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

by Scott, D. D.

  Roxy may have a sixth sense enabling her to pinpoint which designs would drive demand. But Audrey, a management guru, planned to take Raeve online and launch a web store, limiting the boutique’s reliance on farm store traffic. And Jules, a culinary schooled chef, would feed them while they worked to save Raeve.

  Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, Roxy gathered the dismal pile of receipts then hauled out the folder holding her accounts payable. After reconciling her sales with what she owed her suppliers, she’d know if she could survive the three weeks ‘til Jules and Audrey arrived.

  Hoping the Bongo Bean’s caffeine would give her a bigger jolt than her cash flow analysis, Roxy headed next door to the coffee shop a full minute ahead of schedule.

  Pushing in the Bean’s door, Roxy breathed in the rich aromas of roasted-on-site coffee mixed with a confectionary cloud of sinful pastries. Luckily, she didn’t do sugar. A recovering sucrose addict, she was perfectly satisfied riding the low carb train. But coffee and eggs were part of her budget and an accountant’s dream compared to the price of a scone.

  Seeing her order on the counter, she sashayed through the customers waiting to be seated. Maneuvering the morning rush, she whizzed past the dramatic, dark red drapes dividing the café from the dining room. It wasn’t just the curtains that looked as if they were about to reveal the next act in life. The place had an ambiance fit for an artist. From the special treatments restoring the original brick walls to the repaired tin ceiling, the café’s character offered respite to Roxy’s muses. The rest of the day, her creative divas competed with wheelbarrows and Allen wrenches.

  Roxy felt more at home in the unique charm of the cafe than in her brownstone. Creative synergy was blended not only in the lattes, but in the convergence of the patrons as they sipped mochas and nibbled on cinnamon buns.

  Roxy left her money on the counter and smiled at Marcus, a barista who appeared to have stepped behind the Bongo Bean’s counter straight off a Caribbean island paradise. While firing up the espresso machine, he blew her a kiss then flashed his Taye Diggs smile.

  Taking her breakfast with her, Roxy hobbled back out the door onto the sun-dappled sidewalk, planning to get her groove back just like Stella. After waiting on a delivery truck to pass, she stepped off the curb and into the alley behind the plaza, surprised to see a black Hummer parked in front of the supply store’s rear entrance. No one came in this early, unless they worked…

  What? She checked her watch. Three hours early?! A horn blew her a blatant warning that time was irrelevant in the middle of a loading zone. She jumped back onto the safety of the curb. Getting run over by the chicken feed supplier — that’s all she needed.

  She focused her shook-up nerves on the Hummer in time to see Zayne lower the driver’s side window. “Whoa, Princess. You’d better watch where you’re going before your need a body cast instead of a couple of bandages.”

  “It’s your fault, Beefsteak,” Roxy screamed, willing her heart to drop back into her chest.

  Her index finger, once wrapped around her coffee cup, now pointed at Zayne, shaking a mean jig as she desperately tried to regain her composure.

  “Every time you’re around, something horrible happens to me,” she said, glad to feel her pulse winding down to a much more manageable rhythm.

  • • •

  Even though Zayne hadn’t thought of it like that, Roxy might have a point. Both of their universes took tailspins when they inhabited the same space.

  “Well, now you’re making me feel bad,” he said and meant it.

  He opened his door and started towards her as she remained frozen on the curb, staring at his mom’s SUV. He wasn’t sure how to explain why they were three hours early. Technically, it was the only time he’d be out of the fields for the rest of the day. But yeah, he was also anxious to check-in on his favorite diva. She didn’t need to be privy to his personal motivation, however, so he’d best stick to business.

  As if that was possible with her walking towards him. The gentle sway of her hips hypnotized him. Her almond eyes, narrowed into spirited slits, hooked him, reaching into his soul, refusing to let go until he’d softened them with happiness or laughter.

  Zayne had first noticed Roxy after New Years in the Bongo Bean. He used to eat breakfast there when he had clients to meet either at Vanderbilt or a Music Row recording studio. He sure missed the creative vibes of the advertising world. He missed the café. And he definitely missed seeing Roxy come into The Bean to pick up the same-sized bag and the same-sized cup of coffee she now carried.

  Not able to get her out of his head, Zayne hoped to at least obtain a new image to replace the Sleeping Beauty he’d left on the couch Saturday night. The watching-her-sleep-like-an-angel replay had him in knots. But judging by the ferocious scowl he’d just witnessed on her face, he had another mental picture of her to add to his dreamscape. And this latest vision really tickled him. Even when she was mad as hell, she was one hot vixen.

  “Yoohoo,” Roxy cooed, “I’m talking to you.”

  She passed her cup of coffee under his nose, teasing him out of his stupor. The inviting smell of cinnamon rolls and cocoa mixed with her lilting voice got Zayne’s attention.

  “I said, I agreed to your little deal, expecting you to repair your truck, not buy a new one. If you think I’m going to be tied to you until that beast is paid for, you’re nuts.”

  “No, you’re the nut,” Zayne said then rolled his eyes as his mother opened her door. “And so’s she. Sorry we’re early. For the record, this is Mom’s truck. She wanted to come to town early in case you needed her. Now about you being tied to me…”

  “Good morning, dear,” his mom said, stepping down onto the running board of her truck, her tote bag stuffed to the max, her timing effectively squelching Zayne’s bondage concerns. “Hope I’m not too early. Just thought you might need the extra help. Zayne was on a break from the fields, so I asked him to go ahead and drive me into town.”

  Zayne knew from Roxy’s eyes once again narrowing into those challenging slits that she wasn’t buying their crap, but she kept her mouth shut. Too bad. He’d liked to have heard what she was thinking inside that tart head of sexy curls.

  “Zayne, honey, get the box out of the back for me, would you?” his mom ordered while she took in the store’s back entrance. “It’s too bad they won’t let you do a window display out front. But, oh my, the wisteria back here. What an eye catcher. That had to be your idea, Dear. Whatever made you think of that?”

  “Why, I’m sure it has something to do with Manolo Blahnik,” Zayne said, struggling to keep the lid of the box from blowing away in the breeze.

  “Right you are, smart ass,” Roxy said then laughed, more than likely fighting his attempt to humor her, judging by the set of her jaw.

  “Wisteria covers the entrance to one of Manolo’s homes,” Roxy told her protégé as they started for the door together.

  “How did you know about the Manolo connection?” Zayne’s mom questioned him while he closed the truck’s rear cargo hatch.

  “Roxy and I do have some civilized, meaningful conversations,” he said, enjoying sparring with his two favorite women. It beat propagating tomato seeds.

  “I was drugged when I told you that,” Roxy reminded him.

  “I know. That happens to be when you’re the most civilized. In pain and on medication,” Zayne said, smiling as Roxy held the door for him, although fearful she’d let the thing bang shut on his ass.

  Before he’d gotten six feet inside the farm store, Dipstick and Darling were all over him, pawing at his jeans and sniffing his boots. Shit. Now he’d never get out of buying his mom one of these yappy lapfuls. Although they were cute little squirts.

  “Oh, Zayne. Look. They’re Puggles.” His mom dropped to her knees, diverting the dogs’ attention away from Zayne as she let them pounce all over her, licking her ears and nuzzling her neck. “You didn’t tell me Roxy had Puggles. Where were they during dinner last night?” />
  “I’d already tucked them in for the night. Kat, meet Dipstick and Darling.”

  “What cute names. Oh, I’m in heaven.”

  His mom stood up, reaching for a rack to steady her. Her balance was off, he surmised, for a reason he’d be finding out about real soon after a call to her doctor.

  “Do the dogs come with you to the shop…I mean boutique…every day?” His mom asked followed by a deep, measured breath.

  Was she nervous? Zayne banished that reasoning almost as soon as he’d produced it. She never showed insecurities. And why would she be on edge with Roxy? The two were probably best friends in a past life.

  Roxy set her coffee and sack on the checkout counter. “Yep, they’re here about every day. I can’t stand leaving them at home. They keep me company along with the other barnyard animals.”

  “Oh, I love the idea.” His mom brushed a few short pieces of hair off her pants and let her eyes wonder the premises. “Now where shall I put my things?”

  Roxy picked up an expensive looking leather bag and hooked its straps onto the top corner of the most unusual chair Zayne had ever seen. Something like that would have looked great in his Village flat.

  “Here would be fine for your Louis. Great bag, by the way. As for the box, just put it somewhere behind this counter,” Roxy directed. “What did you bring?”

  As Zayne wedged the box between the dogs’ pillows, Roxy met his eyes with a half-terrified look.

  “Oh. Not much at all, Dear.”

  His mom placed her hands on her hips, let out a large sigh and turned a full three hundred sixty degrees with the happiest look Zayne had seen on her in a long time.

  “Just odds n’ ends to help you do a better job at moving this inventory.”

  Roxy looked at Zayne with her hands raised, signaling him to decipher his mom’s cryptic slam.

  “This is between you two,” he said, wanting no part of where this was heading. “But you’d better approach things with a lot more tact than that, Ma McDonald.”

  After he addressed his mother that way, Roxy laughed. But his mom didn’t. Her death look told him just what she thought of his suggestion.

  Irked that his mom would stoop to such a direct remark right out of the gate, Zayne wasn’t worried about her watch-it-boy look. She didn’t need to blatantly expose Roxy’s lack of promotional skills. Not everyone had the natural advertising instincts and salesmanship he and his mom had. Roxy sure knew how to accentuate and promote her body, but marketing what she made to cover it wasn’t her strongest attribute.

  Although Zayne’s mind cautioned him to get away while he still could, he couldn’t force his eyes off her curves. Her commanding, attention-getting persona, coupled with her dare devil style made all his blood rush below his belt, leaving his brain seriously malnourished.

  Damn. He knew it was rude to stare, but that tiny pink shirt — not to mention where those sparkly things were placed — made him hotter than picking tomatoes in August. Together with the pink shiny skirt hugging her perfectly rounded hips, Zayne was seeing stars.

  But the fury suede boots hugging her legs from her knees to her toes brought him back to earth. Those were a little too out-there for his taste. But what did he know? She was the fashionista. Twenty bucks said his mom owned a pair within the week.

  Roxy flicked his Stetson with her perfect nails. “My eyes are up here, Beefsteak.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Heat found its way from Zayne’s groin to his face. “Sorry. Got hung up on the big boo…boots.”

  “Don’t you have your own heirlooms to tend to?” Roxy tapped one Eskimo boot against the hardwood floor. “Your mom and I have work to do.”

  “Yes. We do.” His mom abandoned her self-guided tour through Raeve long enough to show Zayne to the door. “I’m going to the Neon Cowboy straight from Raeve, so I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Why don’t you just take it easy when you’re done here? ‘til you get used to this.” Zayne gestured to the boutique’s surroundings.

  “I’m thinking Zayne has a valid point,” Roxy butted-in.

  Now that’s a woman he could get used to, Zayne thought. One who said what she thought even when not asked. Well…when it helped his cause. But why was she rushing to his defense? Weren’t women supposed to stick up for each other in front of a man? Granted, Roxy wasn’t your normal woman. But she certainly wouldn’t take his side without a damn good reason.

  “You have a great staff at the saloon,” Roxy added.

  Continuing her push for him, stoked Zayne’s concern.

  “I’m sure they can handle things. Maybe we can grab an early dinner and go over your impressions of the boutique,” she offered.

  Zayne rubbed his temples, trying to relieve the pressure building into dizzying waves. One minute Roxy’s damn close to breaking her neck over his mom having anything to do with Raeve. Now, she’s soliciting her opinions.

  No wonder Zayne stuck to tomatoes and bootscootin’. The female hybrid confused the hell out of him.

  “Well…I’m sure the Neon Cowboy could manage without me for one night. Okay, then. Dinner it is. I know just the place,” Kat said.

  Apparently his mom was surprised too as she stuttered out an answer to Roxy’s impromptu invitation.

  “Guess you don’t need me in your way, ladies.” Zayne tipped his hat on his way out the door. “Don’t kill each other.”

  The flash firing from Roxy’s narrowing eyes put him back at ease.

  What he wouldn’t give again to be one of those damn dogs. They always got to stay around for the action.

  Chapter Ten

  Zayne scanned the benches of his dad’s greenhouse. Cell pack upon cell pack sat side-by-side, mourning their master’s death. The leggy bastards had figured out Zayne didn’t know them like his father had.

  Classified in the industry as family heirlooms, the seeds creating these tomato plants had been handed down five McDonald generations. But with Zayne’s inheritance, this could be their last dance. The plants probably feared they’d end up mystery heirloom tomatoes, unintentionally cross-pollinated because their new breeder didn’t know shit.

  Searching for the packs marked Red Rocket Brandywines, Zayne tightened his grip on his father’s note box. Making his way down and across the narrow bench rows, he reached the section reserved for the Brandywines. The mid-morning sun soaked through the glass ceiling, warming the tender plants but failing to energize Zayne for the task ahead.

  After losing his father, he’d promised himself he’d see through this year’s contest. But where was he going to get the vision and knowledge to make it happen? He’d certainly given up on finding enjoyment in the process.

  He tapped his fingers against the sides of the plastic box as if trying to wake an imaginary tomato genie. Maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough. ‘Course it would help if he knew where the hell to start.

  He pulled out the worn wooden stool from under his father’s workbench and placed it in front of the Brandywines, setting the card box on the stool’s chipped paint seat. Needing additional workspace, he moved several packs to an empty bench along the far wall of the greenhouse, making a mental note to return the trays to their original position before he left. If he didn’t, Cody would jump him. Not a good way to prove his devotion to the operation.

  Somehow he had to survive this crucial season. If he did and worked out the thin-skin issue — both his and the tomato’s — Zayne’s would be the fifth successful season of this particular seed. Making the McDonald Red Rocket Brandywine officially de-hybridized and welcome into the created heirloom class of tomatoes. A class full of financial possibilities.

  Based on what little he’d studied, if he wanted success, he’d have to grow the tomato true to what his dad had in mind. For the past four years, his old man had saved and replanted Brandywine seeds. If Zayne’s attempt this fifth season worked, he and his dad’s tomato would earn the right to be called an heirloom.

  By mastering his father’s hybri
d cross and winning the contest, the prize contract offered by Red Gold would belong to the McDonald farm. A new commercial grade, USDA quality hybrid tomato would be ready for the market. A tomato not sacrificing flavor for the uniformity in size necessary for packing and shipping. Just like his dad had planned, toiled and sweat buckets to achieve.

  If he used his dad’s cards right, not only would Zayne be ready to mass produce these bad boy Brandywines, but the seeds alone would sell for three thousand dollars per pound. Perhaps his mom, having seen his dad’s dream realized, would then agree to sell the farm and stay in the city where she seemed happiest.

  Without success, Zayne would never get her to leave the farm. Even though she’d never told him in exact words and would never force him to participate, he knew she wanted his dad’s dreams seen through. A fitting tribute to a guy who never accepted a challenge without finishing it. A win would free them both, bringing closure to his dad’s death and a forward momentum to their lives, lives stifled like the humid spring air hunkered down over their fields.

  Zayne shuffled through the card box, feeling like each card turned was a missed chance with his father. Maybe if he’d spent more time in the greenhouses with his dad instead of choreographing dance steps in the loft in the barn, the lump wedged in his throat wouldn’t be as bothersome.

  Reaching the section he needed, Zayne prayed he’d find the answers. If they weren’t in the cards, his dad’s vision was screwed. Just like his father’s plans for Zayne had gone unfulfilled ‘til now.

  Beyond the disgusting job of collecting seeds, Zayne knew nothing about growing tomatoes. To ensure these critters ripened into masterpieces, Zayne needed his dad’s notes on weather, soil condition and care methods. Any tricks preserved on these cards, like chemical solutions for foliage spraying, also wouldn’t hurt.