by Scott, D. D.
“About The Neon Cowboy. I may not be a Coyote Ugly girl, but I’m sure I’ll manage. I’m a quick learner, a hard worker and good on my feet.”
“I know you’re good on your feet. It’s your mind I’m worried about.”
“Please stop. You’re support is overwhelming me,” Roxy said, her spirit officially deflated by his last dig, but her pride heated to geyser force blows. “I certainly haven’t belittled you because you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground about tomatoes.”
She was swinging low, but he’d forced her hand.
Apparently still not ready to give up his opposition, Zayne bristled, his jaw twitching as he came at her again. “I may not know much about growing those fuckers, but I’m honest about my limitations. I don’t take risks I have no business taking.”
“Maybe that’s your problem,” Roxy said, slamming her menu into the holder.
Their bickering hurt much more than she’d expected. With each of Zayne’s slams, her stomach lurched. As wedges of desperation sliced through her, her chest ached.
“I take chances. You’re right. I do. Because I’m afraid not to. I don’t want to look back and wonder what I could have done.”
She knew she should be more sympathetic. She shouldn’t have hidden his mother’s illness. She knew it when Kat had asked her to keep her secret. And boy did she know it now. Zayne’s anger was more than justified.
Maybe if she was a little less combative and tried to defuse him instead of set him off, she’d patch things up between them. She certainly couldn’t continue her current path or her heart would be pulverized, crushed by the weight of her betrayal.
“I’m sorry, Zayne. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Roxy concentrated on dumping another packet of sweetener into her coffee even though it didn’t need one. Too disheartened to look him in the eye and once again see his disappointment, she rearranged her silverware. Focusing on the raw regret chewing her conscience was too painful to sit idle. “I want to make things right with you, but other than this plan, I don’t know how to make amends.”
Finally brave enough to look up from her place setting, she found him studying her. The pain she’d caused him was still there but with a softer focus than the hard edge he’d carried into the restaurant.
He took his gaze away from her, apparently more interested in the floor than her apology.
“Neither one of us knows what the hell we’re doing. This will never work,” he said, shoving his menu beside hers in the holder at the edge of the table.
His chest went taught under his muscle-cut t-shirt. He chewed his lower lip and started to continue their debate twice, stopping each time, evidently fighting for words.
“But I’ll be damned if I can come up with anything better. And for now, the farm and Mom have to be my priorities, leaving me no time to run the Neon Cowboy,” he finally stammered.
“So it’s settled then.” Roxy lifted her napkin out of the way as the waitress set her breakfast in front of her. “We’ll just have to help each other.”
Zayne picked at the eggs he’d normally devour. “To do that, Rox, you’ve got to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Which you obviously have trouble doing.”
“You’ll regret that open door policy real quick.” Roxy laughed as she smothered her omelet with ketchup. She’d have so many questions coming at him he’d end up running into his fields for comfort. “You might not like me when I’m fired-up.”
“That’s a chance I’ll willingly take.” For milliseconds, Zayne’s come-get-me smirk made an appearance. “For the record, I like you fired-up and sassy.”
“Was that a compliment? Surely not.” Roxy reached for his hands, pleased to feel him jolt at her touch.
His grin gave way to blushed cheeks the color of his tomatoes. For a brief flash, the air between them got hotter than a sauna in Cabo San Lucas.
Roxy pressed her palms against his then threaded their fingers into a tight-locked weave. “I won’t let you down, Zayne. You or your mom. We’re in this together.”
“I could use the help at the saloon. And I know Mom will have a heyday at Raeve. God knows Dad’s tomatoes are in big trouble if I don’t figure out something. ”
Zayne removed his hands from hers, leaving a chill in place of the warmth their connection created.
“I guess I do need you,” he said.
His words instantly replaced the heat Roxy had lost with the absence of his touch.
“I wish we could still be dance partners.” The thought was out of her mouth before she could reconsider.
Nothing like a Freudian slip to screw up a good breakfast.
Zayne threw his napkin on the table, a good third of his breakfast still on his plate. “Me too. But we just don’t have time.”
“I’ll call Nosebaum and let him know.” If she could find his number, Roxy thought. She took her purse off the seat next to hers and rummaged through it for her cell phone and the agent’s card.
“No. I’ll call him. He’s way too anxious to get to know you better.” Zayne took out his wallet, flipping through several well-worn business cards before pulling out one with crisp, clean edges. “Here’s his card. I’ll give him a holler this afternoon.”
“Tell him I said hello.” Roxy batted her eyelashes and let loose a girlish giggle, pleased to note Zayne reacted way too fast on the draw for the card to not have been oh-so jealous of Howie.
“No can do, Princess. I need to keep you focused on our plan,” Zayne said, shocked at his willingness to claim the cockamamie plan as his too.
But as he looked at Roxy, laughing inside at her coy antics, he noticed she wasn’t focused on anything except what was going on behind his left shoulder. Turning around to see what the hell the commotion was, he wished he’d kept his back turned.
Roxy was speechless and damn near drooling.
Jack Baudlin was on his way across the restaurant, heading for the table right next to theirs.
Zayne fought his lungs for air and his attitude for adjustment.
Roxy’s reaction couldn’t be to Jack, could it? Zayne sure hoped it wasn’t a Baudlin causing Roxy’s star-struck stupor. If so, Zayne’s reflexes were going to be completely Jack’s problem to bear. If Jack was Roxy’s stimulus, Zayne would have more to adjust than his attitude. He’d have to balance his farm schedule with jail time. Plus, he’d need his mom’s cardiologist. That was one punch to the heart he couldn’t take.
The stir, however, could definitely be Jack’s breakfast date. Deena Mettles, a rising Nashville star, accompanied the Beefsteak King. Deena had that effect, from a male’s view anyway.
“Howdy, Zayne. Fancy finding you here,” Jack said.
Jack pulled out a chair for Deena. After getting her settled, he slid into the booth next to Roxy.
“I thought you’d already be knee deep in the fields,” Jack quipped.
“I could say the same for you,” Zayne said unable to keep an icy challenge from coating his words.
Getting way too cozy to Roxy for Zayne’s liking, Jack needed to be put in his place and fast. Thank God the waitress had already given him his bill. Zayne snatched it up and stood to leave.
Roxy, not picking up on Zayne’s cue it was time to go, remained seated. Her almond eyes couldn’t open much further before bulging out of their sockets.
“Are you ready, Princess?” Zayne asked, knowing his hostility right now for anything Baudlin would make a showing if he didn’t get off the stage.
Jack removed his hat and shook his head, evidently wanting an encore. “Well, aren’t we rude. Here we are with two beautiful women and haven’t bothered to make introductions.”
He ushered his hand from Deena toward Zayne. “This is Deena Mettles. Deena, please meet Zayne McDonald, the second best tomato farmer in the county.”
“And you are?” Jack turned his attention to Roxy.
Afraid Roxy couldn’t speak in her befuddled state, Zayne made his own introductions. “This is
Roxy Vaughn. Roxy, meet Jack Baudlin and Deena Mettles.”
Zayne, not about to be shown up in the manner’s arena by Jack, shook Deena’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Deena. I’m a big fan.”
Roxy, still unable to speak, extended her hand to both Jack and Deena, although releasing Jack much sooner than his breakfast companion.
A shiver of relief shimmied through Zayne’s chest. Jack wasn’t Roxy’s object of interest. She just had a celebrity hang-up. That kind of fixation, Zayne could handle without any emotional or physical scars.
“So pleased to meet you,” Roxy said, finally finding her voice. She leaned toward Deena. “I’m also a huge fan. You’re new album is fantastic. I play it all the time.”
“Why thank you. Thank you very much.”
Zayne had to hand it to Deena. For a rising starlet, she seemed genuinely appreciative of Roxy fawning over her.
Despite her Sarah Evans’ look and star power, Roxy matched Deena’s outside beauty, curve for curve, 10 for 10. Inside Roxy’s delicious hourglass hotness, Zayne doubted a woman existed with her sweet blend of sugar and sass.
As Roxy got up from the table, Deena reached for her arm. “Wow!! Great belt! May I ask where you got it? My stylist is always looking for unique pieces for my videos.”
Roxy was rendered speechless once again.
Poor girl, Zayne thought, touched by her sudden, uncharacteristic weakness. Chivalry aside, he moved to rescue her with a quick sales pitch.
“You’re in luck, Deena. Roxy designs for Raeve, her new boutique. You can find her at the local tractor —”
“Oh, please, I mean, yes,” Roxy faltered to complete a full sentence, “my boutique is in a corner of the tractor supply store, but that’s temporary. Please stop by anytime. Or here, here’s my card. Call me. I’d be glad to do a private fitting. Anything. Please call.”
Roxy had to be scoring points for persistence, Zayne figured, being as now she couldn’t quit rambling to solicit Deena’s business. Before he could escort her toward the door, safely extracting her from her less-than-best moment, Roxy turned her attention on Jack. Uh-oh.
“And Jack Baudlin. I’ve heard so much about you. I feel like we’re already acquaintances. Actually, I think I may have seen you at the Neon Cowboy.
“But you’d better watch yourself. You won’t be the number one tomato man for long.” Roxy put on her coat, a red satin number with brown fur trim then turned to leave.
Jack leaned back against the booth, feigning she’d sucker-punched him.
Zayne’s chest puffed with pride. Roxy had made a perfect recovery from dawdling over Deena to taking command of Jack. That’s my princess.
But why didn’t she speak-up on her own behalf with that same conviction? Why hadn’t she stuck-up for her own talent like she’d championed his?
“Your coat is fabulous,” Deena said and ran her hands over the slick fabric. “I’ll definitely be stopping by your boutique.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Roxy beamed at Deena then at Zayne, seeming to have her confidence back where it deserved to be.
She looped her arm through his, leading him to the counter to pay their bill. That done she then practically dragged him out of the restaurant as if they were contestants in reality TV’s ‘The Great Race’.
Once on the curb, waiting for the light to change, she threw her arms around his neck, planting a huge and sloppy but unforgettable kiss on Zayne’s unsuspecting mouth.
“What was that for?” He asked, sure she’d knocked-off his boots.
“For plugging my designs.”
Her radiance shined as bright as the morning sun spotlighting her sexier-than-hell body. Her happiness warmed him more than the hot coffee and omelets. Not giving a damn that the pedestrian crossing sign flashed green, Zayne pulled Roxy towards him and kissed her back. As he tasted her passion, his mouth fed his desires, begging his mind to free his soul by privately continuing their impromptu rendezvous.
Catching her before she slipped off the sidewalk’s edge and his actions slipped below public decency standards, Zayne cupped Roxy’s chin in his hands. “That was for giving Jack a rough time.”
“I’ll have to remember to do that again the next time I see him.” Roxy pulled Zayne across the street before the light changed.
“I’d rather you not mess with him or his dad. They’re up to something, but I can’t figure it out.”
“You will.”
Zayne hoped she knew what she was talking about as much as he hoped he was wrong about the Baudlins’ intentions. He also hoped he was right to forgive Roxy’s betrayal, right to accept her plan, and right to fall in love with her. ‘Cause he was head over her ridiculous heels in love.
Chapter Seventeen
Zayne followed Roxy out of the Pancake Pantry’s parking lot then west through the Vanderbilt neighborhoods toward Raeve, keeping his Mom’s SUV a safe distance behind Roxy in his farm truck. The woman drove as if she still lived in Manhattan, weaving in and out of traffic as if she were playing a video game instead of negotiating real world traffic hazards. His pulse pounded witnessing her potential for disaster.
Zipping by Centennial Park, hesitant to look at his speedometer, Zayne focused on the park’s life-sized replica of The Parthenon. Because of the flat green earth surrounding it, the mammoth structure looked even bigger. Its stone columns punched through the sky, rocketing through the low-traveling clouds, defying gravity to soar above the landscape.
Kind of like Roxy lived life — large, not afraid to make her way outside her comfort zone.
Like the goddess Athena whose statue guards the replica, Roxy had the wisdom to succeed and was at war with any opposition to her goals. She was a force to be reckoned with in her entrepreneurial quests. Also like Athena, she was blessed with a unique artistic style. Just not behind the wheel. Only if Roxy had a chariot and driver would Zayne relax.
She made a past-the-point-of-no-return stop for a yellow light. Shit. He slammed on his brakes to keep from smashing her bumper.
Except for when she was behind the wheel, he liked that Roxy was the commander of her world. Though commandeering him with less zest would also be acceptable. She definitely had control over everyone within her circle of influence. At least the circle he was in.
Hell, Zayne thought. He’d fallen for his very own goddess. The realization thumped against the inside of his chest wall, knocking him off-kilter.
Flipping on the radio to calm his nerves, he drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel to Chesney’s latest tune, moving through the steps in his mind he planned to try on the dance floor. The island beat and blaring trumpets transported Zayne out of Nashville and into the Bahamas. Tapping his boot against the floorboard, he mentally rehearsed the routine.
Knowing damn well Roxy would chunk her brakes then hit the tractor supply store’s parking lot with a strong punch of her accelerator, Zayne switched his right turn signal on two blocks before the lot. Probably not near enough warning for the Home of the Stars tour bus riding his ass, but after Roxy did her bit, his bumper was worthless anyway. And his mom loved ‘em both enough that as long as they were unharmed her SUV’s condition wouldn’t matter.
Parking in a space three down from Roxy’s reserved spot, Zayne turned off the SUV’s ignition. Hearing his old truck’s residual sputters and coughs comforted him so much more than the Hummer’s high-powered rumble.
Roxy waited next to his truck. As the large crystals of her key chain caught the sun, their reflections blinded him. Zayne shielded his eyes with his arms, but not enough to block Roxy from his view.
It wasn’t the mid-morning heat that had Zayne hot. In her tight-fitting jeans, her legs stretched for miles before intersecting with the tops of her boots. She shifted her weight from leg to leg like a svelte, well-bred mare, anxious to enter the show ring.
Yes, Sir. He’d like to take a ride on her…with her…whatever. Like that thought would cool him off.
Zayne picked up his p
ace, taking his desire out on the pavement. Falling into step beside her, he inhaled her fruit and nutty lotion. As the scent seeped into his fantasies, he struggled to remain mobile. The blacktop turned into quick sand. As the store’s sliding glass doors separated, he hustled to stay with her.
Entering the farm store, Zayne’s fantasies abruptly ended. The smells of tire rubber and livestock feed attacked his nostrils. Fuzzy yellow chicks peeped, huddled together under industrial-sized heat lamps in large, steel bins.
Zayne chuckled. He still couldn’t believe Roxy made a home for Raeve in the corner of the feed and supply store. Although he rarely refrained from commenting on her nothing-close-to-country, high glamour style, this wasn’t the time to bring it up. And definitely not the place.
Too proud of her gutsy decision to make this location work until she could afford better, Zayne kept his mouth shut. Roxy had more than made up for her formerly extravagant tastes by making miracles out of this sub prime venue.
Nearing an aisle stocked with John Deere dye-cast toys, the buzz and hum of a power drill vibrated the air.
“What the hell?” Roxy said, damn near leaving Zayne in the dust as she made her way toward the racket.
Yikes. This could be a nightmare. The image of his mom in way over her well-meaning head etched the front of Zayne’s memory bank. Having lost Roxy who’d disappeared a good seven aisles ahead past a tractor tire display, Zayne walked much faster.
Turning the corner around the last end cap standing between him and the showdown, he saw his mom and Roxy leaning over a drawing table with Damian and Audrey. Willing himself not to focus on the denim snuggly hugging Roxy’s ass, he forced shots of air down his throat, waiting until the mixture of sawdust and oxygen broke through the libidinal bottleneck blocking his larynx.
“I appreciate what you all are trying to do, but this is not what I want.” Roxy shoved her thumbs through the belt loops on the back of her jeans and tapped her fingers against the top of her sequined-edged pockets, sending Zayne into a lust-inspired tailspin.
“The check-out counter is wonderful.” She placed one arm on her hip then massaged her forehead with her other hand, tracing her furrowed brows with her fingertips. “But we discussed the belt buckle collection being the focal point of the boutique, not the jeans’ display.”
