Bootscootin' Blahniks

by D. D. Scott

  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.

  Chapter Three

  Zayne 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.

  “Already know that, Mom. What else you got?” Zayne still couldn’t believe he was putting himself through this torture. So help him if she started in on all her artsy-stuff talk. Although he admired her passion — like he did anyone who loved something enough to live it or at least patronize those desires — he’d heard all about Roxy’s one-of-a-kind designs each time his mom came home with the next shopping bag full of ‘em.

  “You already know Roxy owns Raeve? How? I didn’t mention her to you, although, believe me, I definitely intended to when the time was right.”

  Zayne decided to save her timing issues for another day’s discussion. “Just keep talkin’, Mom. I’ve got to get back to the farm.”

  “Fine,” she said then pouted probably because he was pushing her rather than indulging the slow, drawn-out and dramatic way she divulged her scoops.

  “Please, Mom. What’s Roxy’s story? Her past? Her financial status?” Zayne zinged her with several shots at once.

  He’d forgotten to maintain his lead in the conversation. He was asking the questions. She was supposed to be answering them. No one could afford to leave anything open-ended with Kat McDonald or she’d have you corralled into revealing much more than you intended to.

  “Not sure where you’re going with this. But you bet your ass I’ll find out,” she said, twisting her wedding band back-and-forth across her finger much easier than she used to.

  Zayne had suspected she’d lost weight. Her loose ring was further proof. His heart squeezed every time he thought of her being alone and the toll being a widow was very visibly taking on her. That’s why he’d moved back to the farm shortly after his dad’s death. Despite his mom’s insistence she didn’t need him looking after her — as if he’d ever been able to convince her of that where his life was concerned — he was home for good.

  “I’m sorry to be a bit abrupt, Mom. And I will fill you in soon,” Zayne said then harrumphed. “Like you won’t hear about it anyway from our customers.”

  “Hear what?” She tilted her head like a parrot preying on new words to absorb into its social lexicon.

  Evidently getting his exasperation from the disgust making his jaw twitch, she backed off her questioning then rolled her eyes. Now that was the sign he was looking for. He had her. Yes. Finally, he’d be hitting some pay dirt. She always rolled her eyes before giving-in to his wishes.

  “Roxy’s story is she came to Nashville to start her line of accessible accessories. Brilliant concept really. The girl’s smart. I like that. And what a fabulous boutique she’s made out of that hole of a corner in the farm store. I could just spend hours in there taking it all in.”

  Oh, Brother. Here it goes. Now he’d have to hear this crap too. Although he was kind of interested in even the fashion details if it filled him in on Roxy’s past. And that made him cringe admitting it. But so be it. Roxy buying cheap dog treats while driving a Mercedes just didn’t add up. Why would an upper class chick like that freak out about paying for the damage she’d caused?

  Zayne tuned back into his mom in time to hear, �
�Once a Fifth Avenue Manhattan designer, Roxy gave all that up in favor of designing accessories and clothing lines for the classy woman on a budget. Get it? Accessible accessories. Items any woman can afford and still look great. Ingenius!”

  “Got it, Mom. But I’m not so sure Roxy herself can afford her clothes and accessible accessories.” Zayne tossed this out hoping his mom had done her usual M.O. and gotten to know what brought Roxy to Music City when she obviously couldn’t afford the move.

  Kat McDonald always keyed-in on the ‘why’s’ of everything, usually using that information against Zayne so he’d see her logic and give-in to her nose-trouble antics. This time, he’d use the fruits of her labor to his favor.

  “Well I do know her parents sound like absolute beasts. I’ve kind of gathered from talking to Roxy that they’re quite well-to-do but turned their backs and banking accounts on her once she stepped out on her own down here. She apparently went against their plans for her lifestyle and career. And now she’s paying for it.”

  Bingo. Zayne leaned back in his seat, needing the extra space to take in what his mother had told him. Wow. He had to respect Roxy for her ballsy move. Hell, she had bigger nads than he did. At least she went for the life she wanted and not what she was expected to do. Unlike him. Where was he on his life plan? Knee-deep in his dad’s tomatoes without a clue what the fuck he was doing. Yeah. Roxy just scored major points for doing things her way.

  “So there’s Roxy’s past, Son. Now why would you care about her finances? I think it’s your turn to answer some questions,” his mom said then tapped her manicured nails against the lacquered table top.

  Damn, he hated the nail tap thing. The clickety-clack of her impatience drove him nuts.

  But she was right — hard as it was for him to reconcile that with running as far away as possible from her butting-in bravado.

  He took a deep breath then spilled his beans about his and Roxy’s fender-bender.

  “Well I sure hope you don’t plan to have her pay for the damage to that clunker of a truck you and your dad love — loved — so much,” his mom said with an indignant don’t-you-dare tempered only by the realization she must refer to Zayne’s dad in the past tense.

  “Of course I’m making her pay for it! She cracked the hell out of it. What do you mean by letting her off the hook? You certainly didn’t raise me to shirk responsibility. I always had to pay for my mistakes.”

  “You’re right. But that’s different,” she said, pressing then re-pressing her napkin.

  “How so?” This oughta be good, Zayne thought.

  “You were raised with all kinds of love and support. Roxy never had that. That girl doesn’t even know the meaning of family. She deserves a break.”

  “Wait a minute. You, Mom, raised me with unconditional love. Yes, you did. I’ll give you that. Hands down. But not Dad, and you know it. The beasts Roxy grew up under sound just like Dad.”

  Seeing his mom wince soaking in the reality of his words, Zayne’s lungs constricted trying to catch the large knot descending his throat. He didn’t want to hurt his mom, but he was tired of her hiding the truth about his father’s failures. Why couldn’t she just accept he was a miserable dad? Zayne sure as hell had to deal with that truth years ago.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you know how I feel about Dad’s parenting skills or lack thereof,” Zayne said, willing to put his hurt aside to bring a smile back to his mom’s face. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her more pain and heartache. She’d been through enough — in marriage to the man and by his death.

  “Apology accepted. And that…you should know by now, Zayne,” she said, the hurt still taking the once ornery and playful sparkle out of her eyes. But just as soon a small smile returned to her lips. “I just think you could take it easy on the poor girl. Roxy’s new in town and really struggling to find her way on her own.”

  She sighed. “How bad is the damage to your vehicles?”

  “Don’t have the estimates yet but it’s not looking too good. I dropped her off at Raeve and will check with the guys at the garage later today about the damage.”

  “Maybe I could just have the repairs made and talk to her for you,” his mom offered, her let-Mom-fix-this-for-you wheels spinning as fast as she could evidently get them too.

  “Oh no you don’t. See? That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you any of this. You need to just stay out of it. Roxy and I can handle things without your help. We’re adults. We don’t need our parent’s making things all better for us anymore.”

  When will she stop protecting him, Zayne thought. The idea of her getting involved in this had him all riled up, worse than the accident itself or his uncertainty of how best to handle Roxy.

  And why was he doing battle with his mom for both himself and for Roxy too? Shit. Who was he kidding? The nerves in his neck stiffened his resolve. He knew why. And thanks to his mom’s CIA-worthy meddling Roxy was no longer such a mystery.

  Zayne knew what it felt like to want more than anything to escape your past. Roxy had the strength he hadn’t yet found to break the mold her parent’s set. For that gutsy move, he’d protect her at all costs and for the costs of the damage she’d done with her ridiculous, but hot-as-hell shoes.

  “So what are you going to do about the repair estimates?” His mom asked, her eyebrows raised in that I expect-you-to-do-right-be-her way.

  Yeah. Good Question. What was he going to do? Roxy wasn’t about to accept help if it appeared at all charitable. She’d made that perfectly clear.

  So far he’d only secured one dance with her in exchange for a new pair of boots. How could he make her ‘accessible’ to him for longer than that?

  “You do know she’s one helluva a bootscooter, right?” His mom said, her butt-in wheels evidently still rotating strong.

  “That’s what she told me,” Zayne said, his brain starting to feed off his mom’s energy. “Got that one covered.”

  But what else would she be willing to trade for boots? For the right motivation, how long could Zayne keep her on his dance floor?

  “Do the right thing, Son,” his mom said, getting up from the table. “Pay it forward not back.”

  He agreed with her there. How far forward was the challenge. “I’ll see you for dinner, Mom. I’ve got to get over to the garage and pick up the estimates.”

  “Oh, Boy,” she said then shook her head and left him to his plans.

  Roxy stormed toward the dance floor, her stilettos clacking with a vengeance.

  Confident all eyes in the Neon Cowboy followed her stampede, she closed the distance between herself and her target. Each step pinched her toes, entrenching each digit deeper into the pointed tips of her sling-backs. Each stride confirming her gut-twisting desire to make Zayne McDonald pay for her pain.

  Grease from dropped Buffalo wings and fried pickles smeared the bottom of her handcrafted Italian leather shoes. But she couldn’t bear to stop and look, as if ignoring the tragedy would salvage her soul or soles.

  Once on the dance floor, she elbowed her way through the rowdy crowd. With line dancing lessons ready to begin, she had not one minute to waste.

  Seeing Zayne at the head of the class, she teetered on the edge of disaster as one of her miniscule heels caught on a misaligned floor-joint. Her heart stumbled along with her feet. But she wasn’t about to retreat. Her adrenaline kicking her pulse up a notch, she quickened her pace.

  She didn’t need Zayne to make a fool out of her. She’d done that on her own. It was her fault the heel of her Manolo had caught under the accelerator of her Mercedes. But she certainly hadn’t meant to demolish the bed of his pickup truck and almost bruise the baskets of his daddy’s hybrid tomatoes.

  With a mere fifty feet to go before she was within striking distance, she balled up her fists, clenching them tight, attempting to maintain a relative degree of control. Zayne hadn’t a clue what a fully-throttled Roxy Rae looked like. Give her ten seconds, and he woul
d.

  But before she got to him, he turned to face her, donning a mischievous grin that didn’t quit. Damn him. The room froze in mid grapevine.

  The twelve thousand dollar repair estimate he’d left in her mailbox this afternoon — the same day as their damn accident — propelled her out of the freeze frame. Crossing the floor’s waxed wood grain, she could only hear the piercing sobs of her feet.

  There was no way in Hades she could have done that much damage. Hell, the blue book value on that hunk of junk couldn’t be much more than that. And if it was so important to him to get the darn thing fixed, why hadn’t he freaked out about that when they had their little fender-bender? No. Oh no. He had to be all hero-like calm, cool and sexy-to-boot with his damn piece of straw and sexy, Southern aw-shucks drawl.

  While Zayne stared her down with an intense spark Roxy swore would ignite, she made her final approach. If she held his gaze, she’d melt, lost in the dark swirls of his better-than-chocolate martini eyes. Mind over matter, she thought and marched on, forcing her anger to obstruct her vision.

  Oh, yeah, she had conviction. Her intent had been to smack the shit out of him. But as soon as she was within reach, his goddamn cologne killed her nerve. One waft of his spicy hot scent and she was toast.

  Her own heat about burned her alive, partly due to Zayne’s good looks, the rest due to the people on the dance floor watching her. She wrestled her brain to think of something ingenious to say. It sure as hell wouldn’t be very nice to slap him without a decent explanation.

  She should have agreed to turn the claims into her insurance, but she couldn’t risk a rate increase. And he was the one who suggested they settle it on their own. Or had she said that? Whatever, whoever, those details were irrelevant now. Settle on their own, her ass. She was good for a couple hundred bucks, not several thousand.

  “Here’s what I think of your estimate,” she said, giving up on witty discourse, pulling back her hand, ready to fire.