Bootscootin' Blahniks

by D. D. Scott

  “I’d also like to clear some space in the storage room to work on my designs. That way, I could squeeze in a half hour here or there to keep my collections on track.”

  “No problem. I’ll help you set up an area tonight. There’s space in the room attached to my office. I’ll share if you promise to keep your pigpen on your side of the doorframe.”

  Zayne brandished his killer smile, taunting Roxy to indulge his sarcasm.

  “Deal. But don’t touch my pigpen. There’s a method to my mess,” she said, wishing she had a method to handle him.

  “If that works for you, who am I to challenge your carnage?” Zayne checked his watch. “What else you got on that list? We’ve only got fifteen minutes until the dinner rush.”

  Roxy checked off the second item on her list and went for number three. “I’d also like to keep Dipstick and Darling in that area while I’m here. They can’t be home that long without being let out, and I don’t have time to leave to take care of them.”

  On account of health codes, he’d probably flip out having dogs in the saloon. Hell, in Manhattan and LA, canines were often dinner companions, stowed away in designer carrying cases at their owner’s well-heeled feet. So how could they be breaking codes tucked away in a back office of a saloon? Riding the waves of argument swelling across his face, Roxy braced herself.

  “I don’t know, Roxy. I’m not comfortable with that. What if they get loose?” Zayne asked, one leg bouncing on autopilot while he mulled over her request. “And where will you let them out? I don’t want you wandering around in the alley behind the saloon late at night by yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t be by myself. Dipstick and Darling would protect me.”

  “Yeah, right.” Zayne shook his head and laughed. “What are they going to do? Lick somebody to death?”

  “Okay. Good point.” Roxy hadn’t thought of where she’d let the dogs out. The alley wasn’t appealing to her either. Not to mention, the dogs relieving their bladders and bowels on city-owned asphalt probably did violate some ordinance. “I’ll have to work on that issue.”

  Her dilemma pumping her mind for a quick solution, she inhaled her frustration. Deflated by her fruitless effort, she exhaled just as quickly.

  “How about you have Mom drop them off at your house each afternoon on her way back to the farm from Raeve? She can get them settled, then Audrey can take over when she gets home,” Zayne suggested, nodding his head in that done deal manner.

  “I suppose that would work. But I hate to inconvenience your Mom.” Even though she knew Kat wouldn’t mind, Roxy didn’t like the imposition.

  “Are you kidding? She’ll be overjoyed. Hell, it might save me from having to buy her one.”

  “Okay. But just until I figure out something else.”

  Roxy never asked people to make her life easier. She’d watched her parents rely on others to cater to their whims and she didn’t like the spoiled, high society snobs they’d become. People like her parents expected unlimited service then never respected what their staffs went through to please them. Roxy wanted no part of that lifestyle. She’d take care of herself.

  With her dogs’ needs met, she searched for a way to tackle the last item on her list.

  “Well…there’s just one more thing to discuss.” Roxy didn’t know why she was trying to find a sugar coating. Nothing she said or didn’t say would make this last note easier for Zayne to digest. “Does The Neon Cowboy offer one-on-one, private dance lessons?”

  She popped her pen in and out, her nerves clicking with the writing instrument.

  “It’s something Mom and I have tossed around, but we’ve never done it. I’d like to someday. Just haven’t had much time to think about it lately. Why? Did somebody ask if I would?”

  “No, not exactly,” Roxy said, twirling the bangles she’d made for last year’s spring collection around her wrist. Her insides whirled in the same death spin. “But someone did inquire about me giving lessons.”

  “Oh really,” Zayne said then laughed.

  But his laugh wasn’t the fun-loving, ornery one Roxy had gotten accustomed to hearing. If his lips and jaws were any tighter, Zayne would break a tooth from the pressure.

  “And who might that be?” He asked.

  If Roxy could make the sign of the cross and expect a smidgen of relief from the gesture, she would. She wasn’t a good, practicing Catholic. Never had been or would be. Not sure even a high-level angel could spread ‘no worry’ dust on her predicament, Roxy held her breath, thankful for the wonderful day she’d had ’til now.

  “Jack Baudlin,” she said, squaring her shoulders against Zayne’s certain storm.

  Zayne slammed his mug on top of the bar, water splashing over the glass rim. “Well that’s a simple answer. No. Hell no. The guy’s a good dancer on his own. What does he need you to teach him? No. Absolutely not happening.”

  Zayne whipped a towel out of his back pocket and in one swell swoop, wiped off the spilled water on the bar then threw the towel into the bar’s sink. “Any other questions? We’ve got to get the doors open.”

  “Give me two more minutes,” Roxy pleaded, although the thought of having this conversation for one hundred and twenty more seconds shook her confidence.

  The muscles in Zayne’s face were drawn tight, and a dull red roar flowed upward through his cheeks. He took a cocktail napkin from the plastic caddy on the bar top and wadded it up into a hard ball sure to leave a nice sting wherever it was thrown.

  Needing to finish their discussion before she lost him to the saloon’s dinner crowd, Roxy swiveled her stool so she faced him head on, wedging her legs between his. She put her hands on his thighs. The second their bodies touched, his attention completely focused on her.

  “You said you thought Jack and his dad were up to no good, right?” She had to build her case, she thought.

  “Yeah. So?” Zayne tapped his knuckles on the edge of the bar.

  If she stood a shot in hell of getting what she wanted, she’d have to keep expanding her argument fact by fact. That is, if she didn’t first take a bullet from the white hot desire firing from Zayne’s groin.

  Roxy shifted her weight, leaning on Zayne instead of the stool to keep her balance. “You don’t have time to follow up on your concerns. Plus, you don’t have a reasonable excuse to go to Baudlin Farms and nose around.”

  “I don’t like where you’re headed.”

  Zayne pressed his thighs against hers, probably to steady her precarious position, although all it did was take Roxy for a wild endorphin ride. Pinning her firm between his legs, her stomach twisted and rolled as if she were riding a Tilt-a-Whirl.

  “I told you I wanted you to stay away from them. They’re trouble. It’s bad enough Jack’s always hanging around in here. I’m certainly not going to approve a reason for him to stay longer, especially when I can’t be here to protect you.”

  Zayne traced his index finger around the edges of the hole Roxy had cut out of the knee of her jeans. The warm line left behind by the trail of his touch damn near brought her off her seat.

  “I appreciate your concern,” she said, struggling to speak as her mouth had other things on its mind. “But I’m a big girl from a big city who knows how to protect herself. And if I get to know Jack, I really think I could find out something that might help you.”

  “No, Roxy. My problems at the farm aren’t worth you cavorting with the Baudlins.” Zayne pushed his stool back and stood up. “I used to like Jack even though his old man was slime. But no more. Jack’s covering up something.”

  Zayne leaned down and kissed her cheek, then moved his lips to hers, letting them linger for a moment, stopping her world for the second time that afternoon. Roxy was back in the clouds, begging the gods above to whisk both of them to paradise.

  “I appreciate the offer, Princess. But I’ll take care of Jack.” Zayne tapped her nose with his index finger. “You hold the fort down here and keep Mom happy at Raeve.”

  Let
ting him think he’d won might work to her advantage, Roxy schemed. “Fine.”

  Although resisting the nose tapping gesture was torture. She craved his impromptu love taps.

  “I still think I could find out more than you and have an easier time doing it. But it’s your problem, not mine.”

  She tossed the clipboard onto the bar and got up from her stool, wishing she could throw off his tender charm with the same easy disregard. “Let’s greet our customers.”

  So much for winning that one, she thought, as they headed to unlock the front doors. She may have to turn down giving Jack private lessons, but that didn’t mean she’d leave all the legwork to Zayne. Somebody had to figure out what the hell was going on at that farm.

  Nobody told Roxy what she could and couldn’t do. Nobody stomped on her dreams. And nobody messed with her man.

  There were more ways to get to Jack than on the dance floor, especially when he seemed to spend quite a bit of time in the Neon Cowboy. Roxy had complete faith in her social skills. She’d spent way too many years at stuffy cocktail parties to not have learned the art of sniffing for pay dirt. She might be dealing with a different kind of dirt, but her talent would come in handy all the same.

  Luckily, as a tween, she’d spent many a lazy summers in The Hamptons buried in Nancy Drew’s escapades. She could put that time to use, adding super sleuth to her already expanding resume.

  Chapter Twenty

  Damn it, Dad. Why you’d die on me?

  Zayne pounded his fist against the workbench, sending a spade crashing to the greenhouse floor. He wiped sweat from his forehead with his filthy hands, leaving a smudge of muck. Not that he cared how he looked tackling tomato woes, but dirt wasn’t his thing. He hadn’t and probably never would grow accustomed to field-stained hands.

  But dirt was the least of Zayne’s problems. Here it was June, a month and a half before the entry deadline, and his Red Rocket Brandywines looked like shit. He’d spent quality time in the greenhouse’s stuffy stench for a month and discovered nothing to secure a contest win.

  Even after watering-in his dad’s hand-blended fertilizer, the plants hadn’t taken off. They weren’t anywhere near the size they should be. But as small as they were, Zayne felt smaller facing failure.

  Reshuffling his spreadsheets and graphs, he hunted for the source of his troubles. He checked the sheets once, then two additional times, finding nothing out of whack. Assuming he knew what in whack looked like.

  Dread curled in his stomach, threatening to poison his resolve.

  Why had he taken responsibility for the farm? Why hadn’t he leveled with his dad when they’d discussed succession plans? The farm should have been willed to somebody who knew how to work it. Somebody who wanted to work it. Somebody who could make his dad’s hard work payoff.

  Zayne just hadn’t found the courage to back out of the farm’s responsibility. He couldn’t take disappointing his dad…again. Talk about thin-skinned.

  The day he’d knelt at his dad’s grave to say his final goodbye Zayne had abandoned his dream to open a country dance studio. He’d subleased his flat in Hillsboro Village and moved back to the farm to take over the tomato operations. That decision had stifled his spirit and crippled his creative drive, but somehow soothed the pain of his father’s death.

  Not that keeping tabs on his mom hadn’t been part of the reason Zayne had come home. Her illness may explain her loss of energy and appetite, but her enthusiasm for life had died with his dad. She’d gone from taking the world and squeezing the shit out of everything it offered to making excuses she was getting too old to go for her ballsy ideas.

  Kat McDonald admitting to being too old for anything shocked Zayne, punching holes in the imaginary armor he’d drawn on her.

  Thank God Roxy had rear-ended his truck, Zayne thought. As soon as she’d bumped into their lives, his mom’s spark and wit returned. Her zing was back in order and working overtime. If only Zayne’s tomatoes would catch a clue.

  He studied the seed germination diagram he’d taken out of one of his dad’s old farm magazines. The Brandywine’s seed mix wasn’t the problem, Zayne learned. The seed varieties, although on their own very different, had blended perfectly. Just like Zayne’s libido came in early and stayed late on account of Roxy’s quirky, but perfect mix.

  As much as Zayne got a hoot out of her, she drove him nuts. Drove him to think of doing things to her that would not be considered well-mannered, although they’d sure as hell be fun. Drove him to feel like a testosterone-charged teenager on the prowl. And drove him to discover a softer, familial longing he didn’t know he had. A desire to settle down and commit to a woman, a home, and a future he’d thought was only for other guys. He was nuts. Completely nuts.

  Roxy stirred a reckless synergy within him. She challenged him to go after his dreams at the same time giving him a tougher than nails place to fall if he failed. She was all that, packaged in hellaciously sexy clothes. A look that made Zayne’s head spin off its axis.

  The woman she was underneath the sassy layers rocked his sense of reason. Yeah, she had that nothing’s-going-to-stop-me determination but it sprang from a basic human goodness she kept hidden. Unless you knew where and how to find it…and Zayne did.

  When he’d seen her interact with his mother, he’d found Roxy’s compassion. In the tiny pieces she held in common with his mom, he’d recognized her crazy blend of nice and spice. For all the fire burning inside these women, their souls were gracious and loyal.

  “I thought I’d find you here.” His mother’s voice startled Zayne as much as it soothed his restless spirit.

  “Hey, Mom. Shouldn’t you be at Raeve?”

  He wiped his dirty face with the sleeve of his work shirt. The sting of sweat mixed with the rough denim and sunburn forced him out of his daydreams and very much into the present.

  “I’m giving Audrey and Damian space to finish the overhaul of the place. They already know my opinions.”

  “I’m sure they do.” And Zayne was sure they did. No one was ever left to wonder what his mom thought.

  “Wise ass.” She pulled out a metal stool from under the workbench and had a seat. “You should stop by. It looks great.”

  “I’d like to but I’m not sure when I’m going to have time,” he said, grabbing the notepad he’d started for field observations then scrounging through the bench drawers for a pen. “If I expect to keep dad’s growing schedules, I’ve still got to raise the beds with fresh mulch and prune the side shoots from the plants by the end of the week.”

  “You should make time, son. It would mean a lot to Roxy.”

  “Roxy doesn’t need my thoughts on Raeve. She didn’t hook up with me for my fashion sense.” He motioned to his filthy clothes.

  “Maybe not. But you’re good for her in many other ways,” his mom said, her voice taking on that Mom-knows-best tone.

  “Oh, boy. Here we go.”

  Zayne knew where this was headed but also knew better than to argue. If she said what she came to say, without much fuss from him, she’d be out of his way in good time. Hopefully taking with her the jumpiness that thinking and talking about Roxy hammered into his chest. His mom could be like the non-relenting downbeat of an over-played song on country radio.

  “Now just hear me out.” She leaned close in a conspiratorial posture.

  “I always do. Dad taught me that when I was a young pup.”

  “God love him. He was such a smart man,” she said and laughed. “And you’re still a young pup, although you’re getting older and — ”

  “Don’t start the it’s-time-to-think-about-settling-down lecture. C’mon, Mom. I’ve got to get into the fields.”

  Zayne opened his notebook and twisted off the pen cap with his teeth, clamping down on the soft plastic to relieve the pressure his mom placed on his overburdened guilt. “Is this all you came over here for?”

  “Pretty much.” She took his notepad and snapped the lid shut then pulled the pen c
ap out of his mouth. “And how many times have I told you it’s not good for your teeth to chew on these things?”

  “Okay, Mom. Say what you want to say then I’m outta here. I’ve got work to do.”

  Steeling himself for her lecture, Zayne braced himself with his hand against the edge of the bench.

  “If you’d pay attention, neither of us would be wasting time.”

  She turned her necklace, centering the clasp behind her neck. Judging by the brilliant red stone and quirky copper accents trimming the piece, it was no doubt a Raeve original. Actually, it was kind of cool, Zayne thought, in a Roxy Vaughn kind of funky, off-kilter way.

  His mind too focused on his tomatoes to concentrate much longer on his mom or Roxy, Zayne wondered if maybe the mulch was the problem. Perhaps he should have raised the beds sooner to prevent water loss to the summer sun. Come to think of it, although the weather certainly hadn’t been too hot, the leaves did seem to be on the verge of wilting. And that just shouldn’t be the case. The temperatures had been the perfect cool to make the vines produce more abundantly, not less.

  “I swear. You tune me out just like your father used to.”

  Zayne shook his head trying to clear a path for her good intentions.

  “How about I just go for your jugular? Roxy needs you,” she said, rocking back onto the heels of her boots, playing the tough cowgirl like an ace.

  Zayne was all ears. His body felt like he’d been pummeled with the rocks he and Cody handpicked out of the fields. Acknowledging he’d damn near deserted Roxy because he was so wrapped up in tomato troubles, his throat constricted.

  “That got ya. Didn’t it?” His mom moved her head in that well-ain’t-that-the-shit tilt and continued. “I know Roxy’s a tough one, but take it from me, even us hard-hitting gals need a good man occasionally.”

  “Just occasionally?” Zayne couldn’t help teasing her, despite his anxiety regarding Roxy’s needs.

  After living with two McDonald men, his mom would be lost without a smart aleck comeback. A comeback Zayne hoped masked how hard his concern for Roxy had hit his gut.