Showdown in West Texas. Amanda Stevens

      Cage might have wondered if his father had actually been in the service, but he’d seen pictures of him in uniform. A handsome, smiling guy with sparkling white teeth and a full head of hair.

      The man in those photographs bore little resemblance to the washed-up drunk who’d deserted his family when Cage was barely thirteen.

      After a while, his mother had put away all those old pictures, but Cage had once heard her tell her sister that she still sometimes dreamed about his father, the way he’d been before Vietnam had turned him into a stranger. She still secretly hoped that man would someday come back to her.

      His mother’s confession had stunned Cage. It was hard for him to reconcile the romantic dreamer pining for her first love with the downtrodden cynic Darleen had become. But then, there were things about his own life that Cage couldn’t reconcile.

      A fly buzzed around his face as he stepped through the door and stood for a moment glancing around. A bar to his left ran the length of the place, but the five or six patrons were all seated around a table in the back. The light was so dim, Cage could barely make out their features, but he knew he had their attention. He heard a mutter in Spanish, followed by a mocking guffaw.

      Ignoring the stares, he slid onto a stool and placed his phone on the bar.

      After a moment, the bartender threw a towel over his shoulder and sidled over to Cage. “What can I get for you?”

      “Cerveza,” Cage said. “Whatever you’ve got that’s cold.”

      “A man with discerning tastes, I see.” The bartender reached for a chilled mug.

      “Discerning, no,” Cage said. “Parched, yes.”

      The bartender gave him a curious glance. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

      “Never been in before, but you come highly recommended.” Cage picked up the beer and took a thirsty swallow. “Damn, that’s good.”

      “You sound surprised.”

      “No, just appreciative.”

      “Well, it’s always nice to be appreciated. I’m Frank Grimes, by the way.”

      “Cage Nichols.”

      “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Cage.”

      They shook hands.

      “Likewise.”

      Frank Grimes was a tall, slender man of about fifty with longish gray hair and dancing blue eyes. His faded jeans and madras shirt looked straight out of the sixties, as did the silver peace sign he wore on a black cord around his neck.

      He had the look of an artist, Cage decided. The kind that spent his spare time painting coyotes silhouetted against sunsets.

      “So, what brings you to our fair town?” Frank folded his arms and leaned against the bar.

      “Car trouble,” Cage said.

      Frank nodded. “A story with which I’m intimately familiar. I was on my way to Juarez when my fuel pump went out just south of town. I had to wait overnight for a part that never came in, and I’ve been here ever since. That was three years ago.”

      Cage grimaced. “Well, I hope to have a little better luck than you. I need to be in El Paso by five.”

      Frank’s brows rose. “Five o’clock today?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Life or death?”

      “More or less.”

      “That stinks for you, then.”

      “Tell me about it. I’m still holding out some hope I’ll be able to make it on time,” Cage said as he took another drink of his beer. “The mechanic at the garage is on his way to Redford now to pick up a part for me.”

      “You mean Lester?”

      “Yeah, that’s him.”

      Frank’s eyes twinkled. “How much did you have to pay him?”

      “What makes you think I paid him?”

      “Because Lester never does anything out of the kindness of his heart. So, how much?”

      “Fifty up front and fifty when he returns with the part.”

      Frank whistled. “That was a big mistake, Cage. You never give Lester anything up front. He gets a little coin in his pocket, you’ll be lucky if you see him by the end of the week.”

      “Damn.”

      “Damn is right. Might as well have another beer while you wait. I doubt you’ll be doing any driving today.”

      “I don’t suppose there’s a rental car place in town?” When Frank shook his head, Cage said, “What about a bus?”

      “Last westbound Greyhound left two hours ago.”

      Cage flipped open his cell phone. “What’s up with the signal around here?”

      “We’re in a dead zone,” Frank said.

      “How the hell can you be in a dead zone? You’re out in the middle of nowhere. The signal should be able to travel for miles.”

      “I’ve been told it has something to do with electromagnetic currents in the air.”

      “Personally, I think it’s the aliens,” a female voice said behind Cage.

      He turned to see the blond woman he’d met earlier in front of the post office. For a moment, he flattered himself into thinking she’d come in especially to see him, but then she went around the bar and kissed Frank on the cheek before grabbing an apron from a nearby hook. As she tied it around her slender waist, she gave Cage another one of those knowing smiles.

      “See? I told you this place had the coldest beer in town.”

      “Never mind that we’re the only place in town,” Frank said.

      “All the more impressive that we maintain our rigid standards.”

      Cage hadn’t noticed before the way her lips turned up slightly at the corners, or the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. She really was a very pretty woman.

      “So, E.T. or undocumented workers?” he asked, deciding a little flirtation wouldn’t do any harm. As long as he was stuck here, he might as well make the wait pleasant.

      “Excuse me?”

      “You said aliens were responsible for the cell phone blackout around here,” he reminded her.

      Frank laughed. “That would be E.T.,” he said. “Sadie here drives out to the desert every night with a lawn chair and a six-pack hoping for her very own close encounter.”

      “Ha-ha, very funny,” she said as she took a rag and started wiping down the already spotless bar. “I happen to like watching the desert sky. It’s beautiful, and you’d be amazed at some of the things you can see out there.”

      An argument erupted behind them, and Sadie’s smile faded as her gaze shot to the table in the corner. But when Cage started to turn, she put her hand on his arm and said softly, “Nah-uh, hon. Best to mind your own business around here.”

      “I find it best to do that most everywhere,” Cage said.

      She nodded. “Smart man.”

      Someone from the table called out her name. She and Frank exchanged a quick look before she rounded the bar and hurried over to the table.

      Cage watched in the mirror as a tall, dark man with a ponytail down his back rose from the table and took Sadie’s arm. She flung off his hand and said something in Spanish, her tone furious. A chortle rose from the group, and she shot a murderous look at the whole table.

      “Perros mugrientos,” she