by Dixie Cash
My Heart May Be Broken,
but My Hair Still Looks Great
DIXIE CASH
Contents
prologue
The cowboy’s gaze darted from side to side. He twisted…
one
There’s no excuse for a grown woman to be so…
two
Spur slept in until nine, a rare luxury. Yesterday had…
three
Morning brought new resolve. Paige searched her closet for a…
four
Honey, I’ve got some good news about a job.”
five
Drying her hands on a paper towel, Debbie Sue Overstreet…
six
The cowboy pocketed the receipts the evening supervisor handed him…
seven
In the Styling Station/Domestic Equalizers establishment, Debbie Sue lounged in…
eight
The small house the Overstreets had for rent would have…
nine
By nature Paige maintained an upbeat attitude, and today she…
ten
Paige entered the living room just in time to see…
eleven
For Paige, the day started with the delicious aroma of…
twelve
Before Paige was ready, 5:00 A.M. on Monday morning arrived.
thirteen
Paige’s first day of gainful employment ended on a whisper…
fourteen
As Paige unlocked the front door and heard the phone,…
fifteen
Good morning,” Paige said, feigning nonchalance. “What’s so funny?”
sixteen
Paige was eager to see Debbie Sue and Edwina again.
seventeen
Morning found Paige back at the Flying C barns. As…
eighteen
Paige felt foolish that Spur had made such a big…
nineteen
Paige spent the next few days as unburdened as if…
twenty
Driving into town, Debbie Sue lowered her window so she…
twenty-one
The lone cowboy backed the truck and horse trailer up…
twenty-two
Debbie Sue stepped back to assess her handiwork. The GPS…
twenty-three
Bend Over and Bite Me Brownies? Spur was holding the…
twenty-four
The annoyance Paige felt earlier over the meat loaf seemed…
twenty-five
Debbie Sue jiggled the key in the front door lock.
twenty-six
Within half an hour of Paige’s arrival at home she…
twenty-seven
The cowboy stood with his boot propped on the fence’s…
twenty-eight
Debbie Sue cussed a blue streak as she pawed through…
twenty-nine
Precisely at the mile marker Vic had told them about,…
thirty
Along with Debbie Sue and Edwina, Paige sat on the…
epilogue
The idea that time and familiarity and having little in…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Dixie Cash
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher
prologue
The cowboy’s gaze darted from side to side. He twisted in the seat in his truck cab and looked behind himself. Night’s dark curtain hid him, yet he pulled his hat farther down on his forehead. An adrenaline rush went along with the night raids and left a metallic taste in his mouth. He reached for his snuff can instinctively.
He had already scouted the area and knew three horses roamed the pasture in front of him. He was interested in only one, the oldest. Horse owners, he had learned, were less likely to raise a stink if an old horse came up missing. The older animals were more prone to get into trouble or be defenseless in the varied calamities that could take the life of a horse in the unpopulated wilds of West Texas. Every now and then one of them turned out to be a family pet or even a broodmare and he’d had to lie low until the clamor quieted, but things had always calmed down. After all, it was just a horse.
The older ones were easiest to handle, too. Tonight, he had simply thrown a loop over the mare’s head, offered some carrots to move her along, and she had followed him with blind trust—up the ramp and right into his trailer.
At first he had taken only one or two horses a year, which hadn’t aroused suspicion. Now, the cash the slaughterhouses paid him for these animals—seven hundred to a thousand dollars a head—had become addictive, and one or two a year wasn’t enough. Having extra money in his pocket had become too tempting. He liked dressing in good clothes, liked having appreciative female eyes focused on him, liked going out to dinner in a good steak house.
Upping his number of night raids had made him more concerned for the legal consequences of horse theft. He had done research and learned that the money he got for these animals made stealing them a Class-A misdemeanor in Texas. Not a felony. Even so, the penalty was confinement in jail for up to twelve months and a fine of as much as $2,500 for each horse.
Going to jail and paying a fine of twice his income were not acceptable options. He still had wild oats to sow. At that thought, he keyed in the phone number of his latest oat, Julie Lynn, and told her he would see her later.
As he pulled away, the younger horses loped to the fence and whinnied, an alarm far-distant ears didn’t hear in the wee hours.
one
There’s no excuse for a grown woman to be so damned irresponsible. How can you lose an SUV?”
Her father’s booming voice set Paige McBride’s spinach salad to trembling. She winced. “I haven’t lost it, Daddy.”
The statement was only a partial fib. She might not know the precise whereabouts of the new Escalade, but she knew who had it. “Judd said he’ll bring it back in a few days. He’ll take good care of it.”
In truth, Judd hadn’t said anything. In truth, he had left her a note thanking her and promising to return the SUV in about ten days. So ten was a few, wasn’t it?
“Judd Stephens is as worthless as tits on a bull. If somebody told him to go to hell he’d have to ask for directions.” E. W. McBride, known by all as “Buck,” sliced off a bite of medium-rare porterhouse steak and held it poised on the tip of his fork. “It shames me to think my little girl spent a weekend partying and doing God-knows-what. And what’s more, with a second-rate bull rider.”
Paige winced again at the thought of shaming her daddy, but why was he so upset? Maybe she and Judd had downed a little too much tequila at the Howling at the Moon bar, but was that a world crisis? It wasn’t like Judd was a perfect stranger. She had known him forever, and her daddy knew him, too. They had history.
“You know perfectly well there was no God-knows-what going on between Judd and me, Daddy. Besides, I’m not a little girl.”
Paige shifted her left foot with its Ace-bandaged ankle. She had it propped up on a neighboring chair, thankful the Petroleum Club dining room had thickly padded furniture.
Waking yesterday morning with a sore ankle in a La Mansion suite in San Antonio, she had discovered her foot stuck through the side of a Styrofoam cooler. She still didn’t know how it got there, but the explanation was bound to be interesting. After finding Judd’s note and realizing he really had taken the Escalade, she had no choice but to take the hotel shuttle to the San Antonio airport, then fly to Love Field in Dallas, where she rented a car and drove the thirty-five miles to Fort Worth in rush hour traffic.
After that whole frazzling afternoon, she spent last night unwinding with a pitcher of margaritas, which left her to face today with a headache that matched her ankle ache. She had planned to relax all of today, perhaps tan and get a massage at Panache, the trendy spa a few blocks from her condo. She had not planned to have lunch at the Petroleum Club, had not planned to tax herself by driving with a wrapped ankle, in heavy traffic to downtown Fort Worth in a Ford Escort. She would have removed the bandage, but a call from Daddy ordering her to appear at twelve-thirty sharp had changed her plans and her thinking. His firm tone had suggested an injured ankle might work in her favor.
And to prove the point, her father craned his neck across the table, looking at her bandage as he chewed. “How’s your ankle, sweetheart? Are you in pain?”
His gray eyes were filled with concern. She wished she hadn’t disappointed him again. When it came to what he expected of her, she seemed never to do anything right. “No, Daddy. It’ll be fine.”
Apparently satisfied, he returned to his steak and his lecture. “I mean it, Paige. When Richard Innsbruck called and told me you had to fly back from San Antone and rent a car, I made up my mind. I discussed it with your mother and—”
“Don’t call her my mother.” Paige speared a spinach leaf, bristling despite the hangover that had her head feeling like a balloon about to be launched. “She may be your wife, but she’s not my mother.” No matter how bad she felt, she could always spout a fair amount of vitriol for her meddling, bossy, social-climbing stepmother.
“I discussed it with your mother, the one who gave birth to you, God rest her soul, and we made a decision. The only solution is to cut you loose, girl.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I haven’t lived under your roof since high school. You might have been paying for my college, but—”
“For your college and every damned other thing in your life, including all your hell-raisin’ buddies. Ski trips to Vail, midnight runs to Vegas, shopping jaunts in New York City. My God, Paige, that spring break trip to Cancun cost me ten thousand dollars. You spent four hundred on a haircut. A haircut, forgodsake!”
“But, Daddy, I didn’t just have it cut. I had it glitzed and styled by—”
“When I was a boy, my mother cut my hair around a bowl on my head and it turned out just fine.” He shook his head. “I’ll bet you don’t own a pair of shoes I paid less than three hundred dollars for.”
Paige tucked her foot in its Lambertson Truex sandal closer to her body, as if a price tag were hanging from the back strap. Damn that Dick Innsbruck. His calling in life seemed to be to report to her daddy every charge she added to her American Express card, no matter how trivial. She had long thought the accountant lived for the thrill of catching her in some misdeed.
She speared another spinach leaf, wishing she had an aspirin. “If Dick-in-the-butt had a life—”
“Watch your mouth.” Her daddy pointed the tip of his steak knife at her. “Richard’s doing what I told him. A job he gets paid for. A concept you have no grasp of.”
Her father leaned forward, thrusting his face closer to hers, willing her to look into his eyes, which she did. Unwillingly.
“Paige, darlin’, you don’t seem to have a grip on reality. When you didn’t go back to school this semester, I thought you had grown up. I thought you were gonna look for a job and take responsibility for your future.” He wadded his napkin and dropped it beside his plate, shook his head, and pushed back from the table. “But I blame myself. Margaret Ann’s been telling me for years how I’ve spoiled you.”
“She’s got a lot of room to talk, with what she spends on—”
Buck’s raised palm cut her off, a gesture she had seen silence many. His reputation for a ferocious temperament, among other strong character traits, had made him a Texas legend. But this was the first time his wrath had ever been directed at her. And her sitting here with an injury, too. Something crawled up her spine, something creepy and unfamiliar. For lack of another name, she labeled it fear.
Not liking the turn of events one bit, she shifted into defensive mode. With a penitent pout that never failed to win him over to her point of view, she leaned across the table. “Daddy, I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I only want—”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Syrupy words ain’t gonna work this time, baby girl. My mind’s made up. How much cash you got on you?”
Yikes! Did he expect her to pay for lunch? What was going on? In another universe, worlds must be colliding. Panic darted through her as she reached for the fringed Gucci purse she had bought at Neiman Marcus a couple of weeks ago, suddenly conscious of the six hundred dollars it had cost. She dug out her wallet, flipped it open, and counted.
“Two hundred dollars and some change.”
Her father reached back and pulled out his wallet, fanned through a deck of cash, found three crisp bills and handed them to her. “Here’s three hundred more. I’ve instructed Dick to put two thousand dollars in your checking account. That adds up to a monthly income for a lot of girls your age.” He put his wallet away. “This is September. Your condo lease is paid up ’til the end of December. By the end of three and a half months, you should be able to pay your own rent.”
He braced his forearm on the table. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to get a job.”
“A job!” Paige’s eyes bugged. She had been too busy making memories to consider making a living. “I’ve never had a job. What am I supposed to do?”
“You’ve got six years of college and that’s six years more than I got. Surely to Christ you can do something. When I was your age, I did whatever it took. I worked my ass off, day and night. Went from having nothing to having everything I ever wanted. Paige, you’re my only heir and I love you with all my heart, but I’ll give the fortune I’ve made to charity before I’ll leave it to a daughter who thinks life’s just one big happy hour.”
Paige’s chin quivered as gathering tears blurred her father’s image.
“I know you don’t understand it now, darlin’, but I’m doing this for your own good.” He let out a long sigh, shaking his head again. He picked up his Stetson, rose from his chair, and moved to her side of the table. He ran his rough thumb down her cheek. “I love you too much to ruin you. You’re made of high-quality stuff. Time you cowboyed up and showed it.”
He walked a couple of steps away before stopping and turning back. “By the way, don’t use the plastic. I told Dick to cancel your cards.”
BUCK MCBRIDE WATCHED the elevator panel numbers light up in descending order as he rode from the top floor of the Frost National Bank Building down to the lobby. In a life peppered with difficult tasks, none had been harder than the conversation he had just had with his only child, the light of his life, whose mother was the only woman he had ever loved. Would ever love.
Charlotte had left them when Paige was eleven, taken by a sudden fatal illness. Eleven was young for a girl to lose her mother. He had done everything in his power to make it up to his daughter, had denied her nothing. Until today.
Tough love he called kicking her out of the nest. He had to do it, had to make her understand the value of a dollar and the responsibility that accompanied wealth. In December she would turn twenty-five and, unknown to her, take possession of an inheritance established for her by her mother years ago.
As the elevator car neared the garage parking lot, Buck looked heavenward. I’m doing what I promised you I’d do, Charlotte, honey. I’m getting her ready. Time has gone so fast. I sure wish you were here.
PAIGE STARED THROUGH the wide Petroleum Club front door where her daddy had exited. Was this the mother of all bad days or what? “Good grief,” she mumbled.
Other diners looked at her. She didn’t care. People ogled her all the time. They said it was because she was beautiful, but she didn’t feel beautiful. What she felt was misunderstood, trapped, and a little pissed off. And her headache would stop a train.
She drained the last drop of golden wine fro
m her glass. Okay, fine. She would call his bluff. It couldn’t be that hard to get a job. Working might actually be fun—dressing up every day, doing lunch. In a few months she would be wildly successful. Her daddy would call and apologize, and she would laugh in his face. Then she would…she would…
She would what?
Well…well…she would show him she was smart like him. She would buy out his companies in a takeover. Hadn’t that been how he had acquired his billions? Why, she had contacts all over the Metroplex—college and high school friends who had graduated and had good jobs or owned their own businesses. Tomorrow she would make phone calls. She would be hired by the day after and start work the following Monday. She clubbed the tabletop with a fist, setting china and silverware to tinkling. “Yes!”
Feeling better, Paige made her exit. The Ford Escort rental car waited for her in the parking lot across the street from the bank. Not a vehicle she was accustomed to driving, but the only one available at the time she needed it. Good grief, until she met up with the no-frills compact, she didn’t know they made cars without power windows.
SITTING AT A RED LIGHT at an intersection near the Frost Bank Building’s outdoor—and free—parking lot, Spur Atwater glanced at his wristwatch for the fifth time in five minutes.
Inside that bank at two o’clock the most important appointment of his life awaited him, and with the September temperatures still pushing the mercury up into the nineties and no air-conditioning in his truck, he had sweated through his only dress shirt.
Besides that, he was almost late. The irresponsibility of being late for an appointment didn’t dwell in his makeup. He had left his apartment in College Station at eight, giving him more time than he needed to make the four-hour drive to Fort Worth. If he arrived early and had to circle the building or walk the downtown streets for an hour, it would be worth it to present the punctual, no-nonsense borrower he wanted the banker to see.
But, to thwart his plans, just outside the Fort Worth city limits the driver of an eighteen-wheeler had laid his rig on its side and blocked all lanes of traffic for over an hour.
Listening to the labored idle of his fifteen-year-old Chevy’s rebuilt engine, he considered what he was about to do. God, he was about to ask for money. The very thought would have revved up his sweat glands, even if the day wasn’t damn hot and humid. He had always prided himself on not asking for favors or help, but on hearing of a thriving, state-of-the-art veterinary practice in Salt Lick, Texas, for sale at a bargain price, he had made an exception to the rule. A college buddy had put in a good word for him with a Frost Bank vice president and now, in less than ten minutes, Spur would be meeting the banker to discuss a loan that could shape his future.