Bootscootin' Blahniks (26 page)

“I still think I could find out more than you and have an easier time doing it. But it’s your problem, not mine.”

She tossed the clipboard onto the bar and got up from her stool, wishing she could throw off his tender charm with the same easy disregard. “Let’s greet our customers.”

So much for winning that one, she thought, as they headed to unlock the front doors. She may have to turn down giving Jack private lessons, but that didn’t mean she’d leave all the legwork to Zayne. Somebody had to figure out what the hell was going on at that farm.

Nobody told Roxy what she could and couldn’t do. Nobody stomped on her dreams. And
nobody
messed with her man.

There were more ways to get to Jack than on the dance floor, especially when he seemed to spend quite a bit of time in the Neon Cowboy. Roxy had complete faith in her social skills. She’d spent way too many years at stuffy cocktail parties to not have learned the art of sniffing for pay dirt. She might be dealing with a different kind of dirt, but her talent would come in handy all the same.

Luckily, as a tween, she’d spent many a lazy summers in The Hamptons buried in Nancy Drew’s escapades. She could put that time to use, adding super sleuth to her already expanding resume.

D
amn it, Dad. Why you’d die on me
?

Zayne pounded his fist against the workbench, sending a spade crashing to the greenhouse floor. He wiped sweat from his forehead with his filthy hands, leaving a smudge of muck. Not that he cared how he looked tackling tomato woes, but dirt wasn’t his thing. He hadn’t and probably never would grow accustomed to field-stained hands.

But dirt was the least of Zayne’s problems. Here it was June, a month and a half before the entry deadline, and his Red Rocket Brandywines looked like shit. He’d spent quality time in the greenhouse’s stuffy stench for a month and discovered nothing to secure a contest win.

Even after watering-in his dad’s hand-blended fertilizer, the plants hadn’t taken off. They weren’t anywhere near the size they should be. But as small as they were, Zayne felt smaller facing failure.

Reshuffling his spreadsheets and graphs, he hunted for the source of his troubles. He checked the sheets once, then two additional times, finding nothing out of whack. Assuming he knew what in whack looked like.

Dread curled in his stomach, threatening to poison his resolve.

Why had he taken responsibility for the farm? Why hadn’t he leveled with his dad when they’d discussed succession plans? The farm should have been willed to somebody who knew how to work it. Somebody who wanted to work it. Somebody who could make his dad’s hard work payoff.

Zayne just hadn’t found the courage to back out of the farm’s responsibility. He couldn’t take disappointing his dad…again. Talk about thin-skinned.

The day he’d knelt at his dad’s grave to say his final goodbye Zayne had abandoned his dream to open a country dance studio. He’d subleased his flat in Hillsboro Village and moved back to the farm to take over the tomato operations. That decision had stifled his spirit and crippled his creative drive, but somehow soothed the pain of his father’s death.

Not that keeping tabs on his mom hadn’t been part of the reason Zayne had come home. Her illness may explain her loss of energy and appetite, but her enthusiasm for life had died with his dad. She’d gone from taking the world and squeezing the shit out of everything it offered to making excuses she was getting too old to go for her ballsy ideas.

Kat McDonald admitting to being too old for anything shocked Zayne, punching holes in the imaginary armor he’d drawn on her.

Thank God Roxy had rear-ended his truck, Zayne thought. As soon as she’d bumped into their lives, his mom’s spark and wit returned. Her zing was back in order and working overtime. If only Zayne’s tomatoes would catch a clue.

He studied the seed germination diagram he’d taken out of one of his dad’s old farm magazines. The Brandywine’s seed mix wasn’t the problem, Zayne learned. The seed varieties, although on their own very different, had blended perfectly. Just like Zayne’s libido came in early and stayed late on account of Roxy’s quirky, but perfect mix.

As much as Zayne got a hoot out of her, she drove him nuts. Drove him to think of doing things to her that would not be considered well-mannered, although they’d sure as hell be fun. Drove him to feel like a testosterone-charged teenager on the prowl. And drove him to discover a softer, familial longing he didn’t know he had. A desire to settle down and commit to a woman, a home, and a future he’d thought was only for other guys. He
was
nuts. Completely nuts.

Roxy stirred a reckless synergy within him. She challenged him to go after his dreams at the same time giving him a tougher than nails place to fall if he failed. She was all that, packaged in hellaciously sexy clothes. A look that made Zayne’s head spin off its axis.

The woman she was underneath the sassy layers rocked his sense of reason. Yeah, she had that nothing’s-going-to-stop-me determination but it sprang from a basic human goodness she kept hidden. Unless you knew where and how to find it…and Zayne did.

When he’d seen her interact with his mother, he’d found Roxy’s compassion. In the tiny pieces she held in common with his mom, he’d recognized her crazy blend of nice and spice. For all the fire burning inside these women, their souls were gracious and loyal.

“I thought I’d find you here.” His mother’s voice startled Zayne as much as it soothed his restless spirit.

“Hey, Mom. Shouldn’t you be at Raeve?”

He wiped his dirty face with the sleeve of his work shirt. The sting of sweat mixed with the rough denim and sunburn forced him out of his daydreams and very much into the present.

“I’m giving Audrey and Damian space to finish the overhaul of the place. They already know my opinions.”

“I’m sure they do.” And Zayne was sure they did. No one was ever left to wonder what his mom thought.

“Wise ass.” She pulled out a metal stool from under the workbench and had a seat. “You should stop by. It looks great.”

“I’d like to but I’m not sure when I’m going to have time,” he said, grabbing the notepad he’d started for field observations then scrounging through the bench drawers for a pen. “If I expect to keep dad’s growing schedules, I’ve still got to raise the beds with fresh mulch and prune the side shoots from the plants by the end of the week.”

“You should make time, son. It would mean a lot to Roxy.”

“Roxy doesn’t need my thoughts on Raeve. She didn’t hook up with me for my fashion sense.” He motioned to his filthy clothes.

“Maybe not. But you’re good for her in many other ways,” his mom said, her voice taking on that Mom-knows-best tone.

“Oh, boy. Here we go.”

Zayne knew where this was headed but also knew better than to argue. If she said what she came to say, without much fuss from him, she’d be out of his way in good time. Hopefully taking with her the jumpiness that thinking and talking about Roxy hammered into his chest. His mom could be like the non-relenting downbeat of an over-played song on country radio.

“Now just hear me out.” She leaned close in a conspiratorial posture.

“I always do. Dad taught me that when I was a young pup.”

“God love him. He was such a smart man,” she said and laughed. “And you’re still a young pup, although you’re getting older and — ”

“Don’t start the it’s-time-to-think-about-settling-down lecture. C’mon, Mom. I’ve got to get into the fields.”

Zayne opened his notebook and twisted off the pen cap with his teeth, clamping down on the soft plastic to relieve the pressure his mom placed on his overburdened guilt. “Is this all you came over here for?”

“Pretty much.” She took his notepad and snapped the lid shut then pulled the pen cap out of his mouth. “And how many times have I told you it’s not good for your teeth to chew on these things?”

“Okay, Mom. Say what you want to say then I’m outta here. I’ve got work to do.”

Steeling himself for her lecture, Zayne braced himself with his hand against the edge of the bench.

“If you’d pay attention, neither of us would be wasting time.”

She turned her necklace, centering the clasp behind her neck. Judging by the brilliant red stone and quirky copper accents trimming the piece, it was no doubt a Raeve original. Actually, it was kind of cool, Zayne thought, in a Roxy Vaughn kind of funky, off-kilter way.

His mind too focused on his tomatoes to concentrate much longer on his mom or Roxy, Zayne wondered if maybe the mulch was the problem. Perhaps he should have raised the beds sooner to prevent water loss to the summer sun. Come to think of it, although the weather certainly hadn’t been too hot, the leaves did seem to be on the verge of wilting. And that just shouldn’t be the case. The temperatures had been the perfect cool to make the vines produce
more
abundantly, not less.

“I swear. You tune me out just like your father used to.”

Zayne shook his head trying to clear a path for her good intentions.

“How about I just go for your jugular? Roxy needs you,” she said, rocking back onto the heels of her boots, playing the tough cowgirl like an ace.

Zayne was all ears. His body felt like he’d been pummeled with the rocks he and Cody handpicked out of the fields. Acknowledging he’d damn near deserted Roxy because he was so wrapped up in tomato troubles, his throat constricted.

“That got ya. Didn’t it?” His mom moved her head in that well-ain’t-that-the-shit tilt and continued. “I know Roxy’s a tough one, but take it from me, even us hard-hitting gals need a good man occasionally.”

“Just occasionally?” Zayne couldn’t help teasing her, despite his anxiety regarding Roxy’s needs.

After living with two McDonald men, his mom would be lost without a smart aleck comeback. A comeback Zayne hoped masked how hard his concern for Roxy had hit his gut.

“Whatever fits your schedule, I think you should make some time to check on her.”

Damn it
. Zayne didn’t have time. His mother meant well lighting a fire under his ass, but he didn’t have enough hours in his days now. How was he supposed to find more? Yes. She was right to a degree. He’d give her that. Roxy did have a lot more on her plate than most people. But she’d done that to herself, and, instead of letting Zayne help her, she’d all but pushed him out the door. He certainly had more pressing problems than butting in where he wasn’t wanted.

But what if Roxy was really asking for his help in that do-the-opposite-of-what-I-appear-to-be-implying woman’s way? No wonder he was still single. Suddenly his tomatoes didn’t seem as troublesome.

The pressure squeezing his throat increased until he wondered how air could travel through it. His palms grew damp.

“How about breakfast? You could surprise us and bring it into the boutique. Or maybe visit her after she gets done at the saloon,” his mom suggested while swiveling her wedding ring back and forth on her finger.

It meant so much to Zayne that she refused to take it off. But thinking of the match to that ring being deep in the earth with his dad’s remains, Zayne’s heart ached for their loss. He sure didn’t agree with his dad on much but he still missed the guy.

“Roxy’s been working in the back room — sometimes all night, only going home for a catnap, a quick shower and change of clothes before coming to Raeve to check my progress and show me her new designs,” his mom said.

“When I’ve stopped in for dinner and the nightly receipts, she has looked awfully beat. But I had no idea she’d been pulling all-nighters. She never told me,” Zayne said, the knots in his stomach tugging at his conscious with a force he could no longer ignore.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, leaving muddy prints. He felt like an asshole for not helping Roxy. But she was the one who’d shove a plate of food in front of him then hustle him out the door, almost appearing half-cocked. As if he were interrupting her progress.

“Thanks for filling me in. I’ll check on her soon. I promise.”

Thinking their conversation was over, Zayne got up and cleaned off the workbench. He had to head for the fields to consult with Cody about the mulch.

“I’m not done yet. Roxy isn’t the only person I’m worried about.”

His mom stood with him, pushed in her stool, and tugged at her jeans, messing with them until they covered her boots just the way she wanted. “I can’t get used to how form-fitting the girls wear these things. Good thing I’ve lost weight.”

“Didn’t the doctor…”

Why couldn’t she and Roxy do what they were told on the rare occasion when someone knew more than they did
? Their gutsy independence made Zayne’s pride swell at the same time it brought his patience to a rolling boil.

“Oh, hush. I’m not losing any more than my cardiologist is comfortable with. I’m being good. As damn boring as that is.” She adjusted the collar of her candy apple red button-down shirt, re-establishing her authority.

“So what did you really come to tell me?” Zayne asked.

He put his arm around her and ushered her down the aisle of the greenhouse toward the door, wishing he could freeze moments like this when she was his best friend as well as his mother. A bond he’d never had with his dad.

Not giving him a clue whether she had good or bad news, she leaned her head back and kissed his cheek.

“That Deena Mettles stopped in the boutique today with her stylist.”

“That’s fantastic!” Zayne’s heart ricocheted off his chest wall like a racquetball, hitting hard with the joy of anticipating a break in fortune for Roxy’s designs. “How did it go? Did they buy anything?”

“They bought quite a few things and want to work with Roxy on signature pieces for Deena’s upcoming performances.”

“Hot damn.” Roxy was right, Zayne thought. The celebrity market could be a solid kick-off for her designs.

He opened the door and followed his mom to her SUV. “Have you told Roxy? If not, maybe I could tell her.”

Excitement whipped Zayne’s brain into action mode. That would give him a good excuse to stop by her townhouse after she closed the saloon. Maybe he could pick up a bottle of champagne. No. Wait. He’d take the ingredients for a killer Cosmopolitan. She’d love that.