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

by Dixie Cash

  No doubt about it. Spur Atwater had a fire in his belly. His finishing near the top of his class had prompted a dozen established vets and research labs to seek him out for employment, but he wanted to be independent. He wanted to own his own practice. He wanted to do experimental cattle breeding, and he yearned to return to his beloved West Texas.

  Being an A&M graduate wouldn’t hurt his chances with the banker, especially when said banker was a loyal Aggie alumnus. Texas A&M graduates were a tacit brotherhood, as strong as any fraternity.

  Nor would it do any harm that Roy Spur Atwater had been a record-setting quarterback for the Aggies for all of his undergraduate years. Yep, the game of football had paid for the first five years of his education, and feeling obligated to give back, he had played the game well. But he didn’t kid himself that he was anything but a novice at the good-ol’-boy networking game. Still, even a rookie recognized an opportunity when it kicked him on the shin. If ever there was a time for a Hail Mary pass, it was now.

  As he turned into the bank’s parking lot, a long-legged blonde in a teeny-weeny skirt and a bandaged ankle crossed in front of him and crawled into a roller skate of a car, showing plenty of tanned and shapely thigh when her skirt hiked up to paradise. Though he wanted his mind geared for business, his roommate in his boxers reacted in the usual manner, forcing him to readjust his posture and deliver an admonition. “Not now, dammit.”

  As he crawled toward the blonde’s compact, anticipating the emptying slot, he saw that the space was too narrow for his truck. He eased on past. Suddenly her car shot backward. He stomped his accelerator, but too late. The Ford slammed into the side of his truck. His erection shriveled along with his emotional restraint.

  The blonde unfolded from the compact and confronted him, fists jammed against her hips. “What is your problem? You’re supposed to stop when a car is leaving a parking place. Or were you gawking at the tall buildings in the big city, Clem?”

  Though Spur felt a little overwhelmed in any city and the gawking insult held more than a grain of truth, it was the last straw. He sprang from his truck cab, his jaw muscles twitching as he eyed the damage to his fender. His faded blue Chevy wasn’t much, but he damn sure didn’t want to see it any more beat-up than it already was.

  “What’s my problem? You plowed into me, Miss America. I know damn well you saw me. Or were you too busy checking your lipstick to look where you were going?” He stuck out a hand. “Just let me have your insurance card. I’ve got an appointment. I don’t have time to fool with this.”

  “I don’t have an insurance card.” She began to dig in a leather satchel so huge it looked like she had peeled it off the side of a full-grown Hereford. “I’ll give you the name of one of my father’s accountants. He can give you all the information you need.”

  Shit. A daddy’s girl. Rich and spoiled. Spur knew the type, had met a few during his stint at A&M. Most of them wanted him for a charm on their already-full bracelets. He could think of nothing and no one he disliked more.

  Well, by God, he was immune to Miss Long-legs, good-looking or not. He climbed back into his truck, fired the engine with a growl, and cranked down the window. He leaned out and pointed toward an empty space at the far, far end of the parking lot. “I’m parking down there. Leave Daddy’s accountant’s name and phone number under my wiper blade.”

  “But I have an injury,” the blonde whined. “It’s hard for me to walk that far.”

  An Ace bandage garnered no sympathy from him. Almost every joint in his body had been wrapped or taped at different times. “Then pay somebody to do it for you.” He moved forward.

  “I hope you’re late,” she shouted.

  He chuckled wickedly and deliberately bypassed a just-vacated slot two cars away.

  “Asshole,” she yelled.

  two

  Spur slept in until nine, a rare luxury. Yesterday had worn him out. Driving four hours to Fort Worth, then driving four hours back to College Station hadn’t been so bad. But meeting the banker and asking for money had been one of the most stressful events of his twenty-nine years.

  He wasn’t due at the cattle auction where he worked as an inspector until after lunch. He lay in bed in his postage stamp–size apartment puzzling over the meeting. Nobody knew any better than he that as a rookie right out of vet school, with little experience and even less credit, plus a portfolio of student loans, he was lucky a banker even gave him an appointment. He had presented a business plan supporting his request for a loan, but to his surprise, the banker only skimmed it. To his further amazement, the banker had seemed almost eager to make the loan. Maybe there was something to this “good-ol’-boy” networking after all.

  Networking and politics were unfamiliar and uncomfortable to a guy whose upbringing had been as bleak as Spur’s. His father had been an oil field hand, following a job from town to town. At some point, in Odessa, his dad had suffered a severe back injury, and their nomadic existence had come to an end.

  In those days, there was no such thing as successfully suing an employer for a work-related injury. Oil field workers took on the hard, dangerous work at their own risk. After his injury, Spur’s dad, uneducated and disabled, had found himself unemployable. He sought solace in a whiskey bottle. Spur and his siblings had been fed by various well-meaning ladies from the Baptist Church. For them, delivering foil-wrapped parcels to the Atwaters might have been a charitable act, but to Spur, it was a life-altering mortification.

  Being the oldest, he had worked and helped out, but even as a boy, he had seen that education could save him from the quagmire of poverty in which he, his parents, and his five sisters lived. Early on, he had determined nothing would prevent his finishing high school. Blessed with intelligence and natural athletic ability, he played football on Odessa’s venerated Permian High School team.

  After quarterbacking the Panthers to two back-to-back state championships, college became more than a fantasy. He earned a full five-year football scholarship to Texas A&M, the only university in Texas with a veterinary school and a renowned one at that. As a child, he had always loved and been loved by animals.

  From the day he set foot on the A&M campus, he had a goal—owning his own veterinary practice, making a decent living, and earning the respect of some community. Nothing had derailed him so far, not a lack of money, time, or sleep. Not a female. And Lord knew, some of them had tried to throw him off track.

  Now, the goal was within sight. No more foil-wrapped Christmas dinners from other families’ tables. No more one-size-fits-all garments or unisex toys. To add to his delight, he would be returning to his beloved West Texas.

  He hauled himself from bed and showered and shaved, dressed in clean jeans and a T-shirt. All that he had removed from his pockets before going to bed last night lay on the dresser. As he opened his wallet to check his cash, he found the banker’s assistant’s business card. She had jotted her home number on the back of it. “In case you need anything else,” she had said when she handed it to him.

  He didn’t tell her she was wasting her time. He merely touched his hat to her, gave her a smile, and left with a simple “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Also in his wallet was the note that had been secured under his windshield wiper yesterday. In truth, he was surprised she left it. He knew what he expected to see written in it, so he hadn’t bothered reading it yet. The paper was definitely feminine. Curvy edges with pink and white flowers. Embossed in silver were the words “A note from Paige McBride.”

  He ran his thumb across the raised imprint and thought of the woman. Paige McBride, rich and spoiled. He lifted the note to his nose. Mmm. He didn’t know one perfume fragrance from another, but this one smelled pretty good.

  At last he read what she had written:

  Richard Innsbruck, (817) 555-2002.

  Personally, I think I improved the looks of your pickup.

  Now it has a dent on both sides. P.M.

  He couldn’t keep from grinning. She obv
iously hadn’t seen the sticker on his back bumper: HONK IF SOMETHING FALLS OFF.

  PAIGE LOOKED at her clock. After ten. She had to get out of bed and face her future. Forcing enthusiasm, she donned jeans and a comfortable shirt, then grabbed the phone, a pen and pad of paper, and her PDA. Networking was the solution to her problem.

  Her first phone call was the third to her only longtime friend, Sunny Parker. Where was Sunny and why didn’t she call back? Even reaching the crazy redhead’s cell phone proved impossible.

  Paige and Sunny had met at Hockaday School in Dallas, both of them parked by their rich parents in the elite private high school. They had gravitated to each other like lodestones, the common bond being wealth and loneliness. Nowadays, Sunny lived off a seven-digit income from a trust fund. Her only interests were men, traveling the world with men, and cooking for men. She had attended as many culinary schools as Paige had universities. They no longer socialized together as they once had, but the need for each other’s dry shoulders had never gone away entirely.

  Paige answered a knock at her door and was met by an Enterprise Leasing Company employee who came to pick up the Ford Escort. As she handed over the keys, the realization that she was now afoot affected her profoundly. She doubted she had ever been without transportation, even as a baby.

  As soon as the keys and the car left, she walked to her tiny bar and poured herself a shot of Glenlivet, her drink of choice when life got serious. Beer and margaritas were froufrou drinks, strictly for fun. Single malt Scotch was “oh-shit-we’re-all-going-to-die” time.

  By two in the afternoon Paige was on her third Glenlivet.

  The results of twelve phone calls was shocking if not downright scary. Four of her friends had recently been laid off and had hit her up for a loan. Three more thought her situation hilarious and comforted her with assurances that Buck would get over it and bring her back into the fold. One was currently employed by one of her father’s companies. Two voice mails. One number no longer in service, and another individual couldn’t remember her. Maybe changing colleges every two years had been a bad idea. Maybe she should have spent less time having fun and more making real friends.

  Oh, well. This was only the first day of this insanity. Too soon to let despair raise its ugly head. Daddy was only punishing her. Surely, he would get over it. Uncurling from her easy chair she headed for the kitchen to freshen her drink.

  Twenty-five hundred dollars. How long could someone live on twenty-five hundred dollars?

  The chirping of her phone interrupted her contemplation, and she noted with relief the name on caller ID: Judd Stephens. She had called him several times in the past two days but hadn’t yet connected. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she rationalized he was busy chasing his dream of finishing high enough in bull-riding competitions to be eligible for the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas at the end of the year.

  She pressed the button and wasted no time on a greeting. “Judd, where are you? You left me alone in San Antonio? Why did you take my SUV?”

  “Hold up there, sweetness. The whole thing was your idea. I didn’t want to, but you insisted.”

  Paige frowned and bit down on her lower lip. Oh, dear. She didn’t remember doing that, but she had a history of doing generous-but-dumb favors for “friends,” more often than not to her own detriment. She didn’t doubt that at some point in their hard-partying weekend she had lent Judd the new shiny black Escalade her daddy had bought her.

  Instead of arguing the point, she related the story of her luncheon with Daddy. Only this time, to ensure a sympathetic response, she embellished just short of saying he had held her at gunpoint.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” Judd asked. “Find you a job?”

  “Well that remark was less than supportive. What you can do is bring my rig back here. Without wheels, I can’t even look.”

  “Sorry to be the one to break it to you, angel, but it’s gonna take more than wheels to get you employed. What can you do besides go shopping, dress up, and look pretty?”

  Paige didn’t know if the blunt spoken truth or his lack of compassion hurt the most. Tears stung her eyes, and she took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Like I’ve already said, Judd. I need my rig back. Can you be here with it tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow! Shit, Paige, I’m damn near in Canada. I’ve already—”

  “Judd! You didn’t tell me you were taking my Escalade to a foreign country!”

  “I’m not in a foreign country. I’m in Idaho. I’m headed for Worley. I’ve already paid my entry fees. You said you’d get a rental.”

  “I did, but they picked it up this afternoon. It was, uh, well it was…um, a little bit wrecked.”

  “You wrecked a rental car?”

  “I backed into a guy. Daddy upset me so much I wasn’t thinking. Even if the car people would let me have another one, Daddy’s canceled my American Express card.”

  “Hell, Paige, this is a real inconvenience for me—”

  “An inconvenience for you? Dammit, Judd—”

  “Good God, Paige. I’m out here trying to make something outta my life—”

  “Well, excuse me, Mr. Success. I really must hang up and call those Nobel Prize people and rave about your accomplishments.”

  “Save the sarcasm for somebody who appreciates it, Paige. You know what this amounts to? You’re a spoiled little rich girl who’s made Daddy mad. My God, it’s over two thousand miles from here to Fort Worth. If I turned around right now, by the time I get there, you’ll have batted those big blues at Buck and be back in his good graces. And I’ll miss my chance to qualify.”

  “Hunh. What are you up to now, four or five seconds on the back of a bull?”

  “I’ll tell you one thing. Talking to me like that ain’t gonna get you this Cadillac back any sooner.”

  “How about me talking to the cops instead? Reporting it stolen in…let me see, did you say Idaho? Do you think that’ll get it back sooner or am I being sarcastic again?”

  Silence. “I can be there by, uh…Tuesday or Wednesday, if I don’t make the finals. If I do, then sometime Thursday. How’s that?” His tone switched to pleading. “Please, baby, let me make my ride. I’ve already paid my money.”

  Paige crossed her eyes and stared across the room. Rats. “Okay, Judd. Thursday at the latest. And don’t dare call me and tell me you can’t get here.”

  “Don’t worry your empty little head, darlin’. Calling you is something I don’t plan on doing ever again.”

  She opened her mouth to fire back but heard only a dial tone. Well, fine. That was the end of her friendship with Judd Stephens.

  She must have the world’s longest list of irresponsible friends. Why did she make such lousy choices? Had growing up without a mom affected her relationships with men in particular and people in general? She had always wondered.

  Mulling over the question, Paige replaced the phone on its charging station and went to the vanity area of her huge bedroom. Inside her closet that was large enough to be a bedroom she searched three walls of double-decked clothes racks for an outfit suitable to wear for a job interview. Fringe and conchos probably weren’t a good idea. Nor were tight jeans and cowboy boots.

  Her mind continued to dwell on the conversation she’d just had with Judd. It wasn’t that she went for bad boys—good-looking, devil-may-care jerks with harems of females chasing them and off-the-wall lifestyles. All women, she assumed, went for bad boys, but for some reason, she hooked up with the ones who treated her badly…like Judd.

  She pulled a tailored white blouse off a hanger and held it in front of her, checking in the full-length mirror how it looked with the tan she spent hours maintaining. Her forearms caught her attention. Lord, her skin looked sooo dry.

  She hung the blouse back on its rack and reached for a jar of enriched skin cream she had bought at Panache. The jar being close to empty, she made a mental note to pick up a replacement. At least the spa was within walking distance.<
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  The spa! Of course! Every time she went there it seemed their receptionist had just quit. How hard could it be to sit at a pretty desk all day and talk to their clientele?

  She rubbed the last dollop of the silky cream onto her arms, satisfied that her employment challenge was met. After all, she was a good Panache customer. Why wouldn’t they hire her?

  Before leaving the bathroom, she studied her hair. Good Lord, her hairdo was all wrong for job searching. A messy profusion of blond highlighted layers and curls hanging below her shoulder blades would not do. She gathered the untamed layers into an up-do and studied the results. Yep, much more appropriate for interviewing.

  Maybe getting a job wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe this was what she needed, a chance to do something on her own. She didn’t know if she was capable of supporting herself, but she knew this much. Her daddy had hurt her feelings and made her mad. She would die alone and be buried in a pauper’s grave before she would return to the control he and her stepmother wielded over her life. It was one thing to be enrolled against her will in a private high school she hated when she was a teenager, but in three months, she would be twenty-five years old.

  Yes indeedy, she recognized a chance to escape when she saw one.

  She only wished that a week earlier, when she had chosen not to spend $475 on the denim Dolce & Gabbana bustier she had spotted in Neiman Marcus, she had known Daddy was going to cut her off. There were lessons to be learned in life, and she had just discovered an important one: don’t put off buying ’til tomorrow what you could be wearing today.