YOU CAN HAVE MY HEART, BUT DON’T TOUCH MY DOG
By
DIXIE CASH
Copyright © Jeffery McClanahan, 2016.
All Rights Reserved.
Cover design by: THE KILLION GROUP
www.thekilliongroupinc.com
Please Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
You Can Have My Heart, but Don't Touch My Dog (Domestic Equalizers, #8)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to animal rescuers everywhere who work and sacrifice to make a place for abused and unwanted creatures of all kinds. They have a special place in heaven.
It’s also dedicated to Sandi Walker, especially, founder and owner of SECOND CHANCE FARM in Granbury, Texas. Sandi is one of those people.
Prologue
He didn’t know how long he had been lost, but judging from the hollow feeling in his stomach and the thin shadows cast by his body, he had been homeless a while.
His best friend had told him a hundred times not to wander off. When he had heard those words in the past, he hadn’t been sure what “wander off” meant, but he had a good idea now. Wandering off was what he had done. Wandering off had made him homeless, lost and hungry.
He had found others like himself on the streets, some friendly, some not, all with a hint of fear in their eyes, all prowling for food. He gave a wide berth to the territorial ones. His intent wasn’t to challenge or take away another’s place. He wanted only to find his way home to his comfortable spot at the foot of the big bed, to where his friend would scratch his head or belly and give him treats at the end of a day’s work.
Oh, what he would give for one of those treats right now. He would even welcome a bath. Given the chance, he would dance and prance around and wag his tail. After he had made his friend laugh, he would flash what humans called a “grin,” behavior that never failed to garner affection and sometimes an extra treat.
Nighttime. The air had cooled and the number of cars that had zoomed past him all day had dwindled. This was when he missed his friend the most.
Suddenly, an enticing scent diverted him from his thoughts of home. He raised his nose for a better sniff. Food. His keen sense of smell detected the aroma coming from somewhere across the street. Maybe his friend was waiting over there with a delicious treat. His mouth watered at the idea of a bowl of Kibbles ‘n Bits and fresh water.
He stepped off the curb and stopped short, allowing a big car filled with young humans to pass. They were laughing and yelling. One tossed a can from the window and hit his hind leg. The blow hurt a little, but he didn’t let that stop him. He trotted on across the street, toward the smell.
Chapter 1
Debbie Sue Overstreet—former PRCA barrel racing champion, co-owner of one of only two beauty salons in Salt Lick, Texas, and founder of a private investigation service—swept the last of yesterday’s sand into a neat pile at the Styling Station’s back door. Her business partner and best friend, Edwina Perkins-Martin, sprawled in the styling chair at her station reading the Odessa American newspaper.
Debbie Sue opened the heavy door and swooshed the sand outside into the already-hot sunlit morning. She slammed the door and returned to the salon. “Damned sand. How can so much of it come in overnight?”
“The wind,” Edwina answered without looking away from her reading. “It’s in the wind.”
And God knew there was wind in West Texas. It blew from the northwest, it blew from the southeast and sometimes it blew two hundred miles an hour in a circle and caused all kinds of grief.
Debbie Sue walked over to the payout desk and perused her schedule for the day. Her first appointment—a perm for Mary Sue Mason—would show up in fifteen minutes. “Hmm. I’ve got a trim at two o’clock and after that, nothing. It’s so hot. I might get out of here early and go home and lay down naked in front of the air conditioner. Or I might fill the bathtub with ice water for a good soak. Or I might do something really crazy and cook something fantastic for Buddy’s supper.”
“Like what?” Edwina asked absently, still absorbed by the newspaper.
“Oh, I don’t know. I might barbecue a Gila monster. Or cut a hunk of meat off one of Rocket Man’s hindquarters.”
“Sounds good,” Edwina said.
Just as Debbie Sue thought. Edwina was paying no attention to her. “What are you reading, Ed?”
“This article on the front page. Remember that story about some brave asshole beating an elderly woman to death in Midland?”
“The home invasion and robbery? Yeah. What a despicable crime.”
“The meanest thing I’ve ever heard. It says here they’ve arrested somebody named John Wilson. Says he had an alibi. Three of them at last count. None of which panned out.”
“I saw the report on TV news this morning. They said the evidence against him is strong. They found a lot of the poor woman’s belongings in his car and a witness even saw him leave her house the evening of the murder.”
“Did Buddy see that report? Is he going to get involved?”
Debbie Sue’s husband, James Russell Overstreet, Jr., had once been the sheriff in Salt Lick. Now, he was a Texas Ranger captain revered
