I Gave You My Heart, but You Sold It Online

by Dixie Cash

  Quint leveled a look in her direction that should have stunted her growth. “Wee me awone!”

  The girl burst into uncontrolled laughter.

  “Casee, you and the girls go to the food court and get something to drink.” Allison turned the girl around and gave her a little push of encouragement. “I’ll find you in a little bit.”

  Tag’s call to mall security produced quick results. Security personnel were quickly on hand. Just as Quint had feared, they immediately placed a 911 call.

  In less than ten minutes two EMTs appeared on the scene and a Pamela Anderson look-alike was taking Quint’s blood pressure and pulse. The red letters EMT stretched across her ample chest. Her name badge read OLIVIA.

  Quint gave her a lopsided grin. “Owiwia. Wha a wuwy name.” He dug his truck keys from his pocket. “Twag, ta’ the wa’ees back oo Sal’ Wick when they’re fwu. I know the dwill. I goin’ oo the waspi’al.”

  Another female paramedic, her appearance startlingly opposite that of her coworker, was drawing a syringe of clear-colored liquid from a small vial. She had full command of the situation, delivering orders in military fashion.

  “Is he right?” Tag asked her. “Does he have to go to the hospital? Won’t that medicine straighten him out?”

  “Yes, sir, it’ll do the trick, all right. But if we administer medication, sir, we’re required to take him to the hospital. The docs have to give him a once-over and sign off on the release. It’s policy, sir. Liability concerns, you know. Now, please step back, sir, and let me take care of my patient.”

  “We’ll go with you, Quint,” Allison said as the EMT prepared Quint’s arm and injected him.

  “No, Awison. Tas a wong time. Thot’ll work wick, but sy’sem won’t.” Quint smiled up at the blond goddess.

  “What did he say?” Tag asked.

  “I think he said the shot will work quick, but the system won’t,” Allison answered.

  The EMT in charge nodded. “He’s right, ma’am. He’ll be fine by the time we get to the hospital, but allergic reactions are serious. They’ll triage him. He’ll probably have to wait awhile. Lots of activity in the hospital to night. Say, isn’t that Quint Matthews, the bull rider?”

  “Uh, yes. Yes, it is,” Allison replied.

  The fair-haired angel of mercy took Quint’s hand and pressed his arm into her cleavage. “Let me help you, Mr. Matthews. I wouldn’t want anything more to happen to you.”

  Tag resisted rolling his eyes. But then, why was he surprised? All the years he had known Quint, he had seen women behave this way toward him.

  Quint was helped by the two women to the gurney. The blonde clucked and fussed over him. He took his position on the stretcher as one well rehearsed in the process. Tag could see he was now in more than capable hands, so he picked up Quint’s Stetson and laid it on his stomach.

  As the EMTs rolled the gurney toward the mall exit, Allison called out, “I’m so sorry, Quint. Give me a call tomorrow and let me know how you’re doing.” She turned to Tag and shrugged. “I think we’re stranded again. Do you mind being stuck with me and the girls?”

  Tag didn’t even try to restrain a grin.

  Allison watched the EMT staff wheel Quint into the cool West Texas night. She felt guilty not following him or offering reassurance of some kind. It had all happened so fast.

  It wasn’t that she was unconcerned for his well-being, but she had worked in a doctor’s office long enough to know that the true emergency was over and what followed was just paperwork.

  That is, unless he got someone to complete the task of collecting personal information so that he would be free to collect the blonde’s personal information. Allison hadn’t missed the “reassurance” he received from the tall, attractive female taking his blood pressure, nor had she missed Quint’s response. She knew she held no claim on the man—in fact, she hardly knew him—but she had noticed his roving eye each time they had been together.

  Tag was different.

  Just then, he asked her to have a seat nearby while he finished out the hour. She did just that.

  He kept looking in her direction and smiling or winking. She enjoyed watching him interact with the crowd. Both young and old enjoyed his tricks and antics.

  A young mother with twin daughters, who looked to be about six months old, approached Tag and asked if he would hold the girls while she snapped a picture. The moment the mother stepped away, the infants let out a howl.

  Tag, a baby cradled in each arm, cooed and jiggled to no avail. He shot Allison a look of helplessness. She rose from her seat, moved forward, and took one of the babies in her arms. She rocked from side to side, talking in a soothing voice, and the infant soon became quiet. The sister in Tag’s arms stopped crying, too.

  For a brief moment her eyes locked on Tag’s and a surreal feeling overtook her. She felt as if she had lived this moment before. It seemed so natural, so real. All she could do was keep smiling like a loon. Tag returned the smile.

  He leaned toward her. Allison felt he was going to ask her a question, but she would have loved for him to kiss her. She leaned forward, too, but was yanked from her reverie by a female voice.

  “My God. Tag Freeman, is that you? You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  Allison swung her gaze to the woman.

  “Gone back to clowning, huh?” a beautiful petite blonde said. “And with a baby in your arms?”

  Allison looked up at Tag. Even his heavy makeup failed to hide his shock.

  “Are these yours?” the female asked, swinging a finger back and forth between the twins. Before Tag could reply, the woman turned to Allison and looked her up and down. Allison felt as if she had been undressed. “They’re sweet, honey.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not the mother.” Allison pointed toward the young woman with the camera. “She’s over there.”

  “Oh. Okay. I was about to tell you to not give up. You’d get your prebaby body back soon. Sorry.”

  Allison felt her spine go rigid. She had just been insulted by a pro. No fear, no intimidation, no concern for the effect of the message. Yet she put out her right hand, smiling the forced smile she had honed from years of working with the public. “How do you do. I’m Allison Barker. And you are?”

  “Diann Freeman. Mrs. Taggert Freeman.”

  “WHO’S THE LAST person in the world you’d expect to see in Salt Lick?” Edwina asked.

  The lanky brunette refilled everyone’s glasses with sweet tea. No one made sweet tea quite like Vic, Debbie Sue thought, and he wasn’t even a Texan. She finished chewing a bite of chicken Marsala excellently prepared by Vic, as usual, then dabbed at her mouth with a square of paper towel. “Russell Crowe.”

  “Dammit, I’m serious,” Edwina said, her fist resting on a bony hip. “The very last person you thought you’d see in Salt Lick?”

  “Oooh, I thought you said, ‘Who would you most like to see in Salt Lick?’ My mistake. I give up. Who did you see?”

  “Russell Crowe?” Buddy said, spearing a bite of salad. “You mean that actor?”

  Debbie Sue leaned and kissed his cheek. “He’s not nearly as cute as you, honey bunch.”

  Buddy frowned. His black mustache twitched. “Cute?”

  “It’s driving me crazy,” Edwina said. “I can’t put my finger on who it was. But it was someone we know and the last person I’d expect to see. It was a gray pickup and it came so close to crashing into me, I damn near took out that Elvis Ate Here sign at Hogg’s Drive-in.”

  “Oooh, no,” Debbie Sue said, her eyes widening. “It’d be a shame to wipe out Hogg’s claim to fame.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Buddy put in. “Their food’s pretty good. They’re well-known for that.”

  “I agree,” Vic said.

  “Anyway,” Edwina said, “back to my question. I was kinda hoping y’all would supply something I could work with. Who do we know who drives a gray pickup?”

  Debbie Sue mentally ran through a list of acquaintance
s, almost all of whom drove pickup trucks. She couldn’t think of a gray one. “My crystal ball’s plumb cloudy,” she said finally.

  “Mama Doll,” Vic put in, patting Edwina’s arm, “we could play this game all night. Don’t think about it. Just clear it out of your mind and the name will come to you.”

  “You’re right. I’ll think about something else.” Edwina set the pitcher of tea on the table and reclaimed her seat at the table. Several minutes of eating passed before anyone spoke. “So, who do you think it was?” she asked.

  RIDING AS TAG’S passenger in his second unplanned trip to Salt Lick, Allison was more reflective than she had been on the previous ride. She didn’t like admitting such a dark character flaw, but she was more than a little jealous of Tag’s ex-wife. The blonde had taken his hand with unmistakable possessiveness. The ease and familiarity with which her arm slid around his waist sent a message loud and clear: This is mine.

  Just as distressing was that the former Mrs. Freeman looked like the type of woman Allison longed to be—big, baby-blue eyes, blond layers and ringlets cascading like a waterfall down her back, and petite in stature, with a traffic-stopping body. If appearance dictated who belonged in the back of a convertible waving to an admiring crowd, Diann Freeman met all of the criteria. At that thought, Allison’s dark side assumed an even stronger presence and she imagined how much better the woman would look under a convertible as it drove over her doll-like body.

  Allison winced, disliking herself for the evil thought even more than she envied the ex– Mrs. Freeman.

  In the backseat, Jill and her friends chatted and giggled, still exuberant and obviously overstimulated by the candy, soft drinks, and other teenage excesses of the evening. Their main topics were who had been wearing what and what boys were in the mall.

  Tag, at total ease, talked and joked with the girls. A glance from his brown eyes came Allison’s direction occasionally, but all she could return was a weak smile. She was afraid to say much, afraid the question “So you and your ex are getting back together?” would blurt from her mouth. She didn’t want to make a total fool of herself, nor did she want to hear the answer.

  “Did Quint ever mention that he was allergic to latex?” Tag asked her. “I’ve seen him have an allergic reaction to some foods, but he’s never said a word about latex. Of course, that’s not the kind of thing guys talk about.”

  “No, the subject never came up. But then, I hardly know him.” She hesitated, debating if she should take advantage of the opening Tag had given her. The uncharacteristic jealousy she felt won the argument. “Was Quint’s ex-wife friends with yours?”

  “Not really. More like competitors.”

  From somewhere, Allison dredged up a silly titter. “What were they competing for? You and Quint?”

  Tag’s baritone chuckle filled the cab. Good. If he was laughing, hopefully that meant he hadn’t noticed that she was prying. “They might’ve wanted the same fella a time or two, but the rodeo competition was the real contest. Both of them were barrel racers. And they both went for the Miss Rodeo America title. Diann lost.”

  “A beauty pageant? But I always thought beauty contestants were tall and willowy. Your ex can’t be over five feet.”

  Practically a midget, Allison’s evil twin thought.

  “Five foot two to be exact. Miss Rodeo America’s not your typical beauty contest. A gal’s got to be more than pretty. She’s got to be a hell of a horse woman, too.”

  The bitter bile of jealousy filled Allison’s mouth again, but, unfortunately, it wasn’t harsh enough to make her shut up. “So don’t leave me in suspense. They rode off into the sunset together.” She frowned at her own cattiness.

  Tag reached out and covered her hand with his own. “I know you must think a lot of Quint. All women do. But you don’t have to worry about his ex-wife. She’s been out of his bloodstream for a long time. I never believed he cared deeply for her anyway.” He added a chuckle. “Most of Quint’s affection is reserved for himself.” He sighed then. “She was a beauty, though. You’ll get no argument from me there. But her heart was black as tar.”

  Allison cared nothing about Quint’s ex-wife’s heart. She bit her lip and looked out at the Salt Lick city-limits sign zooming past the window.

  She’s been out of his bloodstream for a long time echoed in her head.

  And how about you? she wanted to ask Tag. Who’s doing the backstroke in your bloodstream?

  Tag pulled in front of Allison’s house and killed the engine, hoping it sent the message that he would like an invitation inside. He hated seeing the evening come to a close.

  The girls piled out of the rear passenger seat and ran for the house. Jill had almost reached the front step when Allison called out, “Jill, come back here. Did you forget to thank Mr. Freeman for bringing us home?”

  Jill stopped in midstep. She turned and walked back, smiling sheepishly. “Thanks for bringing us home, Mr. Freeman. And thanks for letting us eat at your restaurant and stuff.” The girl looked at her mother for approval, then turned and dashed to the house again.

  “She’s a great kid,” he said.

  “Thanks. She is a great kid, but naturally, I think so. She’s never in trouble, always minds, and always makes good grades. I wish I had a dozen like her.”

  “Really? You want more kids?”

  “Oh, I don’t think about it so much anymore. But I used to.”

  “A lot of career women don’t want the bother of raising kids. Like it’s beneath them or something.” Tag played with the keys dangling from the ignition.

  “Career woman? Me? Lord, I’m just trying to make a living. I’ve never thought of my job as a career.”

  “Well, you should. You’ve got a lot of responsibility and you’re all alone. I know some pretty tough gals collecting six-digit paychecks who aren’t doing it as well as you do.”

  Tag hoped his words rang true. Single mothers held a special place in his heart. His own mother had raised him and his younger brother alone and the memory of shared TV dinners, shared clothing, and nights hearing his mom cry in her bedroom still came back to him at odd times. Growing up in the Freeman house, there had never been enough of anything but hugs and kisses. Those his mother gave freely and often.

  “Would you like to come in for a while,” Allison asked. “Or do you need to rush back and pick up Quint?”

  Damn, his eagerness to spend a few more precious minutes with Allison had made him forget he had to get right back to Midland. “I guess I could come in for just a few minutes.”

  He slid out, rounded the front of the truck, and collided with Allison. They both stepped back and laughed. Suddenly all he wanted to do was kiss her. He pulled her to him and was relieved at the eager response his lips found. As his passion rose he was interrupted by his cell-phone tone indicating a text message had been received.

  He broke away. As he plucked his phone from his belt they stood as if in an intimate cocoon. He glanced down at the phone’s tiny screen and saw the backlit message all too clearly. Hey—redy 2 go. Where R U? Q.

  thirteen

  For the second time in four days Quint found himself waking up in the afternoon with a killer headache. Alcohol and epinephrine did that to him.

  This part of Texas was nothing but a damn disaster for him. In this place, he had endured as much pain and suffering as he had in the rodeo arena. Yet he kept getting sucked back here like a blade of grass in the path of an oncoming tornado.

  He had heard Tag leave earlier in the morning. Having never held a regular job with a set schedule, Quint couldn’t imagine getting up and going to work every day. Even his successful rodeo livestock company didn’t require his daily presence at his office in Seguin.

  He had Tag’s home to himself. Padding barefoot across the Saltillo tile that covered the floors throughout the house, he followed the aroma of coffee into the kitchen. Ahhh. Thank God, Tag had left hot caffeine waiting. That Tag was a good guy. Perhaps a little idealistic,
but all in all, a real good guy.

  Quint leaned against the counter and sipped coffee as he looked over the home’s Southwest-style interior. Rough-hewn beams, rustic furniture, the scent of leather lingering in a subtle way. Original Western art hung on the walls. Manly, but not overly so. Tag must have hired a professional to do the decorating.

  Taking his time, Quint refilled his cup. He had only one task for today and it was easy: drive to Salt Lick and deliver the information Debbie Sue had requested.

  And maybe drop in on Allison. Visiting her today hadn’t been his original plan, but now he supposed he should. He’d had two dates with her and hadn’t seen either of them through.

  When he saw Allison this time, things would be different. This time, he would take charge. No outside influences, no unexpected plans, and for damn sure, no kids. Meeting Allison’s daughter’s pushy little friend had been enough to remind him of the hazards of being around teenage girls.

  ALLISON COULD THINK of nowhere she had ever been that was more relaxing than the Styling Station. Her tensions began to slink away as Edwina’s brush slid through her hair and she listened to the words of “I Fall to Pieces” delivered by Patsy Cline’s crystal-clear voice. “That’s such a good song,” she said. “It’s a true classic.”

  “It sure is,” Edwina replied. “Debbie Sue does have good taste in music.”

  Allison adjusted the plastic apron Edwina had draped over her shoulders. “I don’t want to get too much hair on my clothes. I have to get back to Almost the Rage.”

  “Why, hon, it’s late in the day. You should go on home.” Allison’s gaze caught Edwina’s and they both looked into the mirror. “You know, you’re about three weeks past needing a trim. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”

  “Oh, you know. Working. Seems like that’s all I do anymore.”

  “Man, do I ever know. When I was your age I was alone with three little girls. I held down two jobs and took in ironing on top of that.” Edwina laughed. Allison loved hearing her friend’s robust laugh.