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

by Scott, D. D.

  His heart was already wrapped, and both his pinkie fingers were about to be tied-up too.

  But doing all this in front of a reality TV show camera crew…now that was gonna take a bunch of getting used to.

  Zayne kept trying to tell him how cool it was, and he should know since he and Roxy’s bootscootin’ dance show was about to go into its third season. They’d also started allowing their crew in their home too.

  But man, Damian wasn’t the performer that Zayne was.

  No way. He liked that he and Alexandra were pretty much loners except for their little makeshift family. They had no neighbors. And he liked that you couldn’t see their home from the road.

  But hell, soon, people would see it around the globe.

  As much as he wasn’t feelin’ this vibe yet, he knew how important it could be in finally showing the world the real Alexandra McCall. And he also knew, nothing would endear her to a public so quick to judge her, than if she let them see the wonderful woman that was the real her.

  She’d cut both a huge book deal and this reality show gig. And Damian really liked the approach they were going for — this whole “I’m not a crook. My father is. I’m just a normal woman trying to live a normal life as the mother of twins in Tennessee.”

  They were taking the primary conflict in their life, the being Alexandra McCall, and making it their primary benefit. He liked that. He’d always been a lemons into lemonade guy. And damn, they’d sure had their fair share of huge ass lemons.

  “Hey there, Baby,” Alexandra’s upbeat voice broke into his daydream, very much shaking him back into their crazy reality. “We wrapped. Ready for the next one?”

  “Sure thing,” he said, kissing her cheeks then gently patting their baby belly to let their kids know he was right there too. “You were great out there. Where to next?”

  “Gotta be at Hollywood Extra’s The Grove location for the interview with Dario Lopez,” Alexandra said, cute as hell, bouncing along in her new Sketchers.

  Wasn’t he becoming rather brand savvy, he thought, amazed at himself for recognizing her tennis shoes. ‘Course, really, he was just ensuring she wasn’t trying to make it in some of those God awful heels Roxy seemed to think had to be worn twenty-four seven.

  There was a time in the not so distant past, he’d have had no clue what any brand was other than John Deere.

  Not anymore.

  He was being schooled on all this stuff. The concept for which was saving the woman he loved and their children from a much darker future. So branding was his new favorite field.

  Although, he couldn’t help wishing they could get home soon. Back to his favorite brand - his beloved John Deere. And his little shed which was about to turn into his big ass garage.

  Oh yeah, but this time when they got home, their new camera crew would be there too.

  Thank God again for his shed, his big ass garage and his tractor. He and his kids might be spending some quality time with all three.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nothing like a Hobby Lobby trip to live down her legend of being Alexandra McCall, Alexandra thought.

  Using her cart, not just for her and Roxy’s belt buckle loot, but also to steady her aching body and take some of the weight off her huge ass feet, she made it to the part of the store they needed.

  Thank God for her Sketchers. Her new mantra.

  And oh yes, her beloved paparazzos were in the aisles as well as in the parking lot, documenting their entire trip.

  Now sort of used to them documenting her family’s huge rise and fall, she still couldn’t get over how much easier it was to learn to live with them than to hide from them.

  Her Celine Deion method was working like a charm.

  She was giving them, and the weeklies they made a killing off of, glimpses of what it was like to be the real Alexandra McCall…Hobby Lobby trips and all.

  And judging by the huge bidding wars that took place to win both her book and TV show, these guys wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

  She’d created the gazillion dollar buzz that would secure her and her family’s safety.

  How or why she hadn’t had the courage to look at her life in this way the first two trimesters of her pregnancy still irritated her. She, of all people, knew better. To free herself, she had to show and tell who that self was.

  And just by giving ‘em these little peeks and limited inside passes, she’d made the networks need her much more than she needed them.

  She’d made the statements she needed to in order to begin spinning public favor to her side.

  Now, she planned to capitalize on that, and secure her family’s future in a very legal and ethical, morally right way.

  Her message was clear, and she hoped it was one that would really help people in situations sort of like hers — although, hopefully, no one would have a family member carrying off a financial fraud to her father’s level.

  She knew, however, after growing up on Wall Street, that there were still many more of her “fathers” still out there, waiting to be brought down. So maybe if people had the courage to report them like she had, billions of dollars of peoples’ hard-earned money could be saved, or at the least, recovered.

  She also hoped to show people that who you are, in name, doesn’t mean that’s who are in inside.

  But in the mean time, she and Roxy had a major belt buckle deal to conquer, and not much time left to make it happen.

  “Here you go, Rox, check these out,” she said, in between bites of the delicious carrot cake cupcake Jules had sent for their excursion.

  “You’re letting those asswipes photograph you eating?” Roxy asked while reading the backs of several glue bottles at once.

  Alexandra had to laugh. If she didn’t know her best friend better, she’d swear she lived off of sniffing glue. Talk about one, hot ADD mess. That was her Roxy. Her new home-shopping superstar.

  “I not only am letting them get their shots, I had Jules make them a couple dozen cupcakes to go too,” Alexandra said, licking the frosting off her lips, quite proud of her little ruse.

  “My God, you are a Promo Ho,” Roxy said, deciding on the glue she needed then wiping out the entire stock into their cart.

  “I just don’t know how you stand those animals. You don’t know how hard it is for me not to get in their face and flip the bastards the bird,” she said, taking time to glare at the one closest to them.

  “Easy, Sister. Just pretend they’re not there. You’re a reality star. You know the drill by now,” Alexandra said, wishing Jules had packed a couple more cupcakes.

  Damn, she was a starving bundle of energy lately.

  “I’m a reality star, but man, when our shoot’s done for the day, that’s it. Zayne and I don’t have this in your face shit to deal with EVERYWHERE we go,” Roxy said, handing Alexandra the second half of her cupcake.

  “You sure you don’t want this?” Alexandra said, already sinking her teeth into a bit.

  “Uh, maybe. But I know you sure do, and you need it much more than me,” Roxy said, gently patting Alexandra’s now huge, huge baby belly.

  Done in the gem glue aisle, they headed for the register.

  Nice and easy does it.

  Nothing, except the paparazzo, moved quick in Alexandra’s current state.

  And while she was in what felt like slow motion, every damn part and piece of her ached like hell.

  The twins had evidently found their groove and seemed to be bootscootin’ regularly in her belly. She was constipated, had heartburn, indigestion, major, major bloating plus headaches every day, a bit of faintness, ridiculous backaches and leg cramps.

  And not just any leg cramps. These bad boys about sent her crashing to her knees, thus her death grip on their Hobby Lobby shopping cart.

  Hemorrhoids. No sleep. Sleep? What the hell was that?! Shortness of breath. Huge boobs that made Roxy’s store-bought one’s look like A-cups. And the extremes of every emotion known to human beings.

&nbs
p; Like now. Oh, paparazzos. Everywhere. Flashing in her face. Fabulous! Life was grand.

  The next aisle, though, she’d hate those mothers. And be prone to Roxy Vaughn-style outbursts.

  By the time, they’d reach the check-out, she’d be like paparazzo? Where? What do they want with me? Why?

  ‘Cause at this stage of pregnancy, evidently she was an absentminded, uber emotional, pain-ridden psychopath.

  Oh, and that wasn’t Naked Juice spilled on the front of her shirt. That was colostrums, the pre-milk stuff now regularly leaking from her nipples.

  Yeah. She was a mess.

  Once through the check-out line then out the sliding front doors of the store, Alexandra used her cart and Roxy’s foul-mouth to make their way through the paparazzo hounding them for information and just one more look into the camera.

  “Shit! You fucker!” Roxy screamed, all at once shoving a bag full of glue at one of the crazy…

  Her eyes meeting the object of Roxy’s angst, Alexandra momentarily froze.

  Oh God, Alexandra thought to herself, but maybe said out loud. Who knew?! Who cared?!

  Roxy was right to scream!

  The guy directly in front of her wasn’t just some weekly tabloid photographer.

  It was Ludwig Kohn, Sonja’s henchman!

  Alexandra quickly grabbed one of the other bags of glue in their cart and held it up in front of her face, moving the cart as if she could jam it right through his groin which was all she could see as she kept her head lowered to the ground.

  Before she even knew what had happened, she felt a cold slime, running down her hair and then her face. And not ‘til she saw the liquid fall off her chin and onto her shirt and hands, then finally breathed in, did she take note of the swamp juice green and apple-pineapple scent.

  Naked Juice.

  What?!

  Thank God Roxy took control of the front of their cart and started screaming for Alexandra’s handlers who she knew were stationed throughout the lot.

  Alexandra continued moving quickly, well as quickly as nine months of pregnant-with-twins allowed.

  She held onto the cart for dear life and guidance, hoping Roxy was steering them to her new mini-van.

  In what seemed to take an eternity, but had to have been mere seconds, she felt the cart slam into the side of the van.

  Oops.

  Roxy ordered her to dump the glue…well, in much more colorful language, and just get in the van.

  Somehow she’d already managed to have Alexandra’s driver’s door opened and ready, a feat in and of itself.

  But this was Roxy Rae Vaughn in charge. So impossible acts, were suddenly quite doable.

  Alexandra never looked up, kept her glue bag in place over her face, and did as Roxy ordered, while still covered in green swamp juice.

  Luckily, being somewhat safety obsessed these days, she’d already had her keys out when they left the store, so she started the van, dropped the glue bag into the center console, and wiped the strands of Naked Juice-slimed hair out of her eyes so she could sort of see to drive, all before Roxy had managed to make it into the van’s front passenger seat.

  “Just hit the gas. Hit the gas,” Roxy ordered.

  “But what if someone’s back…”

  With that, Roxy stuck her stiletto over the console and to the gas pedal.

  The mini-van lurched forward, throwing an unsuspecting Ludwig right over the hood.

  All at once, all the van’s monitor alerts sounded. And that crazy Australian voice warned them of objects in the rear path of the vehicle.

  Before Alexandra could even think what to do next - and it wasn’t like, in her condition, and with all this commotion, she could process things clearly, while also being blinded by all the flash bulbs popping and ricocheting off the van’s windows - Roxy had shoved the van into reverse and hit the gas pedal again.

  Alexandra screamed then heard what sounded like large thumps clunking the undercarriage of the van.

  “Oh my God, what have we done?!” She asked, reaching for her stomach, as evidently the twins now knew something was up to.

  “We’ve run over the bastard, I hope,” Roxy said.

  Alexandra gasped, feeling movement once more beneath the van.

  “Should we hit him again?”

  Alexandra heard Roxy shout-out while feeling tears rush her own piping hot cheeks. She then heard Roxy yelling through the windows at Roman and Zoey who now stood guard with a team of handlers around the van.

  “Nope,” Roman said, a wicked smile spread across his lips. “I think you got him.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Rox,” Alexandra whispered, unable to find her voice to sound her concerns any louder. “What have we done? What have we done?”

  “Taught that asshole not to fuck with a pregnant lady’s Naked Juice. That’s what,” Roxy said, taking Alexandra’s phone and voice-commanding it to dial Damian.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Alexandra had met Damian for the first time — on a for-real blind date arranged by Roxy and Zayne at their bootscootin’ saloon — who would have thought, a little over a year and a half later, that they’d be about ready to give birth to their twins?

  Tall, ruggedly hot, and older, distinguished-man handsome, wearing his well-worn Carhartt carpenter jeans and cowboy boots, a sexy, I-shaved-yesterday-but-not-today scruff covering his gorgeous and strong chin bones, Damian had been her pillar of strength since their day one.

  Something Alexandra had never had in her life and was so ready for…forever.

  Seeing him now, his surgical mask dangling around his neck, and turquoise scrubs covering his rock solid body, Alexandra once again was counting on him to be her rock.

  There love story had truly been one of love at first sight, and even now, when their world was about to change forever, the sight of him was all she needed to see then follow wherever their love took them.

  Right now. It was taking them straight into their birthing room where they’d soon, hopefully very soon, meet their babies.

  After living through being slimed by Ludwig then running-over his sorry ass, and still not going into labor, Alexandra hoped, after the last few days of bed rest and no absurd adrenaline rushes, she could power her way through this hurtle.

  She’d always been a borderline worrier type. But thank God she sort of had that under control.

  And after everything this pregnancy had brought her, it was a wonder she’d been admitted to the hospital’s birthing unit instead of months ago being committed to its seventh floor psychiatric unit.

  But if she didn’t get a grip, her latest crisis might just get her to the seventh floor.

  During her mandatory bed rest, she’d read Tori Spelling’s MOMMYWOOD book, and learned that a cesarean birth meant they basically cut you open, took your bladder off your uterus, cut your uterus open and pulled out the babies.

  Thus the crisis.

  She wasn’t havin’ any of that. No way!

  Tori may have been onto something there when she asked “how do they know how to put it back?”

  She made the point in her book that a cesarean operation wasn’t like the game Operation, where there’s a loud buzz if there’s a mistake or unsteady hand issue.

  So yeah. Alexandra was popping out these babies on her own.

  And besides, her doctor told her that with twins, her labor would be shorter. And it had been too, she was already pushing and hadn’t been in the hospital but about three hours.

  So far so good.

  ‘Course her doctor had also reminded her that that meant she’d be hitting the hard labor sooner too.

  Like now.

  Shit!

  She squeezed Damian’s hand as he quietly coached her to begin the breathing techniques they’d learned.

  “If these are weaker contractions because my uterus is overstretched with two babies versus one, oh my God this hurts,” she told him between pants and labor pangs.

  The fetal monitors — both of them �
�� warbled and chirped, indicating, according to their labor nurse, that the babies were taking it all in stride.

  Baby A, the same nurse noted, the one closest to the exit, and who was now being monitored internally by a scalp electrode, was ready to go. And Baby B was right behind him or her.

  “C’mon, Baby, Babies, let’s get this show on the road,” Alexandra said, fearing she wouldn’t feel like talking much longer, thinking screaming and hollering sounded more like it. “Can I have the epidural yet?”

  “I think so,” the nurse said, “so, Dad, if you’ll wait right here…”

  “What do you mean wait here?” Damian asked, the first time he’d really spoke much to any of the hospital staff.

  In fact, Alexandra was a bit worried that perhaps he didn’t feel well as his color was a little off. Deep creases of worry and fatigue had also settled into his normally relaxed and all-powerful features.

  “I really want him with me through everything,” she said, noting how just her words brought a sweet pink flush to Damian’s kind of ghostly white face.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. G broke into their conversation, “no dice during the epidural, Guys. Damian, you can wait right outside the operating room door, and as soon as we have her shot up, you can come on in.”

  Dr. G put his hand on Damian’s shoulder and said, “C’mon, Dad, let’s get these babies out of there.”

  Damian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, then leaned down to kiss her cheek.

  “I love you, Alex,” he said, kissing her nose, then her lips too, before squeezing her hands, slowly and hesitantly, finally backing away from her hospital bed, clearing the way for the epidural.

  In no time, Damian was back at her side, post-epidural, which thank God had seemed to have taken.

  In what felt like just a few moments, she was pushing hard. No. Pushing really hard. No, that didn’t cut it either. She was pushing in a Roxy Rae Vaughn fucking hard way.

  And soon she heard it. A tiny wail. Baby A’s first cry.

  She looked at Damian. His eyes were wide with wonder and then looking at her, with a joy filling his beautiful blues that she’d never seen.