by D. D. Scott
“Nonsense, dear. You’re not burdening me. I adopted you into my family weeks ago. We’re in this together now.” Kat put her arm around Roxy and pulled her close to her chest.
Soothed by the soft but steady beats of Kat’s heart, Roxy didn’t know what she’d do if it again decided to stop pumping.
“Mom’s here because she’s supposedly left my dad and plans to start over in Nashville…with me.” A flood of bottlenecked emotion washed out of Roxy as she forced the truth between her lips. “I just can’t deal with her right now. I have enough at stake without worrying about her problems.”
“You certainly do have a lot to fill your time. But it’s nothing you can’t handle.” Kat squeezed confidence into Roxy’s shoulders before she let go of her. “What can I do to help?”
“You just being here, listening to me whine and boohoo, means the world to me.” Roxy picked up Kat’s pencil and drummed it against the table. “No one’s ever been here for me like you have. And to think I had a fit when Zayne pushed me to accept your help. You helping me see through Raeve’s sea of red, well, that’s way more than enough. I couldn’t ask for more.”
“Raeve isn’t in the red anymore, my dear. I knew you hadn’t heard a word I’d said about the reports.” Kat grabbed the stack of spreadsheets from the edge of the table and removed the binder clip, laying-out the papers in various piles. “And I’m glad that Zayne pushed you. You helped me too, you know. Because of your zest for your passions, I found mine again. After Zayne’s daddy died, I was afraid I’d lost them.”
“Kat?”
“Mmmm?” Kat answered, already rearranging the reports to repeat her presentation.
Roxy took her glasses off the top of her head. She put them into place over her eyes. With a punch of verve she’d never had when it came to working numbers, she was ready to tackle the business end of Raeve.
“As far as helping me with my mom…” Roxy felt like a helpless wonder asking, but didn’t know who else had the psychological stamina to help her decide the best approach.
“When would you like me to meet her? My schedule’s not too full these days,” Kat said and chuckled.
“Oh, I wouldn’t put you through that. I thought maybe you could just give me some advice on what to do with her.” Thinking about her mother again brought a swarm of wasps batting their wings against the insides of Roxy’s stomach.
“Well, my dear, if I’m going to slay this dragon diva then I need to see what makes her breathe fire. I prefer to see first hand what I’m up against.” Kat took a pen out from behind her ear and removed the cap. “We’ll have coffee before you go to the saloon this afternoon, and you can give me your crib notes.”
Kat then re-circled the same numbers she must have circled earlier when giving her analysis of Raeve’s finances.
“And by the way, dear, you and Zayne will be taking the night off tonight. Both of you. Cody and Jules can handle the saloon, and Zayne’s daddy’s tomatoes can just do whatever they do on their vines — alone. I happen to have two extra tickets for the General Jackson dinner boat. And you’re going…together.”
“I’m not sure Zayne will want to take time away from the farm,” Roxy said. Although the idea of taking a night off with Zayne made butterflies of anticipation flitter in her belly, replacing the raging wasps.
And if Roxy were lucky, maybe she could talk Zayne into letting her stay at his place. The thought of going home to her mother sent her into a free-falling tizzy.
“Oh he’ll take the time. I think he had something to tell you anyway. I’ll have him pick you up at the saloon around five thirty-ish. Boarding begins around six fifteen.”
“That sounds great.” Roxy wrapped her arms around Kat’s petite frame, holding her tighter than she’d planned to as emotions overtook her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Kat put on her reading glasses, carefully arranging their beaded chain to artfully edge the open collar of her button-down shirt. “Let’s take a stab at these numbers again.”
This was what it was supposed to be like between a mother and a daughter, Roxy thought, as the butterflies inside her were finally at peace.
And wasn’t it funny how the same style of glasses could make one woman look like the maternal maverick she was and another look like Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada? That’s all.
By late that afternoon, following coffee with Kat, Roxy had a complete laundry list of her mother’s idiosyncrasies and felt much better. At least she had a rough plan devised of what to do with her birth vessel that didn’t include tossing her off the top of downtown Nashville’s Batman building.
Roxy was also excited to have proven on paper that Raeve could succeed. Her job would be to keep fresh, hip designs coming. Kat and Audrey would continue handling the numbers and promotions, and with their business savvy, the numbers were starting to mean something. At least to Roxy, they were much more than disparaging digits identifying how far she had to go to achieve success beyond her parents’ shadows. For the first time, Raeve showed promise and possibilities unlimited.
Roxy’s profit margin was at ten percent, thanks to the pre-paid orders Kat had taken for the new belt buckles. With the supplier changes Kat wanted to implement sure to boost the boutique’s net gain, Roxy could begin to save money for a building of her own in the Village.
A profit was exhilarating on its own. Knowing she had enough extra income to tuck some away for Raeve’s future was beyond Roxy’s wildest dreams. Working for the last six months, at the hell-feverish pace of a debuting designer during the final days before Fashion Week, didn’t seem so crazy now. Or perhaps still crazy, Roxy admitted, but crazy with a legitimate purpose and brilliant result in sight and well within her reach.
Raeve was selling stronger every day. Roxy had originated her own brand of boutique-ing. ‘In for chicken feed and out with a damn fine belt for the Mrs.’ Wondering if she shouldn’t run that ad slogan past Audrey, Roxy giggled to herself.
As she’d pledged to Audrey and Jules all those years ago after she’d graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology, Roxy had made the move to Nashville. Who’d have thunk it possible? Not only had she done it, but she couldn’t imagine turning back.
She’d used the years between then and now productively, carefully thinking through the ramifications of her hair-brained plan until she summonsed the guts to box up the Fifth Avenue storefront her father rented for her and head south. It was no accident she’d found her way here. She was convinced her muse had tipped her hat this direction. Roxy had never felt a creative buzz like the one filling the air in Music City.
And speaking of accidents, thank God she’d hit Zayne’s truck. Where would she be right now if it weren’t for his cowboy charm and his ability to broker a good deal? A deal leveraged on her building a relationship with the kind of woman she’d never imagined wanting as a mother. Now she couldn’t imagine re-opening the void Kat had filled.
Roxy wouldn’t be standing in front of the mirror in the office next to Zayne’s in the back of the Neon Cowboy. She wouldn’t be waiting to be his date for the evening. She wouldn’t be worrying that she hadn’t dressed right for her first paddlewheel riverboat cruise.
Thinking she’d had yet to wear anything relatively normal in front of him, she’d gone with one of her skirts. Although once she’d added her touches to it, she had to admit, she couldn’t recall running across anything quite like it.
To the naked eye, the piece looked like a prairie skirt. Upon closer examination, more than the fabric’s fuchsia hue knocked-off its blasé pattern of normalcy. She’d made a sheer, beaded overskirt that drew up into a reverse ‘v’ at her waist then using the same tones as the skirt beneath it, she’d added a devilish fringe that dusted the floor as she walked.
She’d chosen a white, western-inspired, button down shirt, left open to just below her breasts to accentuate a fuchsia push-up bra. With a Buckles Me Baby silver and hotter than hot pink conk belt and an off-white c
owboy hat, complete with a leather cord dangling to her cleavage, Zayne would have plenty of stimulation to keep his focus on her paddlewheels instead of the boat.
She twirled around in front of the mirror, letting the motion of the fabrics and her emotions carry her. She hadn’t had a night off for weeks, let alone a real date.
The idea of spending the occasion with Zayne made Roxy giddy with anticipation. The burdensome weight of her anxieties had been willingly removed from her shoulders for the rest of the night. Despite the heavy, brown suede boots she’d borrowed from Kat, her feet even felt lighter.
With only a few minutes left before Zayne should be there, Roxy changed her mind on her head peace. Removing the hat, her hands trembling, she anchored a barrette into her hair. She hoped Zayne liked the change. But just in case she didn’t get the response she hoped for, she’d take the hat with her.
The office lighting danced off the tiny gemstones of the antique brooch Roxy had reworked into a hair clip. It was the perfect use for the piece she’d discovered in a stall in a Tuscan piazza. Luckily, she’d gone with her intuition instead of listening to her father. He thought it was silly to buy jeweled-accessories from anyone beneath the caliber of Harry Winston, Tiffany’s, or Van Cleef and Arpel. He’d insisted she have the thing appraised to determine if it was worth insuring, but Roxy had refused, thinking it probably wasn’t even worth the money she was paying for it. And if it was, so be it, she’d rather live on the edge.
While she fussed in front of the mirror, her body fluttered in tiny little spasms. She wanted to look just right for Zayne, hoping to earn one of the funny grins he got when he saw her for the first time on any given day. As he gave her his initial once over he always looked sort of bewildered.
But not bewildered in a negative connotation. It was almost as if she amused him with her wardrobe choices. And Roxy thrived on that feeling, finding it gave her an extra boost of confidence. After he’d seen her in something new, flecks of enjoyment sparkled in his eyes. She fed on the subtle, sexy reinforcement he gave her without even knowing it.
Lost in her romantic ruminations, Roxy bowed her head and offered a silent prayer to whichever Cupidesque, arrow-packing angel was on duty tonight. Just one night of magic with Zayne, that’s all she was asking for. She’d then try to work him out of her system before it was too late.
The idea of pushing Zayne out of her life, when she’d tried so hard not to let him in, ripped her soul into desolate shreds. Like a sharp pin piercing a tiny, but ultimately lethal hole in a balloon, Roxy’s pain threatened to deflate the joy of the evening ahead.
Not too long ago thinking Zayne could be hers for a happily-ever-after, the time to pursue her desire had vanished with her mother tossed into the mix. Hell, once Zayne met Lily Vaughn, he’d ride off into the sunset for good. Maybe if Roxy saddled-up his horse now, before he even met her parents, she’d save herself an even tougher emotional ride later.
Hearing Zayne whistle low behind her then trill his tongue, creating the most alluring catcall she’d ever heard, Roxy’s heart leapt forward into a tango rhythm taking her breath with it. She’d never been with a man who could always, every time, knock her out of her natural rhythm. With Zayne, she was always in a different pattern, out of sync with her norm, but more in sync with her life and what made her happy than she’d ever been.
He came up behind her, tucked her hair behind one ear, and leaned in for a close, husky whisper. “Now that’s one hot woman in front of that mirror. Do you think she’d go out with me?”
After feeling the solid front of him cozied up to her backside, talking out loud would take more air than she had left.
“If you ask her nicely, I’m sure she’d say ‘yes,’” Roxy whispered back.
“Then I’ll ask nicely.” Zayne turned her to face him, taking her hands into his. His eyes were steadfast, as if willing her to never look at another man the way she was looking at him. “How about a river cruise, darlin’?”
“I’d be honored,” Roxy said as Zayne kissed the tip of her nose, sending her plummeting into the swells of arousal thrashing between the folds in her skirt.
“Follow me. Your pick-up truck awaits.” He tipped his hat then tucked her arm inside his, leading her to the office door.
She grabbed her bag off her desk then let him take her wherever he wanted.
Not once had the idea of riding shotgun appealed to her. But it did now. Sitting on the passenger side would be way too far from him.
When Zayne opened the rear entrance to the saloon, Roxy laughed.
“What’s so funny?” He looked hurt, in a boyish way, as if he’d done something he thought was sweet, only to find she didn’t like it.
“I thought we’d be driving your beat-up farm truck. Not that that wasn’t fine with me.”
Zayne took her to the passenger-side of a sparkling clean, silver metallic Ford F-150, opened the door, offered his hand and helped her into the seat. “My mom raised me better than that.”
Roxy fixed her skirt to keep from wrinkling it before she got to the boat. “Yes. But she raised you to be just as proud in your farm truck. All the more reason I think you’re a good guy to have around.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to be that good tonight,” Zayne said with a dazzling, Cheshire grin.
Roxy’s tummy did gigantic flip-flops.
“We deserve a night for nothing but working on what we want to work on,” he concluded.
“And what would that be?” Feeling her mind take off on a flying trapeze contemplating the job she’d like to be doing on him, Roxy reached for the door handle to regain her composure.
“I think you know what kind of work I have in mind. But if you have any doubts by the time our night’s over, then my mom didn’t do as well raising me as you thought she did.” Zayne took Roxy’s hand and squeezed it.
“In that case, I know I won’t be disappointed.” Roxy let her fingers relax between his, wishing she’d never have to let go.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The minute she stepped onto the wooden planks of the General Jackson’s boarding ramp, Roxy felt Cupid’s magic. The mythical matchmaker must have heard her request and fired the required arrows of attraction.
Zayne took her hand, steadying her as they made their way into the showboat. Little did he know, the water gently lapping the bow wasn’t throwing Roxy. Being in his company was.
As they climbed the steps to the boat’s second deck, Zayne continued holding her in a sweet, possessive way, one hand over hers and one resting against the small of her back. As if they were in the middle of a stormy ocean instead of ready to sail the placid Cumberland River, his touch rocked Roxy’s emotions.
Once on the next deck, she wasn’t sure where to focus her attention. Each way she turned offered a breathtaking view of downtown Nashville, each one worth a page in her scrapbook.
“Zayne, this is beautiful.” She pulled him toward the closest railing.
Roxy was afraid to blink, fearing her perfect night was nothing more than a perfect daydream. If she was dreaming, she hoped she never woke up.
“I haven’t been on this thing for years. I’d forgotten how terrific it is,” he said, helping her wrap her pashmina around her arms to ward off the wispy, chilled breeze rushing over the water. “So you like it?”
“Like it? It’s amazing. I’ve never done something like this. Thank you so much.” She slid her arm around his waist, giving him a reassuring squeeze between his denim shirt and sports jacket.
“You’re welcome.” He gently brought her face to rest on his shoulder. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share it with.”
“Are you sure? I kind of feel like you were stuck taking me because your mom arranged it,” Roxy said, wanting to get that uneasy notion out of her head and hopefully shoved overboard.
“Look, Princess,” Zayne answered, tilting her head so their eyes met, “Mom may have had a hand in getting us to this point, but what I’m doing with h
er idea is of my own choosing.”
“I’m good with that.” Roxy tightened her grip around his waist and nestled her head into his shoulder.
“How about a picture for the lovely couple to take home tonight?” A white-haired man, slight in stature, weighing barely more than his photo equipment, appeared beside them then motioned them to pose.
Doing as the man asked, Roxy and Zayne posed for the picture. Roxy knew her smile couldn’t be any bigger. She tucked the claim ticket the photographer gave them into her evening bag. She already knew exactly where the photo would be displayed when she got it home. If only there could be many more wonderful memories in the empty frames surrounding that one on her mantle.
While Zayne went to get drinks, she readjusted her pashmina to cover her bare shoulders. Not that she cared too much about the chill coming in from the water as the sun descended below the horizon. She had cocktails coming and better yet Zayne to keep her warm.
With a Cosmopolitan and a Corona in hand, Zayne ushered her up another flight of stairs to the boat’s top deck. Thinking the view from the tier below was heaven-inspired, the upper deck was nothing less than fantastical. It offered the perfect spot to watch the sunset’s regal red finale.
Zayne led her to the middle of the deck where a long table was exquisitely set beneath a canopy. ‘Welcome to the Captain’s table’ was written in script on elegant place cards at each setting. Candles, china and fresh flowers provided an ambiance ripe for seduction.
As if dining under the stars with the cowboy of her dreams wouldn’t get Roxy into Zayne’s bed.
A tuxedoed waiter, with the sun-creased lines of a career seamen, pulled out a buttery yellow, slip-covered chair for Roxy. He then ushered Zayne to the next seat. “Mr. McDonald, am I right?”
“Yes. You most certainly are. And please, call me Zayne,” Zayne answered, making sure Roxy was settled into her chair before taking his.
