Chapter 1
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? 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 bullrider.” 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 from a neighboring chair seat, thankful the Petroleum Club dining room had thickly padded chairs. Waking yesterday morning with a sore ankle in a La Mansion suite in San Antonio, she had discovered her foot stuck in the side of a Styrofoam cooler. She 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, last night, she had unwound 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 12:30 sharp had changed her plans and her thinking. His firm tone had suggested an injured ankle might work in her favor. 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 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. 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 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 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 from 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 take-over. 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 table top 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. 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 alumni. 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 and 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.” She came up with a business card and thrust it in his direction. “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 the 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. |
| Dixie Cash USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR |
