Bootscootin' Blahniks (2 page)

“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.