Great, My Heart May Be Broken but My Hair Still Looks Great

by Dixie Cash

  “Okay, ladies, it’s six-thirty,” Vic said. “Let’s get in place. He might get here early.” He herded the two women from the living room. “Good luck, Paige. Don’t worry. I’ve got my eye—and my ear—on everything. I won’t let things get out of hand.”

  “I’m not worried,” Paige lied. “I just hope it works.”

  Promptly at seven o’clock the doorbell rang. Paige stood looking at the backyard with her arms crossed, her shield against any advances, and called out, “Come in.”

  Nothing she had experienced in life could have prepared her for the sight of Spur coming through her front door. She froze for a count of seconds before she spoke. “My God! Spur! What are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t see Debbie Sue’s truck out front, so I thought I’d drop by for a minute. Remember Randy? The owner of the dog whose life you probably saved? He came by the clinic as I was leaving and left this sack for you.” Spur handed her a brown paper grocery bag. “He didn’t know where you lived, so I told him I’d drop it by.”

  Paige peered into the bag and saw several glass jars of food? She picked out a jar of black-eyed peas and read the label, BON APPÉTIT. FROM RANDY’S HANDS AND HEART TO YOUR GOOD HEALTH. “Oh. Food. I’ve never seen this brand.”

  “It’s not a brand. It’s from his garden.”

  “Oh. Well, how nice.”

  “He canned ’em himself.”

  “Oh. What a lot of work. Why would he do that when you can buy it in the store?”

  “’Cause it tastes better. He’s an organic gardener.”

  “Oh, organic.” She laughed, despite a rising panic. “I buy that all the time. But you didn’t have to bring it over.” She carried the sack to the front door and opened the door to rush his departure.

  “I know.” He looked down at the floor, fumbling with his hat brim. “I, uh, thought it was a good excuse to see you again. I know you’re expecting company, I just wanted to say—”

  “Hey, sugar lips, you didn’t tell me it was gonna be a party.” Walking toward them, Lester lifted a six-pack of Lone Star longnecks to eye level. “I only brought enough beer for the two of us.”

  Paige’s eyes almost crossed. She wanted to tell Lester to go to hell and get out, but she couldn’t. She wanted to reach out and hang on to Spur, but she couldn’t. She looked at Lester, then back at Spur. Her mouth worked, but no words came out.

  She hoped for Spur to read the plea for understanding in her eyes, but what she saw was anything but. He had a puzzled expression all right and the muscles in his jaw twitched like mad. He plopped his hat back on. His glare swerved from Lester to her, and she wished for a giant sinkhole to form in the floor.

  “I must be in the wrong here,” Spur said. “Sorry, Lester. Had my nights mixed up. It’s your turn tonight. Have a good time.” He stamped down the front steps.

  Paige wanted to chase after him, to explain, but Lester’s question bolted her in place.

  “Mind if I use your bathroom? Which way is it?”

  She thought she might throw up, wondered if she should rush into the bathroom ahead of him. She would never forget the expression on Spur’s face. And she no longer had faith in the words she had heard him say earlier, I’ll always believe you. You couldn’t lie if you tried.

  She couldn’t risk Lester opening the wrong door and seeing the Three Musketeers sitting there with listening equipment in their ears and blank expressions on their faces. “Here, give me the beer.” She took the six-pack from him and started toward the hall. “I’ll show you the way.”

  She returned to the kitchen, clunked the six-pack onto the counter, and mixed another cosmopolitan, sans cranberry juice, fighting not to open the bedroom door where Debbie Sue, Edwina, and Vic had concealed themselves and call this whole charade off. Then again, maybe not. The two women would understand her feelings of mortification, but if she saw them face-to-face, she might break into hysterics. Instead of taking the risk, she gulped a cosmopolitan, steeling herself for her role in this one-act play.

  Lester returned with a big grin on his face. “What’s the chance of me getting one of those cold beers?”

  She loosened a longneck and tossed it in his direction. Taking one for herself she unscrewed the top and took a deep swig of the cold brew. It landed with a thud on top of the vodka and Cointreau she had just drunk.

  Lester laughed. “Damn, girl, slow down. Sorry if I caused trouble between you and the doc. He’ll have to learn there’s just some women you don’t drop in on.”

  Paige beat back the part of her that wanted to use her bottle cap to turn him into a eunuch and wondered just how pitiful the woman in Abilene who found him appealing had to be. She forced an air of congeniality, something she had done uncountable times in the presence of her stepmother, and led her unwanted guest to the living room. “Have a seat, Lester. Let’s talk.”

  “What’s with the furniture?” Lester asked, looking at the webbed lawn chairs and easing down into one. “This sure don’t look like richer-than-all-get-out. These come from one o’ them fancy designer stores?”

  “Yeah,” Paige snapped. “Did you get registered for the horse show next month?”

  Lester leaned back against the chair frame and cocked an ankle across his knee. “Sure. I never miss the chance to go to Fort Worth. I like that area. I’d like to have my own place in Weatherford. Just far enough outta Fort Worth to go in when I want, but still be out in the country. I will, too, one o’ these days. I have plans.”

  “Really?” Paige didn’t have to fake her interest. With no effort on her part, the conversation was headed in just the direction everyone wanted. She took a seat across from him. “You’ve mentioned that before. What kind of plans?”

  “Let’s just say, I don’t intend to work for another man all my life. You never get anywhere working for wages. My old man didn’t teach me a lot, but he did drill that into my head.” He tilted up his beer bottle and downed a long swig.

  “But places in Weatherford aren’t cheap.”

  He released a loud burp. “I know that, but one o’ these days I’ll be able to just up and buy the one I want. I won’t even ask the price.”

  “Does that guy Brooks Van Patten have anything to do with your plans?”

  Lester leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the longneck hanging from his fingers. “Maybe.”

  Paige’s patience and nerves were already worn thin. If she was going to get through this, she had to cut to the chase. “I finally figured out where I’ve heard of TAR before. Those initials stand for Texas Animal Resources. Where horses are taken for slaughter. Are you doing business with them now?”

  His face scrunched into a quizzical expression. “What?”

  She shrugged and fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not passing judgment. I think slaughterhouses serve a purpose, I really do. People have their pets euthanized every day. TAR’s methods may not be entirely humane, but what are old horses good for anyway?” Paige felt sick to her stomach uttering those words.

  Lester choked and practically spit his beer across the room. “I thought you loved horses? And here you are, talking about selling ’em for slaughter? Babe, you’re just full o’ surprises.”

  “Oh, come on. I’ve seen the way you treat the horses. My first trip to the ranch I saw you kick one.”

  “I’ll be the first one to admit I’ve lost my temper a time or two, but I’ve never been cruel to even a one of ’em. Truth be told, I’d rather be around horses than most o’ the people I know.”

  Paige tried to remember if, since her employment at the Flying C, she had ever again seen him mistreat a horse. No incident came to mind. Damned if she didn’t believe him when he said he wasn’t cruel to the horses. She had let her dislike for him color her opinion of how he did his job as handler. It dawned on her then that he was, in reality, pretty good with the horses. No way would he be stealing them for slaughter.

  Great. Now what?

  But she ha
d to give interrogation one more try. “Have you heard about all the horses that have disappeared? Some people around here think they’ve been stolen.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard about it. Yeah, somebody’s stole ’em all right. Hope they catch the bastard. Wonder if it’s still legal in Texas to hang a horse thief? If it ain’t, it oughtta be.”

  Paige was stumped for words, but she had to make one last effort before she cried uncle. “Come on, Lester. Please tell me about TAR. What’s so secret? Who knows, maybe I could be of some help to you with your plans. You know, I’m not without means or contacts.”

  She wasn’t comfortable flaunting her family wealth and position, but it was her last tool.

  Lester drained the last drink from the bottle, stood up, and walked to the six-pack. He looked at her while he took another from its cardboard box. Clearly he was giving her last words some thought. “You know, sweet thing, you could be right. Maybe you could be some help to me. Harley’s the only person I know who’s got more money than sense, but I’d rather die than ask him for help.” He twisted the cap off the beer bottle. “Hell, I’ve been an anchor around his neck most o’ my life. It ain’t easy taking a paycheck from a man when you know he gives it to you with a grudge.” He drew a long swig from the beer bottle.

  I can’t make any promises where my daddy’s money is concerned, Paige started to say, but before the words fell from her mouth, he cleared his throat and wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. “Okay, I’m gonna tell you.” He squared his shoulders. He was obviously about to confess something. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  He drew a deep breath. “Brooks Van Patten is my agent.”

  Paige couldn’t keep from giving him the squint-eye. “Your what?”

  “My agent. He got me a chance to be heard by Texas Artist Recordings. TAR. They’re out o’ Austin. It’s Willie and George’s baby. They’ve signed some guys who’re big names now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Music, babe. I’m gonna be a star. Van Patten says I’m the next Merle Haggard. Imagine that? Me and ol’ Hag in the same category.” He guzzled another swig of beer.

  Paige shook her head in disbelief. She had heard him singing every day around the barn. But she still couldn’t believe what she had just heard him say. “What did he mean when he said something about having six and needing four more?”

  “Six recorded songs. They want ten to put a CD together. I went to Abilene to use a recording studio that’s over there.”

  “But the feed and hay you took off the ranch—”

  “Feed and hay?…Oh, that. It’s for the guy that runs the studio. I can’t afford to pay him money for the sessions, so I take him supplies for his horses. Harley never misses it ’cause it don’t amount to much. Don’t you dare tell him. This is my one big chance. I’ll do just damn near anything to make it come true.”

  As if the day hadn’t already served Paige more than she could handle, Lester’s hands suddenly gripped her shoulders.

  “Honey, I know you don’t think much o’ me now, but I’m gonna be somebody. Go on this ride with me, baby. With your daddy’s money and my talent, we could own Nashville.”

  Paige tried to unclench his fingers. “Let go of me, Lester! I don’t want to own Nashville.”

  Before she could say another word or take another action, a hand grabbed Lester by the collar and lifted him off his feet, leaving his boots barely touching the floor. As Lester struggled and his face turned beet red, Paige pleaded with the former navy SEAL. “Vic, it’s okay. He didn’t hurt me. Let him go.”

  Vic released his hold, and Lester crumpled to the floor like a piece of balled-up trash. Lester looked up at Vic, then back at her. “Damn, woman! How many men does it take to satisfy you? How many others you got stashed away?”

  Debbie Sue and Edwina burst into the room. “Sorry, Vic,” Debbie Sue said. “We couldn’t stay in there any longer.”

  Lester’s eyes grew wide as he stared at the two women. “Good God, Paige. Just how kinky are you?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Paige said, on the verge of breaking into tears. Little else could go wrong with this day. She knew only four men in this town, and now half of them were convinced she was a slut. Worse yet, a kinky slut.

  Ignoring Lester, Edwina addressed the room. “Now what do we do? I believe him.”

  “I do, too, dammit,” Debbie Sue said. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

  “Maybe the stealing has stopped,” Edwina said. “Maybe it won’t happen again.”

  “Would somebody please tell me what the hell’s going on?” Lester said.

  Vic filled Lester in on their suspicions and their plan. After a lengthy explanation he finished with, “We were going to record you admitting that you stole the horses and turn you over to the authorities. Nothing weird, nothing perverse. Just a little detective work.”

  “Oh, yeah. Nothing weird about this setup. This is all just normal as hell. Dammit, y’all owe me an apology. Ever’ last one o’ you. But don’t bother. I’m leaving. Y’all can stick it where the sun don’t shine. And when I make it big, I may just come back here with a herd o’ lawyers and sue your asses.”

  He stomped out and slammed the door, leaving the four of them standing in the living room.

  Edwina planted her fists on her hips. “Well, that went well. Chaos, confusion, and all around fucked-up. I think our work here is done.”

  “Yep,” Vic agreed. “In the navy, we’d call this a real FUBAR.”

  “I’m deflated,” Edwina said. “I got pumped for explosive action, and now we don’t even have a fizzle. Let’s go home, Vic. We can come back later for the equipment.”

  Paige watched Vic and Edwina as they walked arm in arm toward the alley.

  Debbie Sue came up behind her and put her hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about Spur. We’ll explain everything to him.”

  “I don’t know if he’ll listen. You should have seen his face when he saw Lester.”

  “He’s mad because some guy came over to your house? Why should he be? You two don’t have a commitment to each other, do you?”

  “Well, not a spoken one, but last night, we uh, uh, it was the first time—” Paige burst into sobs before she could finish her sentence.

  Debbie Sue pulled her close, but being at least four inches taller than Debbie Sue, it was hard for Paige to cry on her shoulder.

  “You poor kid. I wish I’d known about you and Spur before I cooked up this scheme.” Debbie Sue stroked her back. “God, I’ve really fucked things up, haven’t I?”

  “It’s not your fault,” Paige said between sobs. “I should have told Spur the truth when he called today.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I had plans with you.”

  “Well, isn’t that the truth? You did have plans with me. Did you know Lester was coming over when you talked to Spur?”

  Paige’s sobbing slowed to a spasmodic sniffle. “No, I hadn’t invited him over yet.”

  “Then you didn’t lie. Men are such hardheaded jackasses. Spur will just have to get over it. And he will. Remember what I told you about giving him some space?”

  Paige nodded, not at all sure Debbie Sue was right. The space between them now looked like the Grand Canyon.

  “Listen, as much as I hate leaving you alone when you’re so upset, I need to get home, too. Buddy doesn’t know what I’m up to. If I’m not there when he gets home, I might have to explain myself, and he might handcuff me to a chair or something. Walk with me to my pickup.”

  They crossed the lawn together toward a red extended-cab Silverado. Reaching it, Debbie Sue opened the driver’s door and looked back at Paige. “Don’t forget, if you want me to talk to Spur, I will. Just give me a call.”

  “Thanks, I will,” Paige said, now more in control of her emotions. “Speaking of calls, Debbie Sue, looks like you’ve got one.” Paige pointed to the cell phone mounted on the dash flashing that a m
essage was waiting.

  “Hey, for a minute I forgot about that monster.” Debbie Sue keyed in the code for message retrieval and listened. Without warning, her features twisted into an expression of horror. “Noooo,” she screamed. “Oh, dear God! Nooo!” She fell to her knees, hanging on to the door, wailing and babbling.

  Paige grabbed the fallen phone, pressed it to her ear and heard a monotonous electronic voice. “Your target has gone beyond the set perimeters. Please contact your GPS administrator. Repeating the previous message, your target has gone beyond…”

  twenty-seven

  The cowboy stood with his boot propped on the fence’s bottom rail, looking into the corral that held four horses. He was especially pleased with the brown paint. Someone had put a halter on him. And not just any halter. If those conchos were made of real silver, the halter could be worth as much as the horse.

  He climbed into the pen and spoke softly to the paint. The horse trotted to the other side of the corral, pinned back his ears, and gave him the evil eye. The cowboy hesitated.

  To hell with it, he thought. Why take a chance on a rodeo? He would get the halter tomorrow. The fellas at TAR could remove it and hand it to him.

  Tomorrow morning would be his last haul to East Texas. Tomorrow would be the official start of his new life.

  twenty-eight

  Debbie Sue cussed a blue streak as she pawed through her oversize purse, throwing items left and right—a makeup pouch, hairbrush, a half-eaten Snickers, a crossword puzzle book, and a banana. All became airborne missiles.

  Paige watched in bewilderment. “What are you looking for?”

  “Keys! My fucking, never-where-they’re-supposed-to-be keys!”

  “If you find those keys you’re going to storm out of here leaving me in a cloud of dust. Tell me, please, what does that message on the phone mean?”

  In the rush of words that came from Debbie Sue’s mouth, Paige pieced together that Rocket Man had been equipped with some kind of tracking gadget.