Texas Twist (Texas Montgomery Mavericks) (2 page)

As soon as the door closed, Cash slid the rest of the way to the floor and curled into a ball. He didn’t need his brothers or anybody. He was just fine.

Chapter Two

Paige stretched her arms over her head and then snuggled back into the thousand-thread-count sheets. Leaving this plush mattress behind when she moved out of Uncle James’s house was going to be hard. As soon as her budget could swing it, buying a gel-foam mattress would shoot to the top of her must-have list.

Rolling onto her side, she slid her hand under her face and thought about seeing Cash Montgomery in Leo’s last night. Would he remember her? Recognize her? It’d been a long time and she’d changed a lot from her teen years.

Seeing him in his boozed-out condition last night was the last thing she’d ever expected. He’d been king of his world. To see how far he’d let himself fall had almost made her physically ill.

She had a lot to get done today and solving the mess Cash had made out of his life wasn’t on her must-do list. She swung her legs off the comfortable mattress and climbed out of bed.

After stripping and replacing the sheets on the massive king-sized bed, she finished packing the rest of her belongings, not that she had that much to pack. Living on the road with her parents in an RV for all of her life while traveling from town to town on the professional rodeo circuit had taught her exactly what was necessary versus what was a luxury.

She loaded the final few boxes, put her new kitten in the pet carrier and headed over to Angus Fitzgerald’s house to see exactly what needed to be done to make it livable. Caroline Graham had warned her that no one had lived there since her great-uncle had died so the place would need a good cleaning.

The front door key was exactly where Caroline had said it would be, over the top of the door frame. Paige let herself in and looked around.

“Well, Ruby, we have a job ahead of us.” She lowered her pet to the dusty hardwood floor. “Your assignment is mouse patrol,” she said to her almost-six-month-old kitten. “Kill, but do not eat.”

Ruby answered with a
mrrreeow
and headed toward the back of the house to explore.

Paige propped her hands on her hips and sneezed before letting out a long sigh. Where to begin? Dust covered every square inch of every exposed surface. Maybe Ruby had the right idea. Exploration first.

The front door admitted visitors into a well-used living room with a leather sofa, a couple of recliners, a scattering of tables and a fireplace that looked as though it’d hosted many fires over the years. To the right was an open door that led to a well-used office and library.

She walked farther into the living room and took a hall off to her right, which led to a small, antiquated bathroom and large bedroom. The bedroom contained a double bed, bedside tables and a dresser. All of the furniture looked antique and she suspected they’d been quality pieces when they were purchased. A dining room, old kitchen with washer and dryer and a small bedroom and bathroom with a sink and old toilet made up the remainder of the first floor. The upstairs had three unfurnished bedrooms, a sitting area and one very out-of-date bathroom.

After her quick tour, she collected Ruby and headed back to her car. This job required a powerful vacuum, which she hadn’t found during her house tour, and cleaning supplies that could cut through months of built-up grime.

Two hours later, and hundreds of dollars poorer, Paige and Ruby tackled their individual assignments. Paige had her questions about Ruby’s work ethics as her cat perched upon the sofa and seemed content to watch Paige clean.

Firing up the vacuum first, Paige figured she would suck up as much dirt and dust as possible before she tackled the tables, floors and walls with cleaning cloths. For the next six hours, she vacuumed, swept, washed and polished. She loaded sheets and towels into and out of the washer and dryer. Warm sheets from the dryer went directly onto the bed in the front bedroom while freshly laundered towels found new homes in the linen closet and towel racks in the bath.

At about seven p.m., she collapsed on the sofa with a loud exhale. She had put a dent into the necessary work required to get the house back into a livable condition. Many more hours of housework were needed, but today had been a step in the right direction. Independence. Reliance on herself. The start of a new job.

“Not perfect and not finished, but a good start, don’t you think, Ruby?”

Ruby lifted her rear leg and began grooming.

“Thanks for your support.”

A buzzing from her purse drew her attention and she leaned over the sofa arm to pull her phone out. Four missed calls. Three from her brother and one from Caroline Graham. She listened to the message from Dr. Graham, who just wanted to make sure Paige had gotten in without a problem. Her brother wanted her to call as soon as she got the message. She did.

The phone rang three times before a female said, “Leo’s.”

Thunderous country music blasted Paige’s eardrums. “This is Paige Ryan. Who is this?”

“It’s Mae. Leo’s got his hands full. Said if this was you, for you to hold on for him.”

“Thanks, Mae.”

Paige heard a loud clunk when Mae set the phone receiver on the counter. While she waited for Leo, rowdy laughter and singing resounded through to her end. Sounded like a Thursday night crowd ready to get their weekends started. In a minute, the clatter of someone picking up the phone dimmed the noise.

“Paige?”

“Yeah. It’s me. What do you need, Leo?”

“Help. The place is packed. Can you lend a hand for a few hours? One of my waitresses called in sick.” When she hesitated, he added, “You don’t have to close. Just come and help at the bar.”

Her leg and back muscles knotted up at the thought of standing for three or four hours, but Leo had always been there for her, even when he didn’t know it.

On the worst day of her life, the day they’d buried their parents, Leo had been the one who’d held her, cried with her and made her feel not so alone in the world.

On the second worst day of her life, he’d been the one to suggest she leave the rodeo road and go to college. He had no idea that he’d probably saved her sanity.

“Give me an hour and I’ll come.”

“Thanks, sis.” He hung up before she could say anything.

Slowly, Cash opened his eyes. A Mack truck revved its engine in his head. He smacked his lips. Tasted like someone had put dog crap in his mouth while he slept…not that he really knew what that tasted like. When he tried to sit up, he found himself wedged between the toilet and bathtub. Wiggling moved his body enough to sit up, but both actions made the grinding noise in his head increase tenfold.

He dropped his head into his hands. His rancid breath collected in his lap and made him wince at the foul odor. Truly disgusting. Using the tub for leverage, he pushed himself to standing, weaving a little in the process. His damaged leg muscles spasmed and threatened to drop him back on his ass. After standing for a couple of minutes, he could put one foot in front of the other.

The progress back to the tiny bed was slow and painful, each step jarring both muscles and brain. How long had he been asleep? A quick glance out a small window showed the sun low in the sky with only its upper quadrant showing. What time was it? Five? Six? Seven? It could later for all he knew. The sun didn’t set in Texas in April until after eight.

He lowered himself to the edge of the bed, supporting his head in the palms of his hands. Hell. It didn’t matter what time it was. His life was over.

At twenty-nine.

Totally over.

It wasn’t fair. Anger flared inside. His life sucked. He could only hope he’d die young and get it over with.

His gaze ran over his boots. Who had removed them? He sure hadn’t. Squeezing his eyes together to help him think—and block any amount of light from his aching eyeballs—he would swear there’d been a woman. Very pretty. Tall. There was something about her that seemed familiar. What was it? He pushed his brain for more information but he might as well have been trying to save water in a sieve.

After shoving his feet into his boots, he headed to the bar to retrieve his keys.

Driving to a house he hadn’t considered home since he’d been eighteen confirmed his total failure at life. What man his age still lived in his old bedroom in his parents’ house?

Damn it. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’d sold the motorhome he’d used to travel from rodeo to rodeo, not that it’d been much to brag about. Fifteen years old, rust encrusted and belching smoke, but it’d been his. It’d held everything he’d needed so he’d never bothered with a house or condo. He hadn’t needed nor wanted the hassle of permanent roots. Big mistake. Now he had nothing and no place to call his own.

Until this very minute, it’d never bothered him that much. He’d figured he always had time set up housekeeping, once he decided where he wanted to live and with whom.

Now he wished he’d invested in a small condo. At least he could go to a place he called his own rather than to the bedroom of his childhood.

He pounded the steering wheel with his fist. What a loser. Wouldn’t the other guys riding the circuit give him hell for going home to Mommy and Daddy?

To delay facing the reality of just how crappy his life had turned out, he took the long way to Bar M Ranch, circling by the Kickin’ Bull Ranch, home to his sister, Olivia, her two children and her husband, Mitch Landry. Hell, he hadn’t even seen his new niece. What was she? A month old? Six weeks?

A loser, a bad uncle and a useless brother.

He turned into the Kickin’ Bull Ranch drive and stopped. A female Brahma cow munched the new grass as her bull baby eyed him. He’d have sworn the little bastard sneered at him. When momma raised her head and eyeballed him too, a cold sweat broke out on his neck and trickled down his back. He tightened his fingers on the truck’s steering wheel until his arms shook as if he were sitting on the San Andreas Fault during a level nine earthquake.

The Brahma momma tossed her head and let out a loud, deep bellow. Cash’s heart jumped. His cold sweat became a cold flood as he shivered at the sound.

When he was capable of wrestling control of his body back from the anxiety racing through him, he slammed the truck in reverse and whipped back on the road, flying past the bellowing cow and her satanic bull baby. He didn’t slow down until he reached the turn in for Bar M, his parents’ ranch. He slowed, even turned on the left signal light, but it was as if the wheel was locked. It simply wouldn’t turn into their drive. Then, as if possessed by independent thought, his right foot pressed hard on the accelerator and he roared past. He whipped onto the cut-off that would turn him around and head him back to Leo’s bar.

One drink
, he told himself.
Just one before I have to see the disappointment on my parents’ faces.

He wheeled into Leo’s lot and had to circle a number of times before he could find a place to park. Weekends around here started on Thursday night, not that the Thursday partiers didn’t have to work on Friday. They did. They simply wanted to get a jump on the weekend fun.

Same as him. He was just getting a jump on the weekend.

The music from the live band was ear-splitting, the sound blasting out the door the minute Cash swung it open. The dance floor was packed with couples gyrating and one-stepping to the music. He pushed his way through until he could see the back booth. Open. He tried to look nonchalant as he hurried to claim it.

“What’ll it be, sugar?” a dark-haired waitress he didn’t know asked.

“Whiskey. Jack Daniels. Bring the bottle.”

“Sure thang, sugar.” She twisted and wiggled her hips as she walked away.

As he sank into the cushions, memories of other nights and other bars and beautiful women cluttered his mind like paper thrown into the air. One memory landing on top on another. Each one different but similar.

At one time, he’d been the draw in any bar he entered, unable to sit alone for longer than five minutes before women slid in the booth beside him, or men began shaking his hand, buying him all the drinks he could handle. The men wanted to be him and the women wanted to fuck him.

He had been a somebody.

That’d been then. Now, he was a nobody.

Worse than a nobody, actually. The men felt sorry for him and the women wanted to mother him. Screw that.

“Here ya go,” the waitress said, setting an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass on the table. “Leo started you a tab and said to get your keys.”

“Fine.” He fished his keys from his jeans pocket before he cracked the top. “Wait a minute,” he said as she turned to leave. “Last night, there was a woman here. I’m trying to find her.”

She laughed. “Honey, there are women here every night. What’d she look like?”

A heat flushed his cheeks. “I don’t know. She was here alone, I know that. I need to talk to her.”

“That’s a tough description to match. I wasn’t here last night.” She tilted her head toward the other side of the room. “Sally was though. I’ll ask her.”

“Thanks.” He poured the highball glass to the rim, drained it in one gulp and refilled it.

He’d made his way through about one-half of the bottle when Sally strode over. “Mae tells me you’re looking for someone from last night?”

“Yeah. Single. I mean, she wasn’t here with anyone.”

Sally shook her head. “Sorry. There weren’t any single women here last night. Just couples. You were pretty out of it. Maybe you just thought you met someone here.”

“Never mind,” he growled. “Forget it.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help,” she said with a smile and left.

Just as well, he thought as he finished off another shot. What woman would want a broken-down has-been cowboy with a limp and no future?

He poured another drink and rested his head against the back of the booth. His life wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d had a master plan, a damn good one. Win the national bull riding championship for the third time, get a gig doing on-air commentary, maybe pick up a few endorsement contracts. He shouldn’t be a washed-up ex-bull rider before he was thirty. He should be at the top of his game, master of his world. Instead, he was master of nothing.

Except, damned if he didn’t own half of the cattle being raised at Kickin’ Bull Ranch. The plan had been to become a stock contractor for the Professional Bull Riding association. What the hell had he been thinking going into business with Mitch Landry to raise bulls?