoping for a close encounter. You’d be amazed at what you can see out there, she’d said. Cage couldn’t help wondering now if she’d witnessed more than just a starry sky on her nightly excursions to the desert. Was there a reason she’d been shot, other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time?

Cage had a bad feeling the massacre at Del Fuego’s was only the tip of the iceberg. Corruption and drug trafficking were nothing new along the border, but he didn’t think what he’d stumbled into was some penny-ante deal gone south.

In spite of their youth, the shooters were highly trained professionals. And the men in suits looked to be upper crust law enforcement. State level, at least. Maybe even FBI or DEA, which left Cage with few options. If he called the state police, they’d likely haul his ass in for questioning, and until he managed to convince someone to believe him, he’d be a sitting duck in custody. Eventually, the truth might come out, but with cops involved, he could be dead by then.

So, at the moment, he had only one clear course of action. Put as much distance as he could between himself and San Miguel.

About a hundred yards up the road, Cage spotted a car pulled to the shoulder. He hesitated, wondering if he should approach or head off in the opposite direction.

Hunkering down at the edge of the desert, he waited several minutes, but he didn’t see any movement. He might have thought the car had stalled and the driver had taken off on foot like he’d had to do earlier, but the top was down and he could hear the radio.

The twang of an electric guitar seemed a good enough omen to Cage, and he decided to move in a little closer, see if he could detect any sign of life.

The car was an old black Cadillac Eldorado, beautifully restored, with high tailfins and a low slung profile that looked about a mile long. Cage took a moment to appreciate the classic lines before he inched in, keeping an eye on the road behind him and the desert on either side of him.

Easing up to the driver’s side, he glanced in. The key was in the ignition. Whoever the car belonged to couldn’t have gone far—

“Hold it right there, mister.”

Cage straightened. A man stood on the other side of the car pointing a gun at him.

“Back away from the vehicle,” the man said gruffly. “Easy does it, slick.”

Cage lifted his hands and took a step back from the car.

The man kept a bead drawn on Cage as he slowly rounded the rear of the Caddy.

“You weren’t thinking about trying to steal my car, were you, boy?”

“No, sir,” Cage said. “I was hoping I might hitch a ride.”

“That a fact.”

They took a moment to size each other up in the gloom.

Then the driver nodded toward the desert. “What the hell you doing way off out here in the middle of nowhere on foot?”

“My car broke down a ways back,” Cage said. “Cell phone wouldn’t work so I had no choice but to hoof it.”

“I just came from thata way myself,” the man said. “I didn’t see no broken-down car. Didn’t see much of nuthin’ but a prairie-dog town.”

“I pushed the car off the road so it wouldn’t get stripped before I could make it back with a part.”

“That’s city-boy thinking. You ain’t from around here, are you?”

“Just passing through,” Cage said. “Never been out west before. Thought I’d like to see it before I die.”

“You don’t expect that to be imminent, do you?”

“Hope not.”

The man seemed to consider Cage’s explanation. He looked to be in his early to midforties, but he had the kind of round, boyish face that made age hard to determine, especially in the dusky light.

He was average height, with broad shoulders and a wide chest that seemed to strain the pearl snaps of his western shirt, and a gut that was just starting to protrude over his silver belt buckle.

As he eyed Cage suspiciously, he shifted the gun to his left hand and used his right wrist to wipe away what Cage thought at first was sweat from his brow. Then he saw that it was blood.

“Hey, mister, you okay?”

“I’ve been better.” When he edged around the car to open the front door, Cage got a better look at him. He was flushed and his breathing sounded strained. “Just need to sit down for a minute,” he said and waved his gun toward Cage. “Better not get any bright ideas, though. I can pick a fly off that cactus over yonder even with a pea shooter like this.”

“Gotcha.” Cage backed up another step. “That’s a pretty nasty-looking cut. You may need some stitches in that thing.”

“I’ll get it cleaned up soon as I hit the next town.”