by Scott, D. D.
Maybe he’d stick with a pound rescue for his mom too. He still had misgivings about getting her a Puggle. Puggles were sweet-tempered, affectionate cuddlers. Qualities no one would use to describe his mom. Or Roxy, for that matter. Although her dogs seemed pretty damn happy. And so did she, now that she was drugged.
With their duties done, Zayne took the dogs back into the house. While they bee-lined for the study, he went to the kitchen to fix a new ice pack. Taking ice out of the stainless steel side-by-side, he noticed a picture of Roxy and two other girls stuck to the front of the frig with a “I ‘heart’ NY” magnet. He leaned-in closer to the photo, zeroing-in on Roxy’s image, letting her smile melt the frost blasting from the still open freezer.
The photo must have been taken at last year’s Wine on the River because each girl held the event’s signature wine glass. On the historic Shelby Street Pedestrian Bridge, with the sun setting over the downtown Nashville skyline, Roxy appeared angelic. Must have been the wine.
Zayne had been there that night too. Regret chipped at his mind thinking he’d never run into her.
At his mother’s insistence, he’d attended the event because the proceeds went to an organization of merchants and residents of Broadway, Second Avenue and Printers Alley. With The Neon Cowboy in the 100 block of Second Avenue, Kat offered him no outs. But to be fair, she was right.
Anything that meant good business for the saloon was okay with him. Anything that meant his mom’s happiness was also okay with him. Anything that meant less time on the farm was beyond okay with him.
His granddad’s and dad’s tomatoes had never given him the buzz his mom’s saloon did. Blame it on the linedancing. Blame it on the casual, slower-paced lifestyle the saloon celebrated. Blame it on the break it offered to the area’s hard-working cowboys and farmers. Whatever the reason, The Neon Cowboy energized him more than any tomato hybrid.
He traced Roxy’s outline in the photo, letting his fingers run the edges of her curves, wishing it was her in the flesh letting his hands wander. But at this point of their relationship, her photo was all he was going to get, other than a dance partner two nights a week.
Damn, he was a genius at times. Like he gave a shit if the dents she’d put in his tomato truck were repaired. What he wanted was a chance to get to know the woman. He had a feeling there was a lot more to her than her zany, shoe designer fetish and her sharp, tough-girl tongue.
Filling the bag with ice, he zip-locked the seal and headed for his final flight for the night. Funny Roxy hadn’t buzzed him while he’d been in the kitchen. He’d come to expect whirlwinds when in her midst, not peace and silence. And he, without any excuses to offer that would be remotely convincing, thrived on the rush circulating through him when she spoke. There was no denying the way his body responded to her presence. Even thinking about her got him worked-up.
When he reached her study and peaked in, he discovered the source of the unexpected calm. His princess was out cold on the couch, her faithful guardians Dipstick and Darling settled on top of her, one wedged in the curve of her stomach and one between her legs. What he wouldn’t give to be a Puggle tonight.
At least, while she was asleep, she couldn’t argue with him or throw him out.
With care, he placed the ice pack into its cover and secured the straps around her ankle, then repositioned her leg on the couch to what he hoped would be a more comfortable angle. Thinking she must be out good since she never stirred, he grabbed a suede throw from a rack full of them then shooed the dogs off her long enough to tuck the blanket around her. Soon, blanket and dogs were nestled in for the rest of the morning.
He smoothed her hair away from her forehead, momentarily mesmerized by her thick, tri-colored locks. He’d never seen a woman with three simultaneous hair colors. Leave it to Roxy to up the ante. Hell, to give her credit, it looked great. With a combination of caramel, honey, and chocolaty-colored strands, she was hot. In an odd way. But that was Roxy, hot and odd.
Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her button nose then dipped-in for a taste of her devil-for-the-taking lips. Wanting much more, he settled for easing back and inhaling the cherry almond scent of her skin. For a woman full of spice, she smelled nothing but sweet. And talk about baby soft skin. Spooning her in his bed would be real nice, the thought further denting his good boy image.
In desperate need of cooling off, he checked the ice pack once more. Standing to leave, he bent over to pick-up the empty water bottle she’d dropped onto the floor. He didn’t want her falling again.
“Nice aaasss,” she mumbled then winked at him before once again closing her eyes.
“At least you like one part of me.” Zayne shook his head at her brash bravado, suppressing a laugh.
McDonalds had always started at the bottom and worked their way up. With Roxy Rae, the legacy continued.
Chapter Six
Zayne pounded the snooze button a fifth time, forcing his eyes to verify the time. Shit. He blinked then refocused, staring harder at the glowing red numbers. Could it really be 7 a.m.? He was way beyond late.
He shoved aside what little bit of comforter still covered him, knocking Studley Pete onto the floor. Pete yawned, making it known by a disgruntled half-bark, half-growl that he wasn’t any happier than Zayne to be awake.
“Quit your belly-achin’, Pete,” Zayne said as he rubbed behind the dog’s ears and patted his back. “All you do is run into the kitchen and eat. I won’t get a morsel till I answer a butt load of questions.”
Zayne opened his bedroom door and stuck his head out, seeing if the path to his bathroom was clear. The smell of fresh bacon and coffee assaulted his nose, reminding him how hungry he was. Hell, he hadn’t eaten since last night’s fried pickles. No wonder his stomach rumbled with the ferocity of a bear waking up from a winter nap.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he hollered to whoever could hear him in the kitchen. “Just have to rinse off.”
“It’s about damn time,” Damian’s deep, taunting grumble echoed the halls, followed by a hearty laugh.
Asshole. Damian knew better than to start something Kat McDonald couldn’t resist finishing, although all Zayne’s friends agreed how fun it was to test her patience.
“Hurry up, Zayne,” his mother scolded, feeding off Damian’s bait. “The food’s been done for over ten minutes. That’s not fair to Cody. He busted his ass fixing our breakfast.”
“You mean it’s not fair to you, Mom. You’re dying to know why I’m late.” Zayne grabbed his robe off the hook on the back of his bedroom door and headed for the bathroom.
“I know where you’ve been, Smart Ass,” she snapped back, “and who you’ve been with. So get moving.”
Zayne heard Damian snickering, followed by Cody’s guffaw. Some friends they were.
Closing the bathroom door, Zayne turned the shower as hot as it would go, waiting on the water to reach a scalding temperature.
He stepped around the glass-block shower wall Damian had built during the remodel, entering the swelter of steam swirling the stall. He switched the showerhead to deep massage. The increased pressure pounded his nerves into minced meat.
How could he limit his mother’s involvement in his life without crushing her? Since his dad’s death, her control wrapped around him tighter than ever. It was as if she feared she’d lose him too. He had to level with her soon. Otherwise, she’d squeeze his ambitions into dried up dreams, like the frazzled and frayed pulp of a bad wedge of lime.
Damian and Cody busted his balls constantly for giving her too much power. But nobody told Kat McDonald what was or wasn’t acceptable meddling. Zayne, and his father too, had tried for years and gotten nothing but chastised or ignored.
The hot water pummeled Zayne’s chest, beating down with hollow thumps against his ribs. Knowing she struggled to fill the empty space left by his father’s death, he didn’t want to be too hard on her. Fussing over his life ‘til he was nuts was her
answer to attempting to heal her bereavement.
Hanging out at the farm every free minute she earned, she was privy to all his comings and goings. She didn’t give a shit about the tomato business. And never had. Tomatoes were the McDonald way of life. She’d just happened to fall in love with a McDonald. The farm simply provided an extra venue in which to keep up with her son’s personal life. She didn’t have enough time to get the dirt on him while tending to their saloon.
As much as he wanted to stay in the shower to avoid the lynch mob in his kitchen, Zayne turned off the water and reached for the towel he’d thrown over the top of the shower wall. Pressing the fluffy cotton to his face, he breathed in the fresh-laundered scent. His mom insisting on doing his laundry again now that he was back home wasn’t an item he opposed.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and brushed his teeth. Crossing the hall back to his room, he threw on jeans, and grabbed a T-shirt.
“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled as nonchalant as he dared, waiting on the firestorm.
Call him hyper-sensitive, but the kitchen was un-naturally silent, with only the clinks of utensils against plates. Each ping pierced his nerves.
Avoiding direct eye contact with anyone, even the dog, Zayne took a mug out of the cabinet above the sink and poured a cup of coffee. His back took the brunt of the holes bore by their expectant faces. He couldn’t help but notice Studley Pete’s front paws shielding his eyes from the drama about to unfold. Zayne’s most loyal friend was no dummy.
“So what’s the verdict on Roxy’s ankle?” His mom fired the first shot. Like she’d ever refuse to take one. “The poor dear. What did you do to get her so flustered?”
“That’s nice, Mom, just assume it’s my fault. Her ankle will be fine in a day or two. It’s a mild sprain.” Zayne set his mug on the table, glaring at her before picking up a plate and heading to the counter to fill it with Cody’s quality cooking.”
“It’s a fair assumption. You’re no Romeo. And whenever you’re around that girl, bad things happen to her,” Kat said, taking his plate away from him then motioning for him to sit at the table. While serving up heaping proportions of scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast and fresh-sliced tomatoes, she continued, “I saw you two arguing. Then I saw her stomp away. What am I supposed to think? You’re such your father’s son.”
Zayne looked at Damian and Cody for support, but suddenly the food on their plates required their full attention. All he got was the tops of their heads. “Gee, thanks, guys.”
Begging off, Damian lifted his shoulders and threw up his hands. Cody simply smiled at his plate, shook his head and kept eating.
“Mom, I’d like to think I’m more like you than Dad,” Zayne said, hoping that would knock her down a notch.
“Sooo not working, son.” She slammed his plate in front of him. “Try again. We’re not talking intelligence. We’re talking basic socialization skills. Skills your father never had, God love him, and you pretend not to have.”
“So that would make me more like you, then, right?” Zayne harrumphed, knowing he had her. She’d never excelled at Abbott & Costello-style arguments.
“Huh?” She paused, as if sorting through the sequences of their conversation. “You know what I meant. Don’t play word games. Tell me why Roxy was so upset.”
Zayne took a bite of his food. Stalling wouldn’t permanently keep her off him, but would allow him a small sliver of control. For added measure, he took a long drink of coffee, wishing she’d swallow a sip too, warming her up to what he had to say about her involvement with Roxy’s boutique. Asking Cody to pass the juice, he savored his last effort to hold her off. She’d get her information, but on his time schedule.
Sparring with her was just too much fun to pass on. She was a hoot to get going, and Zayne wasn’t about to pass-up the opportunity.
“If you must know, Mom, Roxy left in a huff because she didn’t take too kindly to me offering your help at Raeve.”
The look on his mother’s face made him wish he had his camera. Bull’s-eye.
“What’s the matter, Mom? Got a bitter beefsteak on your tongue?”
“Well now, I’m sure Roxy’s angst wasn’t just about my going to work at Raeve.” She adjusted her boot-shaped, diamond-spurred pendant so it settled against the hollow of her throat. “It must have been the way you approached her. You know you have no tact with women…not that I’ve seen at least. I should have just asked her myself.”
“Yeah, I guess you should have. Why didn’t you?” Zayne challenged.
“I’m trying to wean you,” Kat said, then laughed at her own wit.
Damian choked on his bacon. Cody turned his head and coughed.
“Whatever,” Zayne mumbled, warning his friends with his eyes and the tip of his fork pointed at their heads that he didn’t think she was as funny as they evidently did.
Zayne watched his mom pull at the waistband of her pants and gently knead her stomach. Things he’d often seen her do when she was perplexed, usually when she and his dad were having a serious disagreement.
Since it was clear no one else was going to help him out of this, Zayne prepared his own defense strategy.
“It wasn’t my tact or lack there of, Mom,” Zayne said then swallowed half his toast. Using the back of his hand, he caught the butter dripping onto his chin. “Roxy doesn’t want your help. She thinks she can make Raeve a success on her own.”
“Well then, I’ll let her think she can do just that,” his mom said while clearing his plate, along with Damian and Cody’s.
Guess we’re done eating.
While his mom straightened up the table, she hummed, meaning her wheels spun fervently under her platinum-blonde hair. Zayne admired her tenacity even though he was afraid of what she was weaving.
In spite of her years, his mom was still a beauty. Although, since his dad’s passing, Zayne swore she’d lost a ton of weight. He made a mental note to keep tabs on her diet.
With the exception of her recent weight loss, every year that passed seemed to make her more stunning and spunkier still. Hell, even while doing housework and working like a dog in the saloon, she dressed to make heads turn. From her platinum crown to the three hundred plus pairs of boots she owned, not one damn thread was ever out of place or the wrong color. As a kid, he’d thought she was the most beautiful mom in Nashville. As a big kid, he still did.
Watching her scrape their plates and fill the dishwasher, a glowing pride spread through him, warming his restless spirit.
She’d made him proud in so many ways. She was a woman who always knew what she wanted and went after it. And no matter how much she tried to run his life, Zayne hoped he could figure out how she found the nerve to make the world dance to her tunes. Just like Roxy.
Kat McDonald continued laying out her plan, evidently not giving a tinker’s damn at the lost looks on their faces since she’d taken away their food. “Maybe Roxy needs confidence. It’s not like her avant-garde designs are a perfect fit for Nashville. She needs a champion.”
Now she’s thinkin’. Zayne smiled, giving himself a mental atta boy. Perhaps his plan to get her focused on something other than him would work better than he’d hoped. Well, for him anyway. He pitied Roxy. She had no idea what she was in for.
“I’ll just give her little nudges here and there. Perhaps I can whisper into my friends’ ears about her one-of-a-kind designs and get them into the boutique.”
His mom was too preoccupied knitting her meddle yarns to catch Zayne shaking his head in disbelief.
“She’ll hardly know I’m doing anything.”
“Oh, she’ll know. Trust me,” Zayne said and laughed. “You may have just met your match, Mom. So don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With brilliant flashes in her hazel eyes, Kat turned on him fast.
“And I’m warning you to be nice to that girl. I like her. And you’re going to too. Trust me,” she mimicked him.
“Care to talk tomatoes?” Cody volu
nteered.
Finally, one of them had the balls to break into the conversation.
“We’re not quite finished here, boys,” Kat said and bee-lined for the table, dishtowel in hand.
Zayne hoped the towel wasn’t about to meet the back of his head.
“So when do I start at Raeve?” she asked, wringing the tomato-printed, checkered cloth.
“Is tomorrow morning soon enough?” Zayne watched her demeanor relax, a slow smile shaping her mouth. “Roxy sure as hell wasn’t thrilled, but she’ll get over it.”
“Yes, she will.” His mom turned and disappeared into the laundry room off the kitchen, leaving the room and the three men in it breathing on their own again.
“Isn’t Roxy the chick that rear-ended your truck?” Damian asked.
“Yep, that’d be her.” Zayne didn’t give him any more info than he’d asked for.
“Well, that tells us a lot,” Cody chimed in. “Spill it, dude.”
“Nothin’ to spill when a woman hates your guts.” Zayne got up from the table and retrieved a file box from the baker’s rack along the back wall of the kitchen.
“Well, like your Mom says, bro…” Damian cracked Zayne on his shoulder blade. “…if you weren’t such an ass to the ladies, they might take a liking to you.”
“I am not an ass to women,” Zayne replied, jerking the box lid open, the idea he’d treat a woman badly like his old man did galled him. “Roxy just brings it out of me.”
But man can she bootscoot, he thought. “I wonder why we get along on the dance floor?”
“What was that?” Damian leaned in, applying a full court press.
Shit. Had he just said that under his breath instead of in his head?
“Never mind.” Zayne spread the cards on the table. “We’ve got work to do if we’re going to have a hybrid ready by August for this damn festival.”
“You’re right. We do,” Cody agreed, taking a couple of the cards out of the stack.
Zayne counted on Cody, like his father had, to be the brains of the tomato operation. Zayne also needed Cody’s discipline, unlike his father who had more than enough of his own, to see to a win in this lousy contest.