PRAISE FOR D. D. SCOTT’S BOOKS
Praise for The Bootscootin’ Books (BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS, STOMPIN’ ON STETSONS, and BUCKLES ME BABY):
“Wow! I loved this…The descriptions are so vivid and colorful it really feels like the reader’s going through the same wild rollercoaster ride…It’s a funny, sexy, sassy attitude of a read, and I can’t wait to get stuck into the next one.” —Sibel Hodge, author of The Amber Fox Mysteries
“I laughed from page one on…The author has a way with twisting phrases. Bootscootin’ was a delight. I’m loading up on her other books. She’s a shoe-in for one of my favorite chicklit authors.” —Barbara Silkstone, author of The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland Age 42 and Three-Quarters
“Are you ready for a really fun read? I hope so…So sit back and get ready to laugh.” —Karen Cantwell, author of Take The Monkeys and Run
“…who doesn’t need a laugh? Laugh ‘til you (you fill it in) with D. D. Scott’s BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS, and more…” —Steve Windwalker, Kindle Nation Daily
Praise for The Cozy Cash Mysteries (THUG GUARD and LIP GLOCK):
“As soon as I read her first book, “Bootscootin’ Blahniks,” I put all her books on my Kindle. They have it all … romance, high fashion, adorable animals, feisty women, gorgeous guys, quirky characters, good food, great dancing …. The ultimate escape without spending a fortune on a vacation.” —Pj Schott
“Packed with Punch…D.D. Scott has hit another one out of the park in her cross over into the mystery genre! I loved reading about the high-heeled, plastic badge toting Zoey Witherspoon. With her Naked Juice to help pump her up, and not to mention Roman as eye candy. Zoey’s two worlds collide forcing her to jet across the WORLD discovering new bodies and figuring out the who0-dun-it! Amazing! D.D is the QUEEN of chick-lit gone country with a mystery twist of cross pollinating!! A must read!! FIVE STARS!! —Tonya Kappes, Author of Splitsville.com
“WOW…What an Adventure…Zoey, Roman, Fashion Week in Europe and the bad guys chasing them. Makes for fun light reading. Great read for me after some heavy and deep murder mysteries. One needs a break and this is it. —Older but Wiser
“Who Needs Bourne When You’ve Got Zoey Witherspoon…Everyone in Hollywood packs a hyphen; you’ve got your writer-directors, your agent-producers and your actor-parking valets. Well, Zoey Witherspoon is a completely different kind of Hollywood Hyphenate. She’s a studio stylist-interior designer-P.I.
Picture Stephanie Plum here, but with a tall, dark and brooding Bond-type as her sidekick. Together, they’re hot on the trail of a Ponzi-scheming con man who makes Madoff look like a Filene’s bargain basement mark-down. Their trail takes them from Rodeo Drive to the Riviera, butting heads with everyone from crown royalty to the Russian mob.
This is one fast and furious, funny as H-E-Double Hockeysticks caper story, and I literally found my abs aching from laughter by the end of the first chapter. With books like Bootscootin’ Blahniks and Stompin’ on Stetsons under her belt, D.D. Scott is already a master at wise-cracking characters and action that moves as fast as any Ludlum flick. In fact, think of Zoey Witherspoon as Jason Bourne — with a good set of French tips and a designer holster for her Glock.
The difference is, D.D. is a master at making you laugh while both you and Zoey are hanging by your fingernails, over the edge of her latest cliff. Like a lot of the characters in D.D.’s latest book, Thug Guard just plain kills.
Buy it. Read it. Laugh your hindquarters off. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.” —Jeff Lee, Author of The Ladies Temperance Club’s Farewell Tour
I thoroughly enjoyed Thug Guard and instantly took a liking to lead protagonist Zoey Witherspoon. She’s sassy, witty and she’s also feisty and one tough chick. I also happen to be a big fan of The Rachel Zoe project and part of the reason this story appealed to me is because it has it all — mystery, suspense, humor, a HAWT hero (Roman was delightful) and Fashion Week! I’ve just hopped on board DD.Scott’s Cozy Cash Mysteries train and I’m enjoying the ride! Next stop — Lip Glock! —Lisa Lim, Author of Confessions of a Call Center Gal
D.D. Scott’s
Special Edition
Ebook Boxed Set
featuring
BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS, STOMPIN’ ON STETSONS, BUCKLES ME
BABY
THUG GUARD, LIP GLOCK
and FLUID FULFILLMENT
Featured Ebooks
BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS Copyright © 2010 by D. D. Scott
STOMPIN’
ON STETSONS Copyright © 2010 by D. D. Scott
BUCKLES ME BABY
Copyright © 2011 by D. D. Scott
THUG GUARD Copyright © 2011 by
D. D. Scott
LIP GLOCK Copyright © 2011 by D. D. Scott
FLUID
FULFILLMENT Copyright © 2011 by D. D. Scott
All titles copyright D.D. Scott. This compilation is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
Ebook design by 52 Novels
Smashwords Edition: December 2011
Contents
Bootscootin’ Blahniks | Stompin’ on Stetsons
Buckles Me Baby | Thug Guard | Lip Glock | Fluid Fulfillment
About the Author | Also by D. D. Scott
Note from D. D. Scott
Thanks to the request of all my superfab D. D. Scott-ville readers and fans, I’m bringing you this D. D. Scott Special Edition Ebook Boxed Set.
If you’re like me, when my peeps tell me about a new author, I want to read all the books by that author in order. That way, I never miss a thing about any of the characters and their lives between the pages.
With that in mind, I created this D. D. Scott Special Edition Ebook Boxed Set.
Now, you can one-click-buy my entire backlist and know the exact order in which to read the books — as that’s the order you’ll find them as you read through this collection.
I had a ball writing The Bootscootin’ Books and just couldn’t stand parting with all my quirky-crazy characters. So…I brought ‘em all along for my Cozy Cash Mysteries plus added-to my ensemble casts and zany crews.
In the mean time, I’ve had sooo many of you request new stories, featuring my Bootscootin’ Books and Cozy Cash Mysteries’ Mom Squad Characters, that I decided I’d treat y’all to short stories too!
Each short story will feature at least one of The Mom Squad quirky-crazy, blue-haired Charlie’s Angels wanna-be’s! You’ll get to meet their extended families PLUS learn the unique skill each Mom Squad Member has been trained-to by The Cozy Cash Mysteries’ QuarterMaster R.
And guess what?!
I’ve also included the first Mom Squad Mini-Mayhem Mystery in this Special Edition Ebook Boxed Set!!!
FLUID FULFILLMENT features Roxy’s mom Lily Vaughn, who some say is now fairly gifted in Ju-Jitsu.
This Boxed Set is the perfect gift to treat yourself to both my Bootscootin’ and my Cozy Cash Mystery Worlds.
In addition, it makes the perfect Kindle Gift Copy for all your peeps who love romantic comedies and comedic capers. If you haven’t tried out the Kindle Gift Copy Feature, check it out! Just go to the Amazon Page for this product and choose the option that says — Give as a Gift. All you need is your recipient’s email address.
And speaking of gifts and the 2011 Holiday Season…
What’s coming next to D. D. Scott-ville?
October
2011
LICENSED FOR LOVE — Mom Squad
Mini-Mayhem Mystery #2 — features Jules’ Aunt Tulip, who, rumor
has it, is now not just a sex therapist, but also a femme fatale.
Thanksgiving
2011
My first ever Cozy Cash Christmas
Novella — HULLABALOO AND HOLLY TOO — plus superfab Christmas
novellas from the amazing Tonya
Kappes, Lee
Lopez, and from across the pond (as in a
UK Author) Talli
Roland – all bundled-up for you in one
rockin’ Christmas Anthology — MADNESS UNDER THE MISTLETOE. I’m
over the moon for HULLABALOO AND HOLLY TOO — think Will and Kate
gone Bond, James Bond in The Grinch’s Who-ville.
Now
then…for 2012:
Rumor has it, you can
expect a Mom Squad Mini-Mayhem Mysteries Collection, as well as at
least three more Cozy Cash Mysteries and a couple other waaay
wonderful releases too!!!
Nothin’ beats treatin’ my readers and fans to great books for great prices!!!
So stay-in your comfy reading chairs and prepare to continue to LOL for months and years to come!!!
Happy Reading! —D. D. Scott
P.S. For all the fantabulous scoop on the upcoming books in my series, visit my website at http://www.DDScott.com and sign-up for my mailing list. And if this is your first D. D. Scott book, Welcome to my Bootscootin’ and Cozy Cash Mystery Worlds. Here are my books — in order — (in case, you’re like me, and prefer to read series in order):
BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS (Bootscootin’ Book #1)
STOMPIN’ ON STETSONS (Bootscootin’ Book #2)
BUCKLES ME BABY (Bootscootin’ Book #3)
THUG GUARD (Cozy Cash Mystery #1)
LIP GLOCK (Cozy Cash Mystery #2)
FLUID FULFILLMENT (Mom Squad Mini-Mayhem Mystery #1)
LICENSED FOR LOVE (Mom Squad Mini-Mayhem Mystery #2)
HULLABALOO AND HOLLY TOO (Cozy Cash Mystery Christmas Novella #1)
CARATS & COCONUTS (Cozy Cash Mystery #3, Coming in January 2012)
***And for you writer peeps, here’s my #1 Amazon Bestselling, On-Writing Book MUSE THERAPY: UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL***
Bootscootin’ Blahniks
Book One of the Bootscootin’ Series
“Line dance history is like human history — there’s
pre-history and then there is written history…”
Bill Bader
Chapter One
The nanosecond the light turned green, Roxy Rae Vaughn pressed the gas pedal toward the floorboard of her Mercedes. She didn’t have time to jack around. Her boutique opened in an hour. It took twenty-two more minutes to get there, thirty-three minutes to make everything perfect before she unlocked the doors for customers, and she counted on five minutes to spare. Apparently, the driver in the beat-up pick-up truck in front of her had all kinds of time for lollygagging. But she didn’t and took-up her speed another notch.
Dipstick yelped. His pudgy Puggles’ body slid across the passenger seat’s pashmina-covered, leather cushion then propelled off the heated lumbar rest. Not to be outdone by her litter brother, Darling whined from the backseat, followed by an odd, panic-laden pant.
A bit worried by her dogs’ unusual behavior, Roxy cracked the windows a smidgeon. Normally, her dogs were good riders. Perhaps they needed some fresh air. Maybe the stress in her life had reached her dogs too. She’d read that animals can sense their family’s upheaval. So yeah. Maybe that was it. She certainly had enough mayhem to share.
For starters, not every Fifth Avenue-raised woman gave it all up for Nashville Tennessee. But she did. And even though she was on the path to becoming the next starving artist, she was determined to make a success of her new life and her new boutique. Maybe she was crazy like her mother insinuated. Must be an inherited trait.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Roxy sighed, inhaling the possibilities ahead then exhaling her increasing trepidation. Her life was one gargantuan Maybe.
No wonder Dipstick and Darling were going ape-shit hoisting their bodies toward the top of the slit windows. They needed to come up for air too. Unfortunately for them, Roxy had also read that a ton of fresh, direct air wasn’t good for dogs. So no matter how much she admired their tenacity, they were only getting a tease of the Tennessee summer morning breeze. Roxy couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for hurting them or any animal.
Something else the driver in front of her obviously wasn’t aware of or the least bit conscientious about. His mangy mutt, although kind of cute in a disheveled take pity on me way, had free roam of the bed of his truck. Except for what looked to be tomatoes lined-up in well-used baskets, the man’s dog owned his space. Must be nice to have that kind of freedom. Scary. But nice.
“It’s okay, Babies,” Roxy attempted to soothe Dipstick and Darling. “Mommy’s right here. You love going to work with me. What’s wrong?”
In her rearview mirror, Roxy noticed Darling moving her snout in large circles followed by loud, disturbing smacks of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. And was that a bit of frothy drool bubbling around her muzzle? What the hell was going on?
Roxy stole another quick peek in the mirror then glanced back to the road in case Grandpa Jones slowed down again. Another paranoid look in the mirror revealed Darling was now anxiously pawing at the cashmere blanket covering the backseat as if trying to find a perfect spot to…
Like lightening punctuating the green screen of a budget-pinched movie set, Roxy mentally story-boarded the grotesque scene coming to fruition. She finally understood the red herring for what it was. “Oh no, Darling. Don’t do that to Mommy. We’re almost to the boutique. Please wait, Honey. Not in the car.”
Roxy pounded her fist against the steering wheel, silently cursing her luck. Her determination to live and succeed outside her once classy, now chick-gone-country, lifestyle seemed to kick her in the ass every choice she made.
Darling made a larger-than-life whimper then let loose a super smoothie-sized barrage of pre and partially-digested cheap dog treats — all over Roxy’s backseat.
Between the agonizing sounds of her poor sick Puggles and the stench, Roxy was thrown for a loop her stomach and nerves were at a loss to rectify. Before she could get her wits about her, Dipstick took his turn at bat and went nuts in the front seat. He paced the floorboard. Jumped back into the seat. Then pounced into Roxy’s lap and out again, his anxiety-heavy yips and yaps turning into awful half wails, half barks before dissolving into fits of desperately help-me-please, my-little sis-back-there-just-majorly-heaved growls.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Roxy reached out to comfort him. Evidently, however, Darling needed her master’s touch too. Hanging her wet muzzle over Roxy’s arm, she whimpered then sneezed sending God only knew what else blowing out her nose.
Although abhorred by the unfolding drama, Roxy’s heart filled with pity for her ill puppy and wigged out partner-in-mischief. Composing her psyche for her latest challenge, Roxy searched the street ahead for a decent place to pull-over. Good thing she’d taken this alternate route to work. Not much traffic traveled this old road. And thank God today was no different regarding that now vital detail. It appeared she’d have a good spot just up the road a tad.
“There there, guys. It’s okay. Hang with me just a wee bit longer and we’ll get you cleaned up,” she coached the dogs, having no unearthly clue how exactly she was going to do that.
Never one for organization, she could only hope while God was hee-hawing about her predicament, he’d have the decency to pitch down a roll of paper towels or produce a magical box of tissue. She couldn’t have fallen that far from grace. Could she?
She may have gone against her parent’s orders, at the tender age of thirty-four, and moved eight hundred eighty-six miles away from their Manhattan penthouse. But she’d just wanted to make it on her own, instead of thriving embarrassingly well thanks to their over-charitable hand-outs.
Her current string of luck, however, was turning out to be way beyond bad-karma overkill. She couldn’t imagine what wrath would befall someone who’d actually done something unreasonable and wrong.
Increasingly shallow pants and gross gurgles once again consumed Darling’s body and brought Roxy very much back to her less-than-stellar situation. She hit the panic button.
“Nooooooooooo…” Before the air even left her lungs carrying her message in a Hollywood-worthy cartoon voice-over, Darling was at it again.
Roxy grabbed the pashmina from the passenger seat and used it as a shield, making an impressively decent effort to keep the latest party foul from landing on her neck, shoulders, and vintage-inspired couture t-shirt. Needing an emergency exit and fast from the roadway, she punched the brakes. But instead of a Nascar-qualifying pit stop, the heel of her Blahnik caught between the floor mat and the accelerator, forcing her car square into the rear-end of Grandpa Jones’ truck. Riding out the impact in bumper car fashion, the two vehicles careened off the side of the road and came to an abrupt stop.
“Damn.” Roxy lowered her head against the wheel, forgetting to make sure none of Darling’s snacks had taken up residence prior to her landing. “I’m such an idiot. How could I have thought I could make it on my own? I can’t even drive to work.”
A hullabaloo of noise emanated not only from her dogs going canine crazy after the crash but also from Grandpa’s mutt sounding off too. Roxy wished with everything in her she was just an unwitting participant in some way too vivid nightmare. Taking a deep breath, the stench from the car filled her nostrils and brought her oh-so-back to reality.
Oh, God. What if the guy is hurt? Or what if his dog is too? Roxy jerked her head from the wheel so fast a dizzy fog overtook her mind. She may have much more to worry about than coming up with cash to fix her car and Grandpa’s truck. She could have injured him — and his dog too.
She rested her head once more on the steering wheel. Images of Judy Garland swirled through her mind in Technicolor splendor, as if she, Roxy Rae, cowgirl wannabe, not Dorothy, were on her way to Munchkin Land in the midst of a tornado. She could hear the Wicked Witch taunting her and her “little dogs too”.
She shouldn’t have tried to save a few bucks buying Dipstick and Darling the tractor supply store’s off-brand treats. Look where that had gotten her. How could such financially responsible, terrific ideas end up going so wrong?
She took a chance and looked away from the wheel at what she was convinced would be another nightmare in front of her. But she couldn’t see through the smoke rising from underneath the crumpled hood of her way-too-pricy, compliments-of-Daddy sedan. She’d wanted a pick-up truck and gotten a Mercedes. Go figure. Luxury was the Vaughn M.O. But only a recessive trait in Roxy’s genetic make-up. If she didn’t look so much like her dad, she’d swear she was adopted.
Trying to peer through the haze, she panicked. She still couldn’t see Grandpa or his dog.
A brisk tap against her driver’s side window sent her heart racing like a Triple Crown champion. She was sure she’d look through the glass only to find the man and his dog dripping with blood. She shivered. She’d seen way too many scary movies cuddled-up alongside one nanny after another.
Afraid to take another deep breath for fear on the inhale she’d succumb to the hurl hell surrounding her, she looked through the window.
Grandpa Jones had morphed into a hunky-hot cowboy, complete with a sexy-as-all-hell square jaw. A single strand of straw precariously dangled from his sinfully ornery grin. And one lock — one beautiful lock — of unruly, jet black hair fell over his beyond flirtatious, dark mocha eyes.
Roxy’s insides shook, but this time not from fear or exasperation. Perhaps God was guffawing at her misstep. But Roxy might just have the last laugh. It seemed her luck had changed.
Chapter Two
Roxy fumbled to lower her window and unlock the doors. Something she never would have done at a stranger’s beckoning when she lived in Manhattan. Once considering such precautions a survival instinct, the instincts now heightening her pheromones were of something else entirely. Yeah, they were survival instincts, but survival as in procreation, survival of the fittest, take-me-straight-to-your-bed tactics. And taking stock of the denim drawn tight across this guy’s groin, she’d love to survive long enough to get a feel for such Darwinian urges.
“Are you okay?” The sultry-sweet, Southern cowboy formed the question never allowing the straw to slip from between his gorgeous teeth.
“Yes. Yes. I’m fine. But what about you and your dog?”
“We’re fine,” he said then smiled in that way a guy does when he thinks a girl’s cute but stupid.
Well she was stupid and deserved his cocky, smug grin.
“God, I’m soooo sorry. I went to press the brake and my damn heel caught under my accelerator.” Roxy started to step out of the car, only to realize after inquiring about the cowboy’s dog that she had two of her own to secure. “Wait. Let me try to find my dogs’ leashes. They’re not used to being out without them.”
What was she thinking setting herself up like this, she chided her go-for-the-gusto self while searching the back floors. Growing up in Manhattan, even if on the privileged Upper East Side, meant this kind of innate trust in mankind eluded her. On a gut level, though, without knowing why, and while still wandering what the hell was wrong with her, Roxy wanted to get to know this absurdly slow-driving but sexy-down-to-his-scuffed-boots cowboy.
Too bad her miserable luck had her sitting in her dogs’ cheap treat rejection asylum. Real attractive meet-and-greet, Vaughn. Way to impress the finest male specimen you’ve seen. Rear-end him while covered in nothing close to a sweetly seductive French perfume. Nice. Real nice, Ace.
“Let me help you,” the cowboy said, a deep and husky but warm and inviting drawl smothering his offer. He opened the back door of her car. “Yikes, you’ve got yourself one helluva mess, Princess.”
He covered his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his plaid flannel work shirt. “I’m not real good with the whole puke thing but I’ll give it a go.”
His kindness — given Roxy’s failure to provide him with anything worthy of it — tugged at her heart and conscience. Why would he want to rescue a mess like her plus the one to which her dogs contributed?
Her city chick luxury sedan may have stereotyped her as way too upper-class sophisticated to deal with this kind of secrets-of-the-body humiliation, but she wasn’t too persnickety or helpless to see her way through this catastrophe. Judging by the cowboy’s truck full of tomatoes and the fact he chewed straw instead of gum, he was a farm boy, and should be well-suited for dirty, clean-up jobs. But he’d indicated dog puke wasn’t his forte. And it certainly wasn’t his responsibility. It was all hers. She’d hit his truck pretty darn hard, almost hurt his dog and hers too. This was her baby to make all better…somehow.
The least she could do was keep her inner, spoiled-rotten childhood appearance — if-I-make-a-mess-someone-else-my-parents-pay-not-so-well-will-clean-it-up — hidden, conjure up some guts and a super-strong stomach, then pitch-in and tackle her latest upset. Given what she’d done, the cowboy of her dreams was certainly more than considerate. If at all in the realm of possibility, she wanted to reciprocate and redeem herself.
“Okay. Look, uhm, let’s try this again. What’s your name?” She asked while searching her glove box for extra napkins.
“Zayne. Zayne McDonald. And you are?” He asked then turned his head away from her, sucked up some fresh air, and recomposed his attention, albeit still with his shirt covering his nose and mouth.
“I’m Roxy and well…horribly humiliated by the circumstances under which we’ve met…to significantly understate it. But yeah…this kind of scenario…soooo not right by a long-shot…seems to be my destiny lately,” she said twisting in her seat, still scrounging the back floor for the leashes she’d made for her dogs.
Finding them, she retrieved both, handing them to Zayne. “If you wouldn’t mind looking after Dipstick and Darling, I can try to clean up some of this. Although with what, I’m not sure.”
She rummaged the open glove compartment again, only to find one lousy, crumpled up Fido’s napkin stuck to her vehicle owner’s manual.
“If it helps, since I’m sharing in your bit of hell, I’ll tell you a secret. You’re not alone. This is a mutual humiliation. I’m actually quite embarrassed for you,” Zayne said, then chuckled before removing his flannel sleeves one-by-one leaving farm-rippled muscles in their wake. “Here, use my shirt.”
He took the leashes while Roxy handed him her squiggly dogs. “My shirt, though, ain’t gonna do much for that disaster.”
He hooked each dog to a leash. “What the hell made them so sick?”
“Me trying to be a cheap ass, I suppose,” Roxy said, highly disgusted and growing more so each minute at the beyond catastrophic result of her attempt to conserve money she desperately needed. “I saved two whole dollars a box by trying an off-brand. Not a very good return on investment. You think?”
“What I think, Princess,” Zayne said stepping further away from the car, “is that you’re a snazzy-dressed lady in a Mercedes. Why would you be interested in saving a couple bucks?”
Roxy opened both driver’s-side doors, not just to air out the putrid odor but to come up for air after Zayne’s question. Her mind stumbled on the implications of his inquiry. How much should she tell him? She certainly didn’t want his pity or, worse yet, his charity. But how was she going to pay for the damage she’d caused?
He’d asked a fair question, she thought, while composing a decent answer that didn’t give him her entire, pathetic sob story. Truth be known, part of her, a very small part, wanted to give in and cry on his well-toned shoulders. But the Vaughn pride she’d inherited would in no way let that happen, regardless of Zayne’s great biceps. No Vaughn showed weakness.
“I’m a new entrepreneur in town, and I’ve put all my cash into my boutique,” she said, feeling a twinge of remorse at the painful acknowledgement she was tapped out of financial resources. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Sorry if I stepped on your pretty feet, Princess,” Zayne said, finagling the straw around his tantalizingly, taught-drawn lips, “but your financial standings are a bit of a concern to me now that you’ve damn near totaled my truck.”
“I in no way totaled your piece of junk truck. And you know it. That thing is far from being a show piece.” Roxy got out of her car and shot him a warning glare to back off. The fact he had a point regarding her debt to him didn’t matter…much. She didn’t like the way his sarcasm mocked her perfectly-coordinated shoes.
She’d done her best since moving to Music City to cover up her privileged upbringing. Her shoes may be a tad fancier than seen on most Music City women’s feet, but they were at least three run-way seasons old, maybe more. She’d lost track trying to save up enough money to move down here. Looks could be deceiving, and she liked them that way.
She’d certainly adapted her wardrobe to Nashville’s bootscootin’ world. Hell…she wore jeans just about every day. No couture, private label collections either. She cut her own. But she still made sure her clothes showcased the same sexy, sassy edge as the apparel she designed for her boutique. She couldn’t afford to rent high-in-the-sky signage. Not now. She had to be her own walking billboard.
That being said, the Mercedes was a strong hint of her past. She definitely got that. But the damn thing was paid for, and if she wanted to purchase the gemstones she needed to finish her signature belt buckles, she couldn’t afford a vehicle payment. Except for the car, she’d managed fairly well to blend in, although she still preferred her stilettos — even if they were old — to cowboy boots on the dance floor. But she did have killer boots…just in case she changed her mind.
Shit. At the thought of her favorite boots being in the backseat with Darling, Roxy just about lost what little gumption she had left. “Oh, God. Not my boots too. Why couldn’t the dog have annihilated a pair of stilettos? I got plenty of those. Shit. Not my only dancing boots.”
Roxy pushed her way past Zayne and the dogs who had unwittingly gathered to sufficiently block her inside her smelly sedan. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get my checkbook, and we can work this out.”
Tears stung her eyes while she rummaged past her soiled boots and into her stained Valenciaga bag for her checkbook. But the tears weren’t from Darling’s regurgitated treats. The raw emotion and steel defiance she fought to keep in check were from the thought of having to ask her father to pad her account to cover her and Zayne’s vehicle repairs. With her miniscule balance, she couldn’t even afford to replace her boots and still make her monthly bills. So much for continuing to enjoy nights on the dance floor bootscootin’ away her worries.
She’d put everything she had into opening her boutique. Wanting to save for the kind of rainy, puking dog days she faced now hadn’t been an option. She’d gone for the gusto. And now, because of her go-for-broke choices, she’d been bitten in the ass yet again.
Before she knew why or considered the consequences of her actions, Roxy tossed her checkbook back into her ruined couture bag. “You know, I just don’t have the kind of cash to cover this. Could you just send me a bill? I’ll see that my father takes care of you. He’s more than good for the money.”
Zayne — who’d originally turned his head in a surprised tilt as if impressed by her determination to handle her debt on her own — looked just as quickly at his feet. He scuffed his boots against the dirt and gravel berm of the road.
“Okay. I know that’s a cop-out,” Roxy said, not liking his silent judgment but unequivocally agreeing with his disdain for and disrespect of her proposed solution.
“I never said that,” Zayne began what was probably supposed to be an earnest rebuttal, although without the convincing tone to back his words.
“You didn’t have to say anything, Cowboy. I’ve spent a lifetime looking at my feet when I’m not impressed by or disappointed in what or who’s in front of me,” Roxy countered, somewhat relieved Zayne shared her self-reliant values. He might be open to working with her to make things right between them. Maybe she wouldn’t have to involve her parents.
“Why don’t we turn this accident into our insurance and let them handle it?” Zayne suggested, trying to unwrap Dipstick and Darling’s leashes from the tangled mess they’d wound around and through his legs.
Ever since he’d hooked the dogs to their leashes, they’d been doing their own dance around Zayne, trying to escape his dog who’d kept occupied by sniffing their butts. Roxy should actually thank and praise the dogs for keeping Zayne as her captive audience. It didn’t look like he’d be leaving her any time soon.
“How about we just get estimates for now so we know what all this will come to? We can discuss our options after that.” Roxy knew the damage wouldn’t amount to any less later but postponing the reality would buy time to re-evaluate her finances. She had to find another way to make things right with Zayne. Being barely in the black wouldn’t amount to an unexpected windfall any day soon, but at this point, time could only help her adjust to the pain.
“We can do that. Sure. But how are you going to get your car home?” Zayne asked, shoving his large, sun-kissed hands into the pockets of his body-hugging blue jeans. “I’ve got a buddy that can tow it if you’d like. For nothing.”
Roxy didn’t like how quickly Zayne added the ‘for nothing’. She already felt like a fool for hinting at her cash-strapped duress. But she shouldn’t, she silently harrumphed, attempting to bolster her bruised ego. She’d never been afraid of the truth, and being on a dangerously thin financial tightrope was her truth. For now. If Zayne didn’t like it or at least appreciate her for leveling with him, then he wasn’t worth getting to know.
“If you could arrange for a tow, I’d be grateful. I’m already way late for work, and I certainly can’t afford to lose customers,” Roxy said, looking at her watch.
Now there’s an idea, she thought, studying the fine Swiss Quartz Movement of her diamond-studded Movado. She congratulated herself for her quick-thinking prowess. She could sell her watch on e-Bay. That just might pay for the vehicle damage. She made a mental note to research what the watch was worth. A firm believer in where there’s a will there’s some slightly off way to make it happen, she could now relax a bit.
“Let me get my phone from the truck, and I’ll make a quick call. Then I’ll get you to work,” Zayne said, beginning to untangle Dipstick and Darling from between his long, lean, muscle-sculpted legs.
“I can wait on your friend to take me,” Roxy offered, although the idea of sitting alone along the side of the road in Hurlville waiting on another stranger didn’t sound real appealing.
“Nonsense. I’m on my way to my saloon anyway, so I’ll take you. Where’s your boutique?” He asked, handing her the dogs and their leashes.
Roxy’s throat constricted. She still had trouble admitting the location she’d found for Raeve. But Zayne already knew she was going for broke so probably wouldn’t think anything of the fact that she was also a bit real estate-challenged.
“Well…the temporary home for Raeve, and I emphasize temporary, is in the rear corner of the tractor supply store on the west end of town,” she said, not feeling an ounce of the relief she thought she should for being honest about the current status of her affairs.
Zayne, to his credit, took a moment before responding, although Roxy caught the smallest of smiles trying its best to remain hidden beneath his all-too-apparent amusement. As he seemed to struggle to find an appropriate response, his steadfast but sincere gaze never left her eyes.
“Raeve, huh? I know the place well. Boy will Mom get a kick out of this,” he said, the huge grin he’d been hiding now out in all its hot glory.
“Your Mom?” How had his mom entered the conversation, Roxy mused, although she did love a man who openly adored his Mom. That is, if the mom was far, far different than hers.
“Does the name Kat ring a bell?”
“Kat? Well…yes. As in Kat McDonald? Of course. Your last names. McDonald and McDonald. So Kat’s your mom, huh?” Roxy couldn’t believe the beyond stylish woman who frequented Raeve could have a child Zayne’s age. He had to be close to her soon-to-be thirty-five. And Kat didn’t look much over forty-five to fifty on a bad day. Not that she really seemed to have any bad days either. She was a hoot. Always fun and filled with more energy than Roxy had ever witnessed in constant motion.
“Yep, she’s my mom and probably one of your best customers,” Zayne said, the love and pride he felt for Kat lighting his face.
Roxy’s chest filled with a warm spirit. Must be such a treat to have a parent like that, she thought. Her soul then twisted into a strong knot knowing she’d never know.
“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.
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.