it as— ”
“You handle your end of things, and I'll take care of my end.” Allen tipped the “emergency” bottle he'd pulled out of the bottom drawer of his desk and refreshed his drink.
“Allen, I'm worried about you.”
“I've gotten along a hell of a lot of years without your concern, Cassie. And I'll get along a good many more without it, too. If you don't like the job I'm doing, you're free to take a walk” He turned his attention back to the checkbook and Cassie knew she was dismissed.
Something— or someone— had to give. Cassie hoped it wasn't her.
* * * *
“How do I look?” Cassie had splurged on a pair of hand-tooled Luchesse boots that she'd spied some weeks ago at Shepler's. She twirled to appreciative whistles, showing off her soft black cotton skirt and smile-pocket shirt, both of which were appliquéd with satin roses. She wanted to look perfect for the gig tonight at the north Dallas society barbecue and rodeo.
“You ought to fit right in with that fancy crowd tonight.” Scrappy smiled and hiked up the same old blue jeans that he always wore onstage.
“Will success spoil the Twisters?” she teased as she pitched in to help load up the amplifiers and instruments.
The Twisters didn't read music and they'd had no formal training, but they knew their instruments like most people knew the backs of their hands. Cassie's relationship with them was grounded in the mutual respect they had for one another's ability, and she'd adopted them as her talented, substitute family.
“Allen's meeting us at the barbecue.” Scrappy had inherited the driving chores. Cassie, Mike, and Jess passed the time playing cards at the portable table in the back of the van. When they turned off the highway and headed toward the sprawling ranch where they were scheduled to appear, she glanced out the window in idle curiosity.
“Did he tell you who was throwing this gig?” She crawled into the front passenger's seat for a better view of the spread they were approaching. Green grazing land rolled gently to the south, while methodically thumping black rocker arms pumped oil as far north as the eye could see.
“Oh, no!” Cassie whispered in horror when she spotted the Diamond T symbol emblazoned on the arched white entrance gates.
Chapter 5
“What in blue blazes is the matter with you?” Allen growled, hopping into the driver's seat, which Scrappy had just vacated.
“I won't sing for these people.” Cassie crossed her arms over her chest in a stubborn attitude, refusing to budge an inch. “Please, Allen, don't ask me to get up on that stage. Tell them we made a mistake and refund their money. Or let the guys handle this one alone.”
“Have you lost your mind?” he roared. “We've just pocketed our biggest fee to date and you develop cold feet!”
“I've worked for the Temples before.” Something told her not to hand Allen a sword that he could hold over her head in the future, so she gave him only a partial outline of her past relationship with the wealthy family, omitting the more intimate details. “I don't want anything to do with them,” she summed up forcefully. “They've caused me all the grief I need, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual.”
“The only thing you're being paid to do is to entertain them and then go home.” Allen drained the can of beer he clutched in his fist. “The rest of your story is ancient history. You're bought and paid for, baby, whether you like it or not.”
Cassie felt like someone had tightened a noose around her throat. Vivid memories of Hoyt's warm, golden body played in slow motion through her mind.
“I'm going to check out the sound equipment,” Allen said. “Do whatever you want, but stay close in case we hit a snag.”
He obviously considered the matter settled and Cassie couldn't— wouldn't— offer a more personal argument in her own defense. She sat alone in the van, drained of her normal enthusiasm.
“I don't have anyone to blame
“You handle your end of things, and I'll take care of my end.” Allen tipped the “emergency” bottle he'd pulled out of the bottom drawer of his desk and refreshed his drink.
“Allen, I'm worried about you.”
“I've gotten along a hell of a lot of years without your concern, Cassie. And I'll get along a good many more without it, too. If you don't like the job I'm doing, you're free to take a walk” He turned his attention back to the checkbook and Cassie knew she was dismissed.
Something— or someone— had to give. Cassie hoped it wasn't her.
* * * *
“How do I look?” Cassie had splurged on a pair of hand-tooled Luchesse boots that she'd spied some weeks ago at Shepler's. She twirled to appreciative whistles, showing off her soft black cotton skirt and smile-pocket shirt, both of which were appliquéd with satin roses. She wanted to look perfect for the gig tonight at the north Dallas society barbecue and rodeo.
“You ought to fit right in with that fancy crowd tonight.” Scrappy smiled and hiked up the same old blue jeans that he always wore onstage.
“Will success spoil the Twisters?” she teased as she pitched in to help load up the amplifiers and instruments.
The Twisters didn't read music and they'd had no formal training, but they knew their instruments like most people knew the backs of their hands. Cassie's relationship with them was grounded in the mutual respect they had for one another's ability, and she'd adopted them as her talented, substitute family.
“Allen's meeting us at the barbecue.” Scrappy had inherited the driving chores. Cassie, Mike, and Jess passed the time playing cards at the portable table in the back of the van. When they turned off the highway and headed toward the sprawling ranch where they were scheduled to appear, she glanced out the window in idle curiosity.
“Did he tell you who was throwing this gig?” She crawled into the front passenger's seat for a better view of the spread they were approaching. Green grazing land rolled gently to the south, while methodically thumping black rocker arms pumped oil as far north as the eye could see.
“Oh, no!” Cassie whispered in horror when she spotted the Diamond T symbol emblazoned on the arched white entrance gates.
Chapter 5
“What in blue blazes is the matter with you?” Allen growled, hopping into the driver's seat, which Scrappy had just vacated.
“I won't sing for these people.” Cassie crossed her arms over her chest in a stubborn attitude, refusing to budge an inch. “Please, Allen, don't ask me to get up on that stage. Tell them we made a mistake and refund their money. Or let the guys handle this one alone.”
“Have you lost your mind?” he roared. “We've just pocketed our biggest fee to date and you develop cold feet!”
“I've worked for the Temples before.” Something told her not to hand Allen a sword that he could hold over her head in the future, so she gave him only a partial outline of her past relationship with the wealthy family, omitting the more intimate details. “I don't want anything to do with them,” she summed up forcefully. “They've caused me all the grief I need, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual.”
“The only thing you're being paid to do is to entertain them and then go home.” Allen drained the can of beer he clutched in his fist. “The rest of your story is ancient history. You're bought and paid for, baby, whether you like it or not.”
Cassie felt like someone had tightened a noose around her throat. Vivid memories of Hoyt's warm, golden body played in slow motion through her mind.
“I'm going to check out the sound equipment,” Allen said. “Do whatever you want, but stay close in case we hit a snag.”
He obviously considered the matter settled and Cassie couldn't— wouldn't— offer a more personal argument in her own defense. She sat alone in the van, drained of her normal enthusiasm.
“I don't have anyone to blame
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