Bootscootin' Blahniks (8 page)

The yard was the stage for a canopied eating area including, of all things, a lit chandelier suspended over an antique wrought-iron table and chairs. Roxy had also meticulously landscaped and lit a cutting garden with a majestic, lion-head fountain anchored in the center of a reflecting pool.

Except for the lion, the scene offered a softer side of Roxy he’d never imagined existed. And never would have believed unless he’d seen it with his own eyes. The woman was a dichotomy of morally opposing forces, but he was crazy about the mix.

“You never answered me, did you? How did ya know about Puggles?” Speaking of a lion, damn if she didn’t have an intercom piped into the backyard too.

“My mom wants one, but I haven’t found one for under six hundred bucks.” Zayne leaned over to praise the dogs for doing their deeds. “Hell, I only gave the pound twenty-five for Studley Pete.”

All he could hear from the intercom was a series of guffaws followed by choking bursts of hysterics.

“Now what the hell’s so funny?”
I should have only given her one pill
.

“Stud…ley Peeete. That name still cracks me up. Now…there’s one…hell-uv-a name for a mutt.” Roxy sniffled then blew her nose, evidently while she was still holding down the talk button.

Nice
.
Sexy too
.

“He happens to be one fine dog, Princess. And you know he has a huge crush on you.” Zayne thought of his mixed-breed friend patiently waiting by his back door. Yeah, that’d be the day. Who was he kidding? That dog was sprawled out on his bed, reveling in the extra room afforded him by his master’s absence.

Maybe he’d stick with a pound rescue for his mom too. He still had misgivings about getting her a Puggle. Puggles were sweet-tempered, affectionate cuddlers. Qualities no one would use to describe his mom. Or Roxy, for that matter. Although her dogs seemed pretty damn happy. And so did she, now that she was drugged.

With their duties done, Zayne took the dogs back into the house. While they bee-lined for the study, he went to the kitchen to fix a new ice pack. Taking ice out of the stainless steel side-by-side, he noticed a picture of Roxy and two other girls stuck to the front of the frig with a “I ‘heart’ NY” magnet. He leaned-in closer to the photo, zeroing-in on Roxy’s image, letting her smile melt the frost blasting from the still open freezer.

The photo must have been taken at last year’s Wine on the River because each girl held the event’s signature wine glass. On the historic Shelby Street Pedestrian Bridge, with the sun setting over the downtown Nashville skyline, Roxy appeared angelic. Must have been the wine.

Zayne had been there that night too. Regret chipped at his mind thinking he’d never run into her.

At his mother’s insistence, he’d attended the event because the proceeds went to an organization of merchants and residents of Broadway, Second Avenue and Printers Alley. With The Neon Cowboy in the 100 block of Second Avenue, Kat offered him no outs. But to be fair, she was right.

Anything that meant good business for the saloon was okay with him. Anything that meant his mom’s happiness was also okay with him. Anything that meant less time on the farm was beyond okay with him.

His granddad’s and dad’s tomatoes had never given him the buzz his mom’s saloon did. Blame it on the linedancing. Blame it on the casual, slower-paced lifestyle the saloon celebrated. Blame it on the break it offered to the area’s hard-working cowboys and farmers. Whatever the reason, The Neon Cowboy energized him more than any tomato hybrid.

He traced Roxy’s outline in the photo, letting his fingers run the edges of her curves, wishing it was her in the flesh letting his hands wander. But at this point of their relationship, her photo was all he was going to get, other than a dance partner two nights a week.

Damn, he was a genius at times. Like he gave a shit if the dents she’d put in his tomato truck were repaired. What he wanted was a chance to get to know the woman. He had a feeling there was a lot more to her than her zany, shoe designer fetish and her sharp, tough-girl tongue.

Filling the bag with ice, he zip-locked the seal and headed for his final flight for the night. Funny Roxy hadn’t buzzed him while he’d been in the kitchen. He’d come to expect whirlwinds when in her midst, not peace and silence. And he, without any excuses to offer that would be remotely convincing, thrived on the rush circulating through him when she spoke. There was no denying the way his body responded to her presence. Even thinking about her got him worked-up.

When he reached her study and peaked in, he discovered the source of the unexpected calm. His princess was out cold on the couch, her faithful guardians Dipstick and Darling settled on top of her, one wedged in the curve of her stomach and one between her legs.
What he wouldn’t give to be a Puggle tonight
.

At least, while she was asleep, she couldn’t argue with him or throw him out.

With care, he placed the ice pack into its cover and secured the straps around her ankle, then repositioned her leg on the couch to what he hoped would be a more comfortable angle. Thinking she must be out good since she never stirred, he grabbed a suede throw from a rack full of them then shooed the dogs off her long enough to tuck the blanket around her. Soon, blanket and dogs were nestled in for the rest of the morning.

He smoothed her hair away from her forehead, momentarily mesmerized by her thick, tri-colored locks. He’d never seen a woman with three simultaneous hair colors. Leave it to Roxy to up the ante. Hell, to give her credit, it looked great. With a combination of caramel, honey, and chocolaty-colored strands, she was hot. In an odd way. But that was Roxy, hot and odd.

Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her button nose then dipped-in for a taste of her devil-for-the-taking lips. Wanting much more, he settled for easing back and inhaling the cherry almond scent of her skin. For a woman full of spice, she smelled nothing but sweet. And talk about baby soft skin. Spooning her in his bed would be real nice, the thought further denting his good boy image.

In desperate need of cooling off, he checked the ice pack once more. Standing to leave, he bent over to pick-up the empty water bottle she’d dropped onto the floor. He didn’t want her falling again.

“Nice aaasss,” she mumbled then winked at him before once again closing her eyes.

“At least you like one part of me.” Zayne shook his head at her brash bravado, suppressing a laugh.

McDonalds had always started at the bottom and worked their way up. With Roxy Rae, the legacy continued.

Z
ayne pounded the snooze button a fifth time, forcing his eyes to verify the time.
Shit
. He blinked then refocused, staring harder at the glowing red numbers. Could it really be 7 a.m.? He was way beyond late.

He shoved aside what little bit of comforter still covered him, knocking Studley Pete onto the floor. Pete yawned, making it known by a disgruntled half-bark, half-growl that he wasn’t any happier than Zayne to be awake.

“Quit your belly-achin’, Pete,” Zayne said as he rubbed behind the dog’s ears and patted his back. “All you do is run into the kitchen and eat. I won’t get a morsel till I answer a butt load of questions.”

Zayne opened his bedroom door and stuck his head out, seeing if the path to his bathroom was clear. The smell of fresh bacon and coffee assaulted his nose, reminding him how hungry he was. Hell, he hadn’t eaten since last night’s fried pickles. No wonder his stomach rumbled with the ferocity of a bear waking up from a winter nap.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he hollered to whoever could hear him in the kitchen. “Just have to rinse off.”

“It’s about damn time,” Damian’s deep, taunting grumble echoed the halls, followed by a hearty laugh.

Asshole
. Damian knew better than to start something Kat McDonald couldn’t resist finishing, although all Zayne’s friends agreed how fun it was to test her patience.

“Hurry up, Zayne,” his mother scolded, feeding off Damian’s bait. “The food’s been done for over ten minutes. That’s not fair to Cody. He busted his ass fixing our breakfast.”

“You mean it’s not fair to you, Mom. You’re dying to know why I’m late.” Zayne grabbed his robe off the hook on the back of his bedroom door and headed for the bathroom.

“I know where you’ve been, Smart Ass,” she snapped back, “and
who
you’ve been with. So get moving.”

Zayne heard Damian snickering, followed by Cody’s guffaw. Some friends they were.

Closing the bathroom door, Zayne turned the shower as hot as it would go, waiting on the water to reach a scalding temperature.

He stepped around the glass-block shower wall Damian had built during the remodel, entering the swelter of steam swirling the stall. He switched the showerhead to deep massage. The increased pressure pounded his nerves into minced meat.

How could he limit his mother’s involvement in his life without crushing her? Since his dad’s death, her control wrapped around him tighter than ever. It was as if she feared she’d lose him too. He had to level with her soon. Otherwise, she’d squeeze his ambitions into dried up dreams, like the frazzled and frayed pulp of a bad wedge of lime.

Damian and Cody busted his balls constantly for giving her too much power. But nobody told Kat McDonald what was or wasn’t acceptable meddling. Zayne, and his father too, had tried for years and gotten nothing but chastised or ignored.

The hot water pummeled Zayne’s chest, beating down with hollow thumps against his ribs. Knowing she struggled to fill the empty space left by his father’s death, he didn’t want to be too hard on her. Fussing over his life ’til he was nuts was her answer to attempting to heal her bereavement.

Hanging out at the farm every free minute she earned, she was privy to all his comings and goings. She didn’t give a shit about the tomato business. And never had. Tomatoes were the McDonald way of life. She’d just happened to fall in love with a McDonald. The farm simply provided an extra venue in which to keep up with her son’s personal life. She didn’t have enough time to get the dirt on him while tending to their saloon.

As much as he wanted to stay in the shower to avoid the lynch mob in his kitchen, Zayne turned off the water and reached for the towel he’d thrown over the top of the shower wall. Pressing the fluffy cotton to his face, he breathed in the fresh-laundered scent. His mom insisting on doing his laundry again now that he was back home wasn’t an item he opposed.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and brushed his teeth. Crossing the hall back to his room, he threw on jeans, and grabbed a T-shirt.

“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled as nonchalant as he dared, waiting on the firestorm.

Call him hyper-sensitive, but the kitchen was un-naturally silent, with only the clinks of utensils against plates. Each ping pierced his nerves.

Avoiding direct eye contact with anyone, even the dog, Zayne took a mug out of the cabinet above the sink and poured a cup of coffee. His back took the brunt of the holes bore by their expectant faces. He couldn’t help but notice Studley Pete’s front paws shielding his eyes from the drama about to unfold. Zayne’s most loyal friend was no dummy.

“So what’s the verdict on Roxy’s ankle?” His mom fired the first shot. Like she’d ever refuse to take one. “The poor dear. What did you do to get her so flustered?”

“That’s nice, Mom, just assume it’s my fault. Her ankle will be fine in a day or two. It’s a mild sprain.” Zayne set his mug on the table, glaring at her before picking up a plate and heading to the counter to fill it with Cody’s quality cooking.”

“It’s a fair assumption. You’re no Romeo. And whenever you’re around that girl, bad things happen to her,” Kat said, taking his plate away from him then motioning for him to sit at the table. While serving up heaping proportions of scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast and fresh-sliced tomatoes, she continued, “I saw you two arguing. Then I saw her stomp away. What am I supposed to think? You’re such your father’s son.”

Zayne looked at Damian and Cody for support, but suddenly the food on their plates required their full attention. All he got was the tops of their heads. “Gee, thanks, guys.”

Begging off, Damian lifted his shoulders and threw up his hands. Cody simply smiled at his plate, shook his head and kept eating.

“Mom, I’d like to think I’m more like you than Dad,” Zayne said, hoping that would knock her down a notch.

“Sooo not working, son.” She slammed his plate in front of him. “Try again. We’re not talking intelligence. We’re talking basic socialization skills. Skills your father never had, God love him, and you
pretend
not to have.”

“So that would make me more like you, then, right?” Zayne harrumphed, knowing he had her. She’d never excelled at Abbott & Costello-style arguments.

“Huh?” She paused, as if sorting through the sequences of their conversation. “You know what I meant. Don’t play word games. Tell me why Roxy was so upset.”

Zayne took a bite of his food. Stalling wouldn’t permanently keep her off him, but would allow him a small sliver of control. For added measure, he took a long drink of coffee, wishing she’d swallow a sip too, warming her up to what he had to say about her involvement with Roxy’s boutique. Asking Cody to pass the juice, he savored his last effort to hold her off. She’d get her information, but on his time schedule.

Sparring with her was just too much fun to pass on. She was a hoot to get going, and Zayne wasn’t about to pass-up the opportunity.

“If you must know, Mom, Roxy left in a huff because she didn’t take too kindly to me offering your help at Raeve.”

The look on his mother’s face made him wish he had his camera.
Bull’s-eye
.

“What’s the matter, Mom? Got a bitter beefsteak on your tongue?”

“Well now, I’m sure Roxy’s angst wasn’t just about my going to work at Raeve.” She adjusted her boot-shaped, diamond-spurred pendant so it settled against the hollow of her throat. “It must have been the way you approached her. You know you have no tact with women…not that I’ve seen at least. I should have just asked her myself.”