by Dixie Cash
Soon she heard the grind of an engine approaching from behind. She turned and saw an old, all-too-familiar pickup.
Oh, hell.
She felt flustered and confused. It was hard to look nonchalant alone in the middle of nowhere, but she tossed back her hair, squared her shoulders, and stiffened her spine, prepared to do just that.
The engine noise ceased when Spur pulled behind the crippled Escalade and sat there.
He’s trying to decide if he’s going to help me? Well, to hell with that! Paige tossed her head again and resumed her trek.
The squeaking sound of the pickup’s door opening made her walk faster.
“Got a flat again, Paige?” His voice spanned the growing distance between them.
“You must have finished at the top of your class at A&M,” she yelled over her shoulder and continued to walk.
“Matter of fact, I did. But it doesn’t take a genius to see that your tire was almost flat when you first got into your rig back in town.”
Paige stopped her march and turned to face him, planting her fists on her hips. “What are you talking about?”
His elbow was cocked and resting on the pickup windowsill. “Your tire. I let most of the air out this morning. I’ve been following you, waiting for it to go clear flat.”
“Is this your idea of getting even? Well, you’ve had your fun, so just go on.” Her chin began to quiver.
“I’m kind of new at this,” he called out, “but I was hoping you might think I was being romantic.”
“Why would you think that? Why would I think that?”
He began to walk toward her. “Here’s the deal, Paige. Vic came over last night and played the tape he made at your house. I heard everything. He explained what y’all were doing. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have.”
“I owe you an apology…. And a confession.”
“A confession?”
“I…well, I’m pretty sure I care about you…. More than just a little.”
All her emotions balled into a tight knot in her throat, squeezing off her speech.
“I don’t have much to offer, but if you take up with me, I promise to do my damnedest to make you happy. I’ll try to see to it that you never regret putting your faith in me.”
Tears leaping into her eyes, Paige shook her head. “But I’m rich,” she blurted.
“I promise not to hold that against you if you can overlook that I’m poor…. Look, I know your dad has a ton of money, but it’s not like it’s yours. I’m sure you stand to inherit some of it one day, but—”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m really rich. In two months I’ll be twenty-five. I’ll inherit millions that have nothing to do with my daddy. I didn’t tell you before because I just found out.” Paige held her breath as she watched for a reaction.
His grin disappeared, his expression sobered. His eyes squinted as if he couldn’t believe what he heard. “Say that again?”
“It’s from my mother.”
He stood there for the longest time. Gradually a smile formed on his face.
Grinning until her face hurt, she started walking toward him. “I could give it all away,” she said, closing the gap between them. “There’s charities everywhere. I’m sure they’d take it.”
“You’d do that for me?”
He began loosening his cuffs, reminding her of the first day she had arrived in Salt Lick and he had fixed her flat.
“I’d do anything for you, Spur.” I love you.
He chuckled, yanking his shirttail from his waistband and unbuttoning his shirt. “Know what, sweetheart? It isn’t necessary for you to go that far.”
She stopped, cocked her ankle across her thigh, and tugged off her boot. She hopped into a martial arts position, raising the boot over her head. “Then, Dr. Atwater, you’d better prove it.”
epilogue
The idea that time and familiarity and having little in common in how they grew up could put distance between Paige and Spur couldn’t have been more wrong. They became inseparable, with their days beginning and ending the same—in each other’s arms. In less than a year, Spur formally proposed. He didn’t balk when a bevy of lawyers hired by Paige’s daddy presented him with a prenuptial agreement.
Margaret Ann loved the sound of Dr. and Mrs. Spur Atwater and immediately put plans into place for a lavish ceremony and reception at a Fort Worth country club.
But Paige dashed her stepmother’s scheme for the wedding to be the social event of the year in Fort Worth by announcing the ceremony would take place in the Flying C Ranch’s living room, with a reception and dance to follow in the ranch’s party barn. Harley and C.J. made the offer to Paige and were thrilled when she and Spur accepted. The party facility had sat locked and unused since before Pearl Ann Carruthers’s death.
The western-style gala was sentimental, beautiful, and extravagant with Texas finery. A country-western singer who was friends with Harley performed at the reception. Sunny flew in from Cancun to be Paige’s maid of honor. She also organized and oversaw a delicious Mexican-style buffet. Quint Matthews even showed up, and he and Sunny hit it off right away. Quint, however, didn’t follow his usual pattern of attempting to seduce her, telling her he was exercising caution when it came to women because he’d had a brutal experience with a woman named Janine.
With the inheritance from her mother’s estate and with Spur’s full support, Paige opened a site for the care and rehabilitation of older, unwanted horses. She named it The Charlotte McBride Equestrian Center. Buck McBride came for the ribbon cutting and assured Paige he would return often. Being near horses and the most important living person in his life, his only daughter, made him feel close to Charlotte again.
Margaret Ann barely felt his absence as she continued with her social commitments in Fort Worth.
Lester Clinton’s star rose high on the country music scene, and he moved to Nashville. When his first CD went platinum, he became an instant millionaire, which turned out to be rewarding for Mandy Holland and Cindy Peterson back home in Salt Lick. As the mothers of his two illegitimate children, they were awarded a sizable chunk of his gain by an angry judge with strong family values. It was rumored there were more women standing in the wings with DNA results in hand. He may have achieved the fame he wanted, but he was as broke as ever.
Joe Eddy Huffman, sentenced to a hefty fine and a year in prison, remained ambitious. He used his prison time to learn his new trade. Upon his early release, he returned to his wife, Javelina, and his kids and became an auctioneer at horse sales.
Life went on as usual for Debbie Sue and Edwina. In the Styling Station, hair was cut, colored, and permed, gossip was exchanged. The Domestic Equalizers continued to expose cheating spouses and lovers.
Paige joined the sleuths often for margaritas on girls’ night out. In one margarita-induced, particularly edifying Wednesday night session, Debbie Sue raised a glass and toasted. “It’s not the size of your wallet or the size of the town you live in that makes life good. It’s the people you surround yourself with.”
“Hear, hear,” Paige said.
“Amen,” pronounced Edwina, “and pass that margarita pitcher.”
Acknowledgments
One rarely writes a novel all alone, with no help from anyone, so we would like to acknowledge those who contributed information we couldn’t have done without. Thanks to Quint, Richard, Ronald, and O.L., cowboys all, for their willingness to answer “just one more question.”
We would be remiss not to acknowledge family and friends who have given their unwavering support—Mom, Diann and Whitt, Janis and Joe, Adrienne and Ceil.
Last, but by no means least, thanks to Annelise Robey, Meg Ruley, and Lucia Macro for having a vision larger than ours.
About the Author
DIXIE CASH is Pamela Cumbie and her sister, Jeffery McClanahan. They grew up in West Texas during the great oil boom of the fifties and sixties, an er
a filled with “real-life fictional” characters who cry to be written about. Pam has always had a zany sense of humor and Jeffery has always had a dry wit. Surrounded by cowboys and steeped in country-western music, when they can stop laughing long enough they work together creating hilarity on paper. Both live in Texas—Pam with her two beloved dogs in the Fort Worth/Dallas Metroplex and Jeffery with her husband in a small town near Fort Worth.
www.dixie-cash.com
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Also by Dixie Cash
Since You’re Leaving Anyway, Take Out the Trash
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
MY HEART MAY BE BROKEN, BUT MY HAIR STILL LOOKS GREAT. Copyright © 2005 by Dixie Cash. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Mobipocket Reader November 2006 ISBN 978-0-06-134307-0
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cash, Dixie
My heart may be broken, but my hair still looks great / by Dixie Cash.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-082618-5
ISBN-10: 0-06-082618-5
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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