Bootscootin' Blahniks (3 page)

“Kat — I mean your mom —
is
a great customer. A designer’s dream client really.”

Roxy still couldn’t believe the connection she’d accidentally made. She believed in fate but this was a little too surreal for even her open-to-the-possibility mind-set. ‘Course now she felt even worse for smashing Zayne’s truck. She cursed her misfortune then threw a quick shout-out to the universe not to make the fiasco a cause, though a just-cause it would be, to lose her one, loyal patron.

“I see the angst brewing across your pretty little face. So why are you being so hard on yourself, Roxy? All this was just an accident. And at least you’re living your dreams — tractor store or not. Roxy what, by the way?” Zayne asked bringing her out of her mental flogging routine.

“Roxy Rae Vaughn,” she answered with none of the elitist snobbery her parents used when announcing their identity.

Having said her name, she struggled against the urge to hang her head. At least in Nashville, though, no one recognized her name for the beyond privileged upbringing it symbolized. And because of that unknown tidbit, there was no understood demand for unprecedented access and entitlement. Thank the powers at be for small triumphs.

“Granted, I can see where the supply store might not match your sexy style. But we all gotta start somewhere. And you must be good. Darn good according to Mom. Maybe you should lighten up and just accept your situation for what it is. A stepping stone to your future success.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost. But I haven’t gotten where I am by
lightening up
. I take my goals very seriously, and I mean serious,” Roxy stated, overstating her resolve much more than Zayne’s kindness required just to reinforce her own will.

The initial shock of her latest farce was fading fast, and the biting witch of reality was chasing her once again with a mighty big broom.

“I appreciate and respect your determination. I’m hell bent on seeing through one of my goals too,” Zayne said heading for his truck with Dipstick and Darling, his mutt and Roxy at his heels.

He draped one arm around Roxy’s shoulders, sending tiny forks of unexpected pleasure surging from her neck to her dust-covered feet peeking out from her peep-toed shoes. His fingers gently kneaded her skin, massaging her restless soul along with her aching muscles.

“What goal are you wrestling?” She asked, thinking of something to say before she lost herself underneath his warm touch, although she
was
interested in his answer.

As soon as the words left her mouth, his impromptu massage ended, and he bee-lined to the bed of his truck. He anxiously perused the baskets of tomatoes, talking and muttering profanities under his breath but well within decibel levels Roxy could make out.

Roxy ground the spiked heel of her shoe into the dirt, hoping beyond hope she hadn’t damaged his dreams along with his truck. Judging by the crinkled set of his brow line, his tomatoes were obviously of high importance. “So what happened to your advice about lightening up, Cowboy? Do you simply dispense your logic but not buy into its crap either?”

“Well put, Princess. Touché,” Zayne said grinding his teeth against the straw now held firm in his clenched jaw.

Instead of the casual, relaxed way he’d maneuvered the waxed filament when Roxy had first noticed his chewing preference, he’d now barricaded the sucker in tight.

“These tomatoes here are what I’ve got to perfect for this year’s Tomato Festival contest.” He moved the toe of his boot through the circle of dirt Roxy had punched through with the heel of her shoe. “It’s what my Dad wanted most. To win this year’s contest.”

Seeing pain etched in bitterness wind its way across Zayne’s ruggedly handsome face, Roxy’s heart muscles twisted into tight threads of dread. Trying to soothe his hurt, she tugged on the piece of straw wedged tight between his lips and changed the subject. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to chew on that stuff? It’s bad for your teeth.”

“Yes, thanks Doc. My mom gets on me regularly about my nasty little habit.” Part of his delicious smile returned to tickle his lips. He winked, but left the straw exactly where it was.

Roxy hated to take the light moment they shared back into the dark, but she wanted to know what made this complex cowboy tick. “I’m sorry if I brought up bad memories. I take it you lost your father?”

Zayne sighed then squeezed Roxy’s hand, his smile once again fading.

At his unexpected touch Roxy’s tummy flutter-kicked. Tucked into the warmth of his work-calloused hands, she basked in the comfort his strong grip gave her.

“Dad had a heart attack and died this past year working on these tomatoes. These babies were his life. I plan to make good on his dreams.”

“I hope I didn’t damage those too,” Roxy said, afraid to know if that’s what she’d done but preferring to deal with reality rather than wonder later ‘what if’.

“No worries. They look like they escaped unscathed from the sole of your deadly shoes. And don’t worry about your dancing boots. I’ve got the perfect fix for your predicament,” he said then let go of her hand.

Probably a good thing. She was way too comfortable in it.

“What kind of fix?” The man was getting more intriguing by the second, Roxy thought, while climbing into the cab of his truck and settling in beside Dipstick and Darling.

“My mom and I own The Neon Cowboy Saloon. You heard of it?” Zayne asked and shut Roxy’s door then yelled by name for his own dog to take his place in the bed of the truck.

“Yes, of course I’ve heard of it. I’ve only been there once ‘cause it’s a bit over my budget, but talk about a great place to dance, that’s it. I can’t believe Kat didn’t tell me the Neon Cowboy was her business.”

“Mom doesn’t talk much about business, especially when she’s away from it. She prefers to leave it inside the saloon’s doors. That’s what she always says anyway,” Zayne said not appearing surprised at all by his mom’s approach.

So different from Roxy’s past where business was all people talked about along with the riches their success afforded them.

Roxy could have talked forever about the saloon’s fabulous dance floor but after hearing the name of Zayne’s dog, she couldn’t keep her giggles at bay any longer and laughed out loud. “Studley Pete. Now there’s a great name. So does he take after his master?”

After her tease, Roxy swallowed. She wasn’t quite sure where her tenacity came from. Bantering with him just felt nice — kind of natural really.

“Of course Studley Pete is named in my image,” Zayne said, moving the straw around his cocky grin. “So which one is most like you, Dipstick or Darling?”

“Well done, Asshole,” Roxy said unable to suppress the smile she attempted to bite back between her lips and teeth.

Zayne inhaled with gusto then exhaled with the same mighty brawn. “Ahhhh. That’s much better. Thank you for the compliment. Now back to the saloon and fixin’ your boot hang up.”

“I know you have great boots. I took a walk through your gift corral, which isn’t bad by the way,” Roxy said, thinking how terrific her new buckle designs would look inside the fancy display cases underneath the premium lighting system. “But there’s no way I can afford a pair right now. Thanks anyway.”

“Who said anything about you buying a pair?” Zayne took one arm off the steering wheel so Dipstick could wiggle his way onto his lap. “This one isn’t the sick one is it?”

“Not that I know of,” Roxy said, knowing she’d just die if Dipstick decided otherwise. “But I don’t seem to have luck on my side today. So proceed at your own risk, Cowboy.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Princess. I’m feeling quite fortunate over the day’s events thus far.”

Catching Keith Urban’s voice playing the air waves, Zayne cranked up the volume on the radio, apparently liking Keith’s take on a new day as much as Roxy did. Another plus on his Darwinian-worthiness meter.

Slipping into the comfort of the song’s rhythm, Roxy tapped her foot to the beat while Zayne’s thumbs kept perfect time on the steering wheel.

“What do you say I hook you up with a pair of boots?” Zayne inquired during an instrumental portion of the song.

“I don’t accept charity,” Roxy said, realizing as soon as the snotty reply left her mouth that she’d answered way too quickly, forsaking politeness — considering his kind offer — with her Vaughn-style, knee-jerk, defensive bravado.

She sighed deeper-than-soul-level, unable to block out the irony that she herself had given to charity for years — without her parent’s knowledge. As if she could ever spend the enormous wads of cash they lavished on her to buy-off her love and happiness. And now, well, now she’d been asked to accept that same kind of help from a stranger.

“I’m soooo sorry how that sounded. I do really appreciate your gesture. But as soon as I have a couple days of good sales at the boutique, I’ll be able to afford a pair,” Roxy said, trying to explain her unintentional cattiness and wishing she could kick herself for sometimes coming off as quite the bitch when trying to just be gutsy girl strong.

“Whatever makes you happy. But just so you know, I didn’t say anything about
giving
you the boots,” Zayne said, taking the straw out of his mouth and twirling it between his fingers.

Roxy looked at him, more than taking his bait, although momentarily distracted by Dipstick who was trying his best to capture the straw. “So what do I have to do to land these boots?”

“It’s quite simple really,” Zayne taunted, giving Roxy a flirty come-get-me look she couldn’t ignore. “Come to the Neon Cowboy and dance with me.”

At his invitation, Roxy’s stomach turned gigantic flip-flops. The idea of her body hugged tight against his Wranglers, and her arms interlocked with his, had her already floating across his dance floor. “Oh, well, that doesn’t sound like charity to me. I might be interested in that deal.”

“Good. I’ll take that as your acceptance. I teach bootscootin’ three nights a week. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. You pick the night, and I’ll take you for a spin on my floor,” Zayne suggested, an attractive confidence carrying his words. “Do me the honor of a dance, and the boots are yours.”

Before Roxy could answer, Studley Pete stuck his big furry head through the cab’s window and took a huge swipe across her cheek with his wet tongue. Roxy tried to escape a repeat performance, but the dog was way too fast and evidently determined to befriend her.

“Gotta give the guy credit. He’s got one great set of instincts,” Zayne said then laughed, looking down at Dipstick who’d finally confiscated his straw. “So does this little one.”

He rubbed Dipstick’s ears sending the dog into a delightful tizzy.

Roxy smiled, taking in the moment. She wiggled her toes, unable to curb the excitement of having found a possible dance partner. She couldn’t wait to follow Zayne’s lead and see where it took her and their dogs too.

But just because she was following this cowboy onto the dance floor didn’t mean he’d get any more out of her than a great two-step partner. Darwinian survival be damned. She was living according to her own plans now. Getting into a relationship with a bootscootin’, tomato-growin’ cowboy — even though he’d rocked her world a bit — wasn’t on her list of To Do’s.

Z
ayne wasn’t keen on using his mom’s connections, but he wanted info on Roxy Rae Vaughn so he’d just have to suck it up. Sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do — so his dad used to say.

Hearing his old man’s raspy voice replay in his head, Zayne’s stomach clenched. Like it or not that was Kent McDonald. Always quick to offer his opinion but short on accepting others. And the guy didn’t give a shit if you liked his ways or not. Zayne didn’t. But his dad couldn’t have cared less. Zayne missed the man but not his bull-headed stubborn streak. He’d been at the receiving end once too often.

“A little tense today are we?” Kat McDonald asked as she sat in the chair directly opposite her son.

“Perhaps. Get back with me in a couple days,” Zayne said, unable to resist yanking her chain.

Never one to skirt an issue, his mom wouldn’t think of using a less than direct route to get what she wanted. A trait Zayne admired, unless he was the target of her head-on meddling. But he couldn’t escape her intuitions. She knew him way too well which was both a blessing and a curse. When something was up, she knew it. And she didn’t stop ’til she’d confiscated all the details.

“How ‘bout I kick your smart ass now and ask questions while you’re recovering tomorrow?” She inquired.

Her eyes sparkled with the good-natured humor Zayne adored her all the more for using to great advantage.

“Spill it, Funny Boy.”

Since she preferred head-on, Zayne would play that way too, even though his gut tightened throwing her bait about his personal life. When it came to women he may or may not be interested in, he preferred to keep his mouth shut. But that wouldn’t work now with the Queen of Hounds on his trail, so he pressed on. “Tell me what you know about Roxy Rae Vaughn.”

At the mention of Roxy’s name, Zayne’s mom settled back into her chair, her beautiful but mischievous smile slowly taking over her still youthful face. Damn, he was going to pay-up big-time for opening this info can. Hopefully Roxy turned out to be worth the trouble.

“So how did you meet Roxy?” His mom needled him to fess up.

“Never mind for right now. We’ll get to that in a minute.
I’m
asking the questions this time,” Zayne said knowing he didn’t stand a chance escaping her mom-needs-to-know-all inquisition unless he kept a short leash on her well-played hi-jinx.

“Okay. I’ll tango. Here’s what I know,” she said motioning the nearest waitress for more coffee.

Not a good sign, Zayne thought. He’d have to make this Q&A move along or else he’d be cornered here the rest of the afternoon. If he wanted to get his work done in his dad’s greenhouse before bootscootin’ lessons tonight, he’d need to quicken the pace of his interrogation.

“Roxy owns Raeve, my new favorite boutique in town,” his mom said as she leaned into the table toward him as if about to divulge a huge secret.