Cash's Fight
Page 39

“Does it?”
“Yes.”
“Damn, Rachel. I’m really impressed. Now I see why you’re spending so much time back here. I was wondering why you don’t see your clients anymore. Several of the customers coming into the church store have been asking Lily why you’re not taking their calls anymore,” Cash asked curiously.
When she turned, going back to spraying the plants, Cash looked at her stiff back, guilt hitting him. “Rachel, your clients aren’t going to say anything about me opening my big mouth.”
“It’s getting late. I need to get to bed. Night, Cash.”
He watched her leave the room. Hearing the closing of her bedroom door, he turned the lights off in the room and went into the kitchen to get himself a beer. Every time he took a step forward with Rachel, he ended up taking two steps backward. He felt like he was never going to be able to reach her.
“Got one for me?” Mag asked as she rolled herself into the kitchen.
“Yeah.” Cash reached into the refrigerator, pulling her out a beer.
Some people might think it was strange drinking a beer with their eighty-eight-year-old grandmother, but Cash didn’t. She had never done a proper thing in her life. When she was sixteen, she had run off with a carnie worker and married him. After three years on the road, she had returned to Treepoint with him in tow and two babies. Her husband had become hurt and could no longer do the rigorous work of putting the tents up and down.
Her parents had given her hell but had opened their doors to the family. Everyone had expected her husband—Cash had privately believed there wasn’t a marriage certificate—to not be able to support his family, but he had proven them wrong, working in the mill yard and saving enough money to buy a piece of property. It was the same property he had built the original log home on with his own two hands, managing to buy the scrap lumber for it. They had been married fifty-six years when he had died, and Cash still remembered that day along with his grandmother’s face as they had become concerned when he hadn’t returned from a fishing trip. They had found him peacefully lying on the bank; he had passed away while doing what he loved.
For the first time, his strong-as-a-rock grandmother had broken, begging God to undo what they had found. Losing a man he had admired and loved had been heart-rending for Cash, as well.
She now sat in a wheelchair, studying him as she drank her beer.
“I used to go to your football games and watch you make play after play. The harder the game, the harder you played, Cash.”
“I got knocked around plenty.” He took a drink of his beer.
“Yes, you did. Remember when we played Jamestown and we were losing? Everyone had given up. The crowd wasn’t even yelling; people were leaving. It was raining and freezing. Parents were standing by metal trashcans, lighting fires to stay warm. Most miserable night of my fucking life, but the proudest I’d ever been of you. The more defeated those other boys became, the more determined you were. You made those touchdowns that won the game. You never quit, and you don’t know how to lose gracefully. Don’t start now when you could lose the biggest prize of your life. She’s worth the fight.”
Cash set his beer down on the counter. “I know she is, but she hates me. I fucked up, Gram.”
“I know you did. A woman don’t get that look in her eye unless she’s been hurt past what her heart can bear, but I have faith in you. Seduce her. You’ve had to have learned a thing or two after all I’ve heard about you.”
Cash arched his brow at his grandmother.
“I’m old, not senile.” His grandmother finished her beer. “I’m giving you the same advice I gave your father, but he was too arrogant to listen. Court, seduce, or better yet, knock her up. I’d like to see my great-grandchild before I die, but don’t let that girl get away from you. She’s a good woman, Cash.”
“I know she is,” Cash said softly.
“Good. Now I’m going to bed.” The old woman turned her wheelchair around to leave.
“Mag, which one of those worked for Granddad?”
“I was three months pregnant when I ran off with him.”
 
 
Chapter 21
 
“Shh…” Dustin threw Cash a silencing look as they made their way through the woods.
By this point, Cash didn’t know how he had restrained himself from raising his gun at Dustin. Only the knowledge the man had a child at home had saved his life.
They finally reached a screen Cash had set up years ago. It was small, but because Rider and Train liked to hunt, it was big enough for the Porters, Jace, and him. They hunkered down to sit, waiting for the game to appear. It was a long, tedious process, but Cash was determined to be affable toward the men. While Jace’s easy nature made it more comfortable, Cash kept trying to talk to the Porters, receiving only brief replies.
“How old were you when you went in the Navy?”
“Eighteen,” Cash answered in a low voice.
“Did you kill anyone?” Jace’s eager questions were beginning to wear on his nerves.
“A few.”
“I want to go in the service, but my dad told me no.”
“The thing about being eighteen is you don’t have to have anyone’s permission to do whatever you want,” Cash answered then backtracked at seeing the Porters’ glares. “Of course, you want your dad to approve. He may know what suits you better,” Cash ended lamely.
The suddenly mature expression on Jace’s face showed he had only heard the first half of his answer.
“It’s not fun and games, Jace. If you don’t like your dad telling you what to do, then you’re not going to like having people ranked higher than you doing it all day long. It’s hard work. It means getting your ass out of bed early every morning, working hard all day, just to be told when to go to bed. They won’t put up with an attitude; you have to be respectful at all times. It means giving a commitment to a way of life that means something to you, to help and serve others enough to give your life at any time.”
“Wow. I’ll think about everything you said.”
“Why don’t you do that and shut the fuck up before you scare all the game away,” snarled Greer.
Both Cash and Jace stopped talking. It was twenty minutes before Cash saw a movement at the beginning of the clearing from a red fox and her little kits entering it.
Tate edged closer to the opening, placing the barrel of his gun through the blind opening while Greer positioned his own rifle.
“I’ll take the mama. Greer, you take the first two little kits, and Cash, you’re such a good shot, you take the last three kits.”
His eyes went to the small family sniffing the air for intruders. He nodded.
Moving forward, his foot jarred the side of the blind, making a loud rustling noise. The family darted from the clearing as if their lives depended on it, which they did.
The men stared at him in anger. Even Jace looked disappointed in him.
“What the fuck?” Tate snarled.
“Sorry, I tripped,” Cash explained without remorse.
“You have been hunting before, right?” Jace looked at him pathetically.
“Yes, Jace, I’ve been hunting before.”