Top
The New copy of this book will include any supplemental materials advertised. Please check the title of the book to determine if it should include any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.
The Used, Rental and eBook copies of this book are not guaranteed to include any supplemental materials. Typically, only the book itself is included. This is true even if the title states it includes any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.
Chapter One
There's no excuse for a grown woman to be so damned irresponsible. How can 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?
"Judd Stephens is as worthless as tits on a bull. If somebody told him to go to hell he'd have to ask for directions." E. 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 bull rider."
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. She had it propped up on a neighboring chair, thankful the Petroleum Club dining room had thickly padded furniture.
Waking yesterday morning with a sore ankle in a La Mansion suite in San Antonio, she had discovered her foot stuck through the side of a Styrofoam cooler. She still 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, she spent last night unwinding 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 twelve-thirty sharp had changed her plans and her thinking. His firm tone had suggested an injured ankle might work in her favor.
And to prove the point, 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.
My Heart May Be Broken, but My Hair Still Looks Great. Copyright © by Dixie Cash. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Excerpted from My Heart May Be Broken, but My Hair Still Looks Great by Dixie Cash
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
Need Help? Copyright © 1999-2026
