Bootscootin' and Cozy Cash Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Scott, D. D.

  The grossly mortified look on Jacques’s face could be from the abhorrence that a woman would dare challenge his perceptions. More likely, Jules thought, convinced the guy was nothing but a jerk without a heart capable of feeling pain, the bastard was just insulted he’d been bested during his own wicked assault.

  Everything he had was attached to his pencil-sized prick. Every asinine move he made was overcompensation for his highly, over-inflated and deranged ego.

  “You know, Jacques, you’re not worth this to me. I’ve got too much good in my life to relive the bad.”

  Jules took a towel and wiped up the frosting squirted across the counter, pissed he’d caused her to waste it. There was so much more to being a pastry chef than fondant and frosting, and damn was she out to prove it. And to do that, she didn’t have time to waste cleaning up disasters she didn’t create.

  “I’ve got work to do. So did you come here for anything constructive? Or do you need me to show you to the door?”

  “Yes, I did come to your little hole-in-the-block for more than a couple well-deserved shots. You should know that Sienna and her mother want to meet this Friday instead of the following to discuss the bridal shower.”

  “This Friday?! I wanted the meeting here at the bakery, and it won’t be finished by then. You knew that.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’m not surprised you’re not ready. I’m prepared to pick up your slack.”

  “Let me make myself beyond clear here. No part of you being involved in my work makes me feel better. But as bad luck would have it, it appears I’m stuck with you.”

  Reasoning out that she still had several icing tips to spare should she lose the one she now had in her fingers, Jules pressed the sharp edge of the tip into her palm, no longer concerned about wasting it on Jacques. In fact, she’d love to inflict pain on the man who lived to torture others who threatened his nasty-ass livelihood.

  “And, for the record, you’re the one who’s never prepared. I’ve always ended-up bailing out your lame ass. Just like all your flunkies must do for you now. Otherwise, you’d never have become the false success you are,” Jules said, unable to hide the dark flavor to her voice as it cut the heated air between them.

  Jules sucked up the rest of her anger and resentment, replacing both with unbridled determination to beat Jacques once and for all.

  Pastry was a beautiful cross between art and science. A good pastry chef could never just wing it. You had to have both the techniques and the skills. But more than that, you had to have cutting-edge creativity and an insatiable drive and work ethic.

  Jacques knew the techniques and definitely had the skills for greatness, but the ass didn’t have the drive to pull his own culinary cart. And Jules would delight in wrapping the reins around his arrogant neck.

  “You’ll figure out something to save the day, I’m sure,” Jacques said, the sarcasm rolling off his tongue with way too much ease.

  He looked around the bakery, his eyes moving from one unfinished display to another.

  “Oh, you’re right about that. I’ll make it. Don’t you worry. And I sure as Hell won’t be relying on you for anything valuable. Just call and tell me when the meeting will be. I’ll be ready,” Jules said, forcing her heart to slow down rather than continue at its current free-for-all rate.

  “Fine. I’ll let you get back to your cupcakes,” he said in a sing-song dismissal of her vision. “But you might want to -”

  He brushed his hand across her breasts, coming away with a large dollop of pink buttercream.

  Jules’ voice vacated her throat.

  She stammered, unable to form words let alone speak them.

  Hell had no fury like she was battling right then.

  But that didn’t stop her hand from zeroing in on Jacques’s face. She landed a swift, sharp slap on his razor-thin, sarcasm-chiseled cheek bone.

  She still couldn’t speak. But her silence wasn’t because of Jacques’s slimy actions. And she certainly didn’t have a problem with the fact she’d smacked the son of a bitch, who more than deserved what he got.

  Her silence came from catching sight of Cody’s face behind Jacques.

  How long he’d been standing there and what he’d heard or seen, Jules hadn’t a clue. But his expression indicated he’d been there long enough to witness Jacques’s hands where they both shouldn’t be and weren’t wanted.

  • • •

  Cody’s gut instincts took over his mind as he rushed to Jules’ defense. Every tendon connecting his drawn-tight torso was about to explode.

  Not that Jules wasn’t fit to recover well from Jacques’s affront. And not that she hadn’t, Cody reckoned, after seeing her slap the jerk damn hard. But his sense of honor and duty weren’t capable of sitting this one out.

  “Back off, Jacques,” he said, his anger fueled by the cocky grin he’d like to permanently wipe off the idiot’s face.

  “How sweet,” Jacques purred. “The Pastry Queen is about to be rescued by her Meat n’ Three Diner King.”

  Jacques’s sarcasm rubbed Cody raw.

  Surprised by his fierce, protective drive for a woman he had yet to make his own, Cody fought to control his urge to pummel Jacques into nothing but a bloody smear on the kitchen’s tile floor.

  “Don’t let him get to you, Sweet Man,” Jules said, coming around Jacques to stand next to Cody. “Trust me. He’s sooo not worth it.”

  Jules cupped both her hands around Cody’s raised fist, pulling it down to his side before he struck his target.

  “Are you okay?” Cody tugged his hand out of Jules’ grasp then placed both his hands on her shoulders taking her sweet face between his shaking palms.

  Holding her to steady his own nerves as well as hers, he searched her eyes for assurance that backing-off was the right move.

  “I’m fine.” She winked and smiled, although her less-than-convincing tone compromised her bravado.

  Cody rubbed his hands down her arms, hoping his gesture soothed her while also giving him time to calm his quick-fire reserves.

  Even though he didn’t like seeing her distress, he took comfort she didn’t welcome Jacques’s advance.

  Jacques licked the tips of his fingers, his eyebrows raised in challenge. Making a Thespian production of each swipe of his tongue across his flesh, he crossed behind them and the work table to the sink.

  While Jacques rinsed-off the rest of the icing from his fingers, Cody’s adrenaline surged to maximum overload. He just couldn’t shake the bastard from his charged-up system.

  He let go of Jules’ arms, afraid he’d pinch her skin in his overheated rush. He clenched then unclenched his fists.

  Needing something to wrap his fingers around other than Jacques’s neck, he gathered Jules’ pastry tubes and frosting-covered tips, focused on getting rid of the jerk, even if it meant impaling the tips into the guy’s forehead.

  Jules reached for Cody’s arm a second time. “I’m not finished —”

  “I’ll help you with the cupcakes later, JuJu Bee. If we don’t get a move on, our dinner will be ruined.”

  “What dinner?” Jules followed him to the sink with a tip he’d missed from her work station.

  “The one I’m making for us in my outdoor kitchen.”

  Cody smiled at Jules, wanting her to go along with his lead.

  He then glowered at Jacques, wanting him to get lost. As in permanently lost. Preferably at the bottom of the most distant sea. A deserted island wasn’t even enough at this point. The guy had to be dealt with and soon.

  The next time — Cody shook his head and cleared the rage coating his throat — well — there’d better not be a next time. But so help him if there was, Cody thought, the guy would not be walking away in one obnoxious piece.

  “Are you done here?” Cody deepened his voice addressing Jacques, daring the dick to answer anyway but ‘yes’.

  “Just about,” Jacques said, stepping aside, but not enough to make room for Cody at the sink. �
��I got most of what I came for.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Jules positioned herself between Cody and Jacques. “And from me, you never will.”

  Although pissed she blocked his vantage point, Cody accepted Jules butting-in, shoved aside his pride, and did the dishes instead of dishing out to Jacques what he deserved.

  Not that he liked this approach one bit, but if the situation was his to fight, Cody thought, he’d want the dignity earned from fighting his past head-on. He wouldn’t want someone else doing it for him.

  But his chivalry was turning him into a stammering bull. And if he wasn’t careful, he’d be busting the china plates also waiting for him in the sink.

  Keeping a steady eye on Jacques, who’d, fortunately for all of ‘em, stepped out of ear-shot to take a call on his cell, Cody finished washing and drying the last pastry tip and dessert plate.

  Jacques’s call complete, Cody was uncomfortable with the silence filling the space between them. So he broke it.

  “Okay, Jules. We’re out of here. We’ve got margherita pizza, fresh out of a wood-fired oven, waiting for us.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Jules said, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

  The surprised look the announcement earned on Jacques’s face more than pleased Cody. Just because he wasn’t culinary-schooled like that schmuck didn’t mean Cody couldn’t handle more high-end stuff than his diner offered. Plus, he grew his own produce. And there was no way that asshole got his hands dirty doing anything.

  Cody basked in Jules’ attention, wondering if she wasn’t playing up her affection in front of Jacques. Cody hoped not, but at least he was the lucky recipient. And he’d be her high-drama partner any day.

  “How romantic,” Jacques chided, his derisive tone attempting to brush-off their outdoor kitchen plans, although the staunch twitch of his jaw meant Cody had probably landed a good punch to the jerk’s ego.

  Jacques took his Blackberry out of his jacket pocket.

  “Our meeting with the Cruz’s is Friday, Jules, at two-thirty — here at Sweet Destiny.”

  Had Cody heard correctly? How could the bakery be done in time for that to happen? Damian had at least a full week’s work left before the place would be fit for customers. What had Jacques gotten Jules into?

  Jules squatted below the countertop and dug her worn leather planner out of one of her totes, unzipped the edges and shuffled through several pages. Two loose sheets floated to the floor before she came to the right one.

  “Got it. I’ll be ready,” she said.

  She popped a mechanical pencil out of the holder inside the planner’s antiquated cover and scribbled the meeting into its time slot. Retrieving the lost pages, she stuffed them back into the binder then pulled shut the zipper, lodging the corner of one of the sheets between the zipper’s teeth.

  “Fine. But do rethink the cupcake thing. They’re not in vogue and totally wrong for this event as well as any other for that matter,” Jacques said, sliding his Blackberry back into his coat pocket then heading for the front door of the bakery.

  Jules was at his heels like an attack dog waiting to chomp into its target’s ass.

  “Fine. I will give it some thought,” she said in that eat-shit tone Cody was tickled to hear since it wasn’t aimed at him.

  She dusted-off flour from her pants then rotated her head around the top of her neck and shoulders, evidently trying to relieve the tension.

  Oh Boy. Cody knew that move too and it wasn’t lookin’ good for Pretty Boy.

  “Done. The cupcakes stay as our theme,” Jules said while opening the door for Jacques and motioning for him to take a hike.

  “Don’t say I didn’t advise you different.” Jacques crossed the threshold and shook his head.

  “How about you don’t advise me period,” Jules snapped, her hands on her hips.

  Cody knew that gesture all-to-well, and it meant Jacques should escape while he still could.

  “I didn’t hire your over-rated, under-talented services. The Cruz’s may want your help, but I don’t. You handle the rest of the planning, but stay out of my kitchen. Do you understand me?” Jules barked like a pissed-off squirrel facing-off against the attack dog noted.

  “Oh, I understand. And we’ll just see how long you make it without my expertise.”

  “I don’t need your expertise.”

  “Maybe you don’t. But Fan Fest does.”

  Cody swore Jules turned whiter than the baking flour still coating her pants. Her eyes narrowed into dark slits of fury.

  “What do you mean Fan Fest?” Her breathing, normally yoga smooth and rhythmic, became shallow short bursts as if she were struggling for oxygen.

  “Oh, I think you know what I mean, Cupcake.”

  Jacques’ grin made the warmth of the bakery and Cody’s veins turn subzero cold.

  Cody went to Jules, putting his arm around her shoulders to protect her first, but to also give him a better vantage point to strike this moron.

  “Revenge is sweet, Jules, when it means stomping on your dreams like you stomped on my ego.”

  Even though Jules pulled away from Cody and slammed the door in Jacques’s face, the idiot’s lips were still moving.

  “Is he still talking?” Cody asked, gathering Jules’ bakery totes from one of the stools at the cupcake bar and placing them over his forearm, swearing the bags got heavier every time he lifted them.

  Too bad he hadn’t beaten Jacques with these bad boys. That would have fixed him.

  “Probably. He’s always been bunches and bunches of big words and talk — just nothing to show for it,” Jules said, the fiery red color flushing her once Snow White cheeks betraying her tough-girl talk of blowing-off Jacques’s Fan Fest jab.

  “Well, I’ve got something to show you to hopefully take you far, far away from all Jacques’ bullshit.”

  Cody put his free arm back around her shoulder and walked her to the bakery’s back door.

  “You do?”

  Jules smiled, a bit of the lightness Cody loved returning to her voice and in turn warming his soul.

  “You betchya, my sweet JuJu Bee,” Cody said, pulling her closer to his chest, loving how she felt tucked into him like that. “Come home with me, Darlin’. Let someone take care of you for a change.”

  Chapter Six

  Stepping outside Cody’s patio doors, Jules escaped into a cozy, welcoming sanctuary.

  Not only was she in awe of the outdoor kitchen’s hardwood workstation, but the Viking gas grill, wood-fired oven and limestone countertops were ingenious. Besides designing a well-equipped cooking area, Cody had nailed the ambiance. He’d created a culinary oasis in his big-city backyard.

  Her Go-To Cowboy was full of surprises. And she was more intrigued by him with each one of them she discovered.

  Fresh fruits and vegetables grew in a bountiful garden alongside potted herbs and his buddy Zayne’s award-winning hybrid tomatoes. Flower boxes graced the brickwork and stone ledges, and a marble fountain served as the centerpiece of a pond filled with sunset orange and royal gold koi. Trees shaded a raised deck holding a teak table with seating for sixteen.

  “Everything tastes better outside,” Cody said tying a barbecue-stained grilling apron around the lower-edge of his tantalizingly taut six-pack. “And nothing promotes bonding like pizza.”

  Jules laughed. “Is that what we’re doing — bonding?”

  She watched Cody chew over the question while taking dough out of a covered bowl and rolling it into a perfect circle.

  “You could call it that,” he said, topping the dough with homemade tomato sauce, fresh mozzarella and basil. “You’ve been working so damn hard. You deserve a night compliments of someone else’s kitchen.”

  Sliding the pizza onto a hot stone inside the oven, he set a timer for twenty minutes then sliced some prosciutto.

  “Can I do something?” Jules couldn’t stand to be idle in a kitchen — indoors or outdoors.

  “You
just can’t take it, can you?” Cody looked up from the prosciutto massacre. “I like that about you, though. And you know I’m the same way. So I guess I can’t very well dog you about it. How about you chop the arugula?”

  “I’m on it.”

  Jules got to work beside him, taking sweet comfort in their proximity. Cooking anytime with him was great. But there was something special in the mix in this backyard culinary paradise.

  “I’m sorry you saw my mess with Jacques today,” she said, not sure she should bring it up but wanting to eliminate any notion that Jacques’s power play was welcomed. “He was wayyy out of line.”

  “I should be the one apologizing,” Cody said, cleaning up his workstation. “I know you can take care of yourself. You sure as hell hit the bull’s-eye with that slap. But I couldn’t tolerate seeing you treated like that.”

  Cody put his hand over hers, stilling her knife and her heart. “Easy on my arugula.”

  She looked at the pile of herbs, realizing the pieces appeared more minced than diced.

  Cody leaned against the counter’s edge and scuffed his boot across the terra cotta tiled floor. “I gotta ask you something.”

  “Sure,” she said, fairly certain though, judging by Cody’s tone, that she wasn’t going to be comfortable with his inquiry.

  But she wanted to keep it real and honest between them so she’d just have to gut it out.

  “What did you ever see in him?”

  Jules swallowed, trying to force her pride out of her throat. “I’m wondering the same about you and Sienna.”

  “Nice one. But I asked first.”

  Cody took the knife out of her hand and brushed the arugula off the block and into a glass ingredient bowl. His relaxed demeanor had been replaced by a pensive posture as if he wanted to brush-off more than the arugula.

  “I’ll answer if you will.”