Bootscootin' Blahniks (24 page)

In one swift, rhythmic movement that registered close to double digits on the seismic scale, his stomach and groin flexed.

“ I’m fairly certain we’d be arrested for public indecency,” Zayne said, his voice shaky as he struggled to keep from sweeping her out of the store and straight home into his bed. “See you at the saloon around 4:30.”

Roxy nodded her head in agreement. A mischievous twinkle replaced the sultry waves in her eyes.

Zayne silently vowed to make the waves return.

He readjusted his hat — because he couldn’t think of anything else to do — then ground his boots into the sawdust clumped together in the wake of Damian’s drill. “All righty then. I should be going. I’ve got to check with Cody on a few things at the farm before I teach you the ropes at the saloon.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Roxy said, her voice catching as she looked to the floor. Suddenly she preferred drawing shapes in the sawdust with the toe of her boot instead of looking at him. “Maybe we’ll have time to work-in a dance.”

“That would be nice.” Damn if Zayne didn’t feel heat rising up his neck, probably because he’d never taken off his Carhartt. Who was he kidding? He should stop making lame ass excuses. He couldn’t
think
about this woman without overheating, let alone stand next to her.

Hmmm
. Seeing her fidget with her shirt collar was interesting, Zayne thought. After suggesting they take a spin across the floor, she almost looked a little nervous. Roxy Vaughn. Shy. Now there was a twist. What an enigma. She was a puzzle Zayne was having a hard time piecing together. But he was growing more intrigued by each piece that didn’t fit.

Roxy reached up on her toes, almost bumping her nose against his. “I knew there was another reason I prefer heels.”

She closed her mouth around his and melted into him. Instead of satisfying him, though, her tender and suggestive kiss made him want more. Much more. His muscles ached to move on top of her. He’d imagined a million times how her fluid curves would align with his body.

“Okay, lovebirds. Break it up,” Audrey said, tapping Roxy’s shoulder.

Zayne could feel Audrey’s playfully persistence taps too. His body’s closeness to Roxy’s conducted the same sensations between them, making him feel what she experienced. Too bad he wanted closer still and couldn’t go there right now.

“Roxy, I need your opinion over here. And Zayne, Cody’s probably at the farm cussing you,” Audrey said.

When Zayne’s eyes left Roxy’s, and the air once again surfaced between them, he found his mother watching them. Her face was stoic and proud albeit a bit sad, the same way she looked at him when he was a boy and he’d crossed a major milestone or achievement. Appearing both thrilled for his success while trying hard to let him go. Her eyes said ‘I’m proud and happy for you but already missing you like crazy.’

“Leave your boots on tonight, Princess,” Zayne said as he backed away from Roxy, shining an internal spotlight on a chance at building a future with her. “I’ve got a new song we’re going to try.”

R
oxy had decided from the get-go the best way she could help Zayne and Kat was by staying out of The Neon Cowboy’s kitchen. Sitting on a stool, watching Jules work her magic on the saloon’s dinner fare, confirmed Roxy had made the right call. Her head rang to the clang of pots and pans. Her nerves belonged on the chopping block with the carrots.

“Hand me that colander, would you?” Jules asked, never taking her eyes off the pickles she was slicing with an obscenely large knife.

Roxy searched the stainless steel countertops.

“That would be the large bowl with the holes in the bottom,” Jules said then giggled. “How do you live on your own and manage to eat?”

“Ever heard of a microwave?” Roxy handed Jules the colander and helped herself to a pickle slice.

“I thought you didn’t like pickles.” Jules eyed Roxy with suspicion.

“They’re growing on me.” Roxy crunched on the slice, proud she didn’t quiver when the juice attacked her tongue. “So what’s on the menu?”

“
You
worry about the gift corral and chat-up the customers. Cody and I will take care of the food,” Jules said as she rinsed the bowl of pickles under the faucet.

“I know where I’m needed. Trust me. I was simply hoping Kat’s barbecued pulled pork was the special. That stuff’s fantastic.” Even by working at the saloon for the next three months, Roxy wouldn’t get tired of the dish’s tangy, sweet zip. She’d enjoy several meals and reheated leftovers on that entrée.

“You’re right. Cody let me sample the sauce last night. It is pretty tasty.” Jules licked her lips and kissed her fingers with the dramatic flare of the French-schooled chef she was. “Bellissimo.”

Okay. So maybe she was Italian-schooled.
Whatever
. Regardless of which international cuisine she specialized in, Jules rocked it in the kitchen.

Roxy chomped on another bite of pickle, her curiosity heating up like the saloon’s ovens. “What do you mean last night?”

“Cody had me stop by his parent’s Meat N’ Three for dinner. The sauce Kat uses is actually their recipe.”

Roxy couldn’t miss the pride covering Jules’ face or the crimson blush flooding her cheeks. Evidently, she didn’t have to worry about Jules and Cody getting along in the kitchen. Jules’ upbeat demeanor, glowing skin and he-took-me-home-to-meet-the-parents boast meant more than food was cooking.

“What’s a Meat N’ Three?” Roxy asked.

“You don’t know about places like The White Trash Café? The Loveless Café? Or Cody’s parent’s Lunch Box Cafe?” Jules shook her head in frustration then tucked a piece of loose hair underneath her Chanel skullcap. “I swear, Roxy, you’re the one who’s lived here half the year. Don’t you go anywhere besides this joint?”

“I told you I eat in. I can’t afford to dine out without my parent’s
allowance
,” Roxy said attempting to push back the anxiety of her financial reality with humor.

Not that Roxy minded eating-in. The posh spots she used to frequent in Manhattan seemed like a lifetime ago and way too pretentious for her tastes now. But she wouldn’t worry Jules any further by elaborating on the sour details that could mean her days in Nashville were numbered.

“So take pity on me and tell me about a Meat N’ Three,” Roxy said.

Jules poured more oil into a huge deep fryer and turned up the heat. “They’re these terrific dive diners where you get one or two meat choices and three side dishes for like $6.95. Can you believe that? A whole meal for $6.95.”

“I can even afford that. I’ll have to ask Zayne to take me.” The thought came out way too fast, and Jules was sure to pick up on Roxy’s subconscious slip.

“If you’d rather have Zayne take you than Audrey and I, fine. I wouldn’t choose us over him either.” Jules dumped the pickles into the fryer, jumping back to avoid the hissing drops of oil escaping the boiling hell.

“Choose who over you?” Cody barreled through the swing door separating the service and prep area from the back of the kitchen. “Who’d be that dumb? Did I just say that out loud?”

He maneuvered a large pot of barbecue sauce off the countertop next to Jules then around the work tables to the furthest of four commercial stoves along the back wall.

“You sure did. But don’t apologize, or I’ll take back the brownie point you earned.” Jules followed Cody and his sauce pot, sticking her finger in the pot for a taste. “Mmmm Mmmm. Yowzies that’s good. I’ve got to have your dad show me his secret.”

“Fat chance, Sweetie. I don’t even know the recipe.” Cody set the pot on the stove, covered it with a lid and cranked-on one of the dials. Taking a towel out of his back pocket, he wiped off a dab of sauce that had splashed onto his hands.

Seeing Jules bent over taking bread out of an oven, Cody studied her backside, a crooked smile escaping his lips. Moving his mouth in a silent whistle, he turned his attention to Roxy. “How’s everything look in the dining room? We have to have it perfect. Or when Zayne gets here, he’ll freak then never stay at the farm long enough to win that damn contest.”

“Okay. I think,” Roxy said. “I checked every place-setting myself on both the main floor as well as the balcony high-top tables.”

She picked up the clipboard holding the list Kat had made for her. Several items still needed to be completed before the dinner crowd arrived. Roxy’s nerves wiggled like Jell-o unaccustomed to a new mold.

“I’ll have the gift shop open in a few minutes. The bartenders should be checking stock and preparing garnishments,” she said, checking off the items.

Excitement surged through her with each completed task. She was close to opening the saloon’s main doors.

“You’re on it, Chick.” Cody squeezed her shoulder on his way past with a stack of steaming dinner plates straight from the dishwasher.

After filling the appropriate slots in the serving line with the clean plates, he dabbed at the moisture on his face with the barbecue-stained towel, leaving a red, gooey smear across his cheek.

“Zayne may not tell you, but I know it means a great deal to have all of us working the saloon. I don’t know what he’s gonna do if he can’t find a way to win that contest. And with Kat’s health, he’s not sure where he needs to be when.”

Cody fished through a rolling cart of cooking utensils, snagging a wooden spoon.

“You’re doing right by him, Rox. Don’t let him convince you otherwise,” he said, stirring the sauce pot.

Jules wiped Cody’s cheek then tossed the soiled towel into a nearby hamper. “Why wouldn’t Zayne appreciate Roxy’s efforts? She’s busting her ass and ours to help him. He should be kissing hers.”

“Zayne’s like his dad that way. And his mom too, for that matter. They’re not comfortable with people helping them.” Cody handed Jules the next stack of dishes from the dishwasher. “Now, me, on the other hand, I’m fine with the concept.”

“Lucky me,” Jules said with feigned sweetness easily understood for the eat-shit manner she’d intended.

Along with the sauce Cody continued stirring, Roxy’s stomach pitched and rolled. She knew all about not wanting help. But she’d learned from the McDonalds themselves that it was okay and necessary to accept it on occasion.

“Speaking of Zayne,” Cody nodded his head toward the door closing-off the saloon from the kitchen. “I hear music coming through the speakers. He’s here.”

Roxy’s heart jumped ahead a few quick beats then slowed to a waltz. Knowing Zayne shared the same space made the room spin. Her appetite, moments before, bordering on ravenous, was now nil. The feelings Zayne stirred in her were both maddening and exciting in the same gut-wrenching twists.

Jules took away Roxy’s clipboard.

Judging by the annoyed smirk plastered on her friend’s face, Roxy must have been tapping the board against the tabletop. She probably had been. She often took to drumming objects when unnerved.
And damn
. Zayne had her whipped.

“Get a grip, girl. I’ve never seen you like this,” Jules whispered with her back turned to Cody. “I’m used to you being the strong one.”

Jules pointed to Cody then looked back at Roxy. “What are these cowboys doing to us? We used to give second looks only to men in Armani.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Roxy agreed, quickly covering her lips with a fresh coat of gloss from the tube she’d tucked into her apron pocket.

She was barely able to steady her hand and keep the wand out of her nose.

“Yeah. Ain’t it though?” Jules imitated Roxy’s Tennessee twang then giggled. “Listen to us. We’re becoming regular Dixie chicks.”

Jules followed Cody into the walk-in refrigerator leaving Roxy behind with her girl band metaphor.

If only Roxy had an opportunity to cool-off before going to meet Zayne, but she didn’t have a logical reason to enter the refrigerator. Hell, she really had no reason to open the one she had at home. Except to retrieve leftovers.

Yeah
. She was some Dixie chick. None she’d seen sipped martinis and line danced in Blahniks. They downed beer and bootscooted. Roxy had a long way to go to melt into the Music City pot.

She may not be able to down beer, but dancing was one part of her new life Roxy not only did well but kicked the Southern chicks back into their henhouses. She looked down at her cocoa-colored suede boots, turning her foot to admire the hand-tooled patterns. Kat was a doll to have let her borrow them.
Yep
. She’d traded in the Blahniks. Time she put these boots to work.

She pushed open the double doors of the kitchen and walked out into the main dining room, careful not to let the huge monstrosities swing back and tag her in the ass.

With each thump of her boot against the floor, Roxy found extra courage to ride out her convictions. Even though her parents thought she was nuts and in need of a therapist, she’d prove she could make it without their high-dollar backing.

Then she’d pass her magic, fried pickle- stained boots — kind of like a “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” pact — to Jules. Who, by the looks of things cooking in the kitchen, could be the next city girl to be country fried.

Oops. Country-fied.

So maybe Roxy did need a therapist.

A
s Roxy neared the dance floor, conflicting voices sparred in her head.

The voice of ultimate seduction stated the facts. Yes, Zayne was a handsome, talented cowboy. And yes, standing as he was, alone on the floor, a well-defined silhouette under a single spotlight, her body grew taut with desire.

He moved his body side to side, mirroring the beat of the soft Chesney ballad playing.

Yes, no doubts. Zayne was Roxy’s Urban Cowboy. All she needed was a mechanical bull and a license plate for the rear window of Zayne’s truck that read ‘Texas Sissy.’

Roxy’s voice of reason screamed out from another cranial lobe. So what if helping Zayne was distracting her from her designs and Raeve? So what if he wasn’t from a gene pool belonging to her parents’ country club in The Hamptons? So what if she’d found love in the “wrong” place? She’d looked in all the “right” places and remained single. The voice of reason could blow itself, she concluded.