Bootscootin' Blahniks (37 page)

Reading her delicious lips that she loved him too filled Zayne’s heart with the most natural rhythm he’d ever moved-to.

As the cameras rolled and the spotlight dimmed, Roxy’s tummy did the same acrobatics as the night eight months ago when she’d stood in this same place with Zayne, ready to perform their first dance as partners.

With their family and friends lining the edges of the saloon’s floor, they waited for the director to cue the music. As Anne Murray’s soft voice filled the room, asking “Could I Have This Dance”, Zayne took Roxy’s hands, leading her into a fluid and magical Two Step.

Not needing to concentrate on the dance, Roxy sang the words in her mind. Her body fell into place beside Zayne’s without any conscious effort. They’d practiced this number for weeks, along with several others, anxiously learning the ropes of starring in their own show.

With Cody, Jack Baudlin and Santos running the farm, satisfying Zayne’s contractual obligations with the ketchup world, Zayne had not only been able to commit to the dance show, he’d also taken on several couples for private dance lessons. His bootscootin’ cowboy efforts were paying off big time, making him happier than Roxy had ever seen him.

And even though Roxy was busier than ever with Raeve, there was no way she wouldn’t make time for dancing with the man of her dreams. After two-stepping, she’d fallen in love with him, and they were continuing to build their future one dance at a time.

Without the support and talents of Kat, Audrey, Damian, and her mother, Roxy would never have rebuilt Raeve in the saloon. Kat, Audrey and Damian’s support hadn’t surprised Roxy at all, they had been there for her from the get-go. But Lily Vaughn had become quite the anomaly of her past life. She’d become a caring — sometimes overbearingly caring — mother and an outstanding sales associate.

Between Audrey and Damian’s marketing and construction talents and Kat and Audrey’s no-customer-left-behind sales tactics, Raeve was making a huge name for itself in the country music apparel industry.

In just three months, they’d transformed the gift corral into Raeve’s new home, just in time for the release of the Buckles Me Baby Spring Collection and the world premier of Deena Mettles next video in which she’d be wearing Raeve from head-to-toe.

Sliding into a smooth grapevine, Roxy also thought about the vines buzzing with interesting tidbits regarding Jules and Cody. Those two had much more cooking than what they were created together in The Neon Cowboy’s kitchen. And when the new full time kitchen manager Kat hired took over in a few short weeks, that gig was up. But Jules had just informed Roxy and Audrey that she intended to take up permanent residency in Nashville, choosing to open her new bakery and catering company here instead of in Manhattan. Roxy couldn’t have been happier for Jules. And Cody was definitely into Jules’ decision.

As Roxy toured the floor, connected for the end of the song to her fiancé’s hip, she looked anxiously at The Moms, hoping they’d remembered to set out the Blahniks she’d chosen for the final dance of Episode One.

Kat winked at Roxy, and Roxy’s mother tapped her hand no-way nonchalantly on top of a boot box sitting on Roxy’s director’s chair.

Seeing her mother’s ring finger empty, a brief pang of regret pierced Roxy’s stomach. Not that she had in any way not supported her mother’s divorce. Her dad had always made it hell for her mom and still was. He was a terrific source of negative energy. And unless and until he acted differently, she and her mother had decided together to remove him from their spheres’ of influence.

Roxy’s regret came from watching her mother experience the pain and frustration of discovering what it was like letting real love into her life once someone had snuffed it out. Roxy had been there, done that. And she’d be there every step of the way for her mother.

“I see you three conspiring. What’s that about?” Zayne whispered in Roxy’s ear.

“You’ll see,” she said kicking-out her boot in perfect time, launching into the final two measures of the song.

Bowing to the applause of the crowd and the enhanced clap track backing them, Roxy caught a glimpse of a second shoebox setting on a small table off stage right.

She winked at Zayne. “I think I’ll take five and check-in with wardrobe.”

“You do that, Princess,” Zayne said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “In case you’re worried, I had the floor fixed last week. So kick some ass in those fancy shoes you’re about to put on.”

“If you insist, Cowboy,” Roxy said, pulling off her boots and wiggling her toes in anticipation.

She exited the dance floor, making her way to The Moms who had cleared the boot box from her chair. Sitting in her seat, catching her breath between numbers, Roxy eyed the box first then The Moms. The anticipation in their eyes amped up Roxy’s curiosity.

The plan had been that they’d stow away the Blahniks Roxy planned to wear in the boot box so as not to draw any early attention from the show’s wardrobe advisor. Once Roxy’s feet were firmly wedged into the gorgeous shoes she’d picked out, then she would deal with the wardrobe gooroo. Once he saw her in the shoes, he’d more than agree with Roxy’s itsy bitsy sashay around the pre-approved schedule.

“Well, let’s put our little plan into action, shall we?” Roxy said, expecting Kat and her mother to hand her the fabulous silk and satin, jewel-encrusted stilettos she’d been saving for just such a special occasion.

Looking up from her not-so-happy feet, having promised them she’d treat them to a professional massage following the show’s taping, Roxy could only thank the heavens she was sitting down. It wasn’t her moms carrying-out her plan. In front of her, down on one knee, was her father, holding the most beautiful Blahnik Roxy had ever seen. With a look in his eyes asking her permission to slip the fabulous shoes onto her feet, Roxy felt like Cinderella.

“I’m sorry, Roxy,” her father said, sliding the gorgeous, perfectly crafted shoes onto her feet. “I know I’m not real good at this and never have been, but I’m proud of you. Kick ass out there.”

Roxy stood-up from her chair, letting her feet settle into the shoes and her heart settle inside her chest. Even though he’d seen the smile she couldn’t keep hidden, Roxy never said anything to her father. There’d be time for words later. Right now the man of her dreams was waiting on his partner. And for the first time, Roxy’s father was waiting to see his daughter dance.

On her way to the floor, Roxy’s mother reached for her arm.

Gently turning Roxy to face her, she said, “Don’t worry, Darling. When you’re done, we’ll kick his ass together. Although we could probably give him a few points for effort.”

“Not too many points,” Kat said, hugging both Roxy and her mother. “Let’s make him squirm a bit.”

“You two are bad. Very, very bad,” Roxy said, shaking her head and laughing all the way to the dance floor. But she liked the way their brains worked.

Okay, Manolo, let’s do a bit of bootscootin’ in your fabulous Blahniks
.

The lights dimmed. The music started. And Roxy’s feet, soles and soul came alive to their own style and beat.

The End

D
. D. Scott’s romantic comedies are all about sexy, sassy, smart, career-driven women and the men who complete them. They’re a bit chick lit with a gone-country twist. She’s agented, and her series
BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS
— think Sex and The City meets Urban Cowboy — debuted mid August 2010 at Amazon’s Kindle Store.

She’s a member of
RWA
as well as
RWA
’s Chick Lit Writers of the World, Kiss of Death, ScriptScene,
ESPAN
, and
I
RWA
Chapters plus serves on
RWA
’s History Committee for the National
RWA
Board. She’s been a guest blogger on Romance Writers on the Journey, Inside the Writer’s Mind, Daily Dose Fantasy Romance, Romance University, and Romance Lives Forever. She blogs with group blog Savvy Authors the second Friday of every month, is linked to on Romancing the Blog and also has an active blog of her own on her website at
www.DDScott.com
. In addition, her first
RWR
article was published by
RWA
in the July 2010 issue.

Also a Writer’s Go-to-Gal for Muse Therapy, D. D. debuted her Muse Therapy Live Workshops in March and April of 2010 for
GCCRWA
’s Silken Sands Conference in Florida and
RT
BookLovers’ Conventions in Ohio. She’s busy now preparing for the Fall 2010 launch of
MUSE THERAPY: UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL
(the book version of her Muse Therapy Online Classes & Live Workshops) at Amazon’s Kindle Store.

For updates on her books, her sexy, sassy, smart neurotic writer’s life blog, and for a schedule of appearances and muse therapy sessions, visit her website
www.DDScott.com
. While there, sign up for her mailing list for chances to win fabulous tchotchkes.

S
TOMPIN’ ON STETSONS
is a romantic comedy — think Hell’s Kitchen mixed with Meet the Fockers.

Manhattan-raised, culinary-schooled pastry chef Jules Lichtenstien wants to make her new Nashville, Tennessee bakery a success. Catering the wedding of a Music City socialite and her country music, chart-topping beau could do just that. But learning the Wedding Planner From Hell is her ex has Jules’ nerves frosted. Having never found the sweet comfort in a man that she gets from her sugary confections, she vows to never again cook up anything but food in her kitchen.

Meat n’ Three diner heir and produce man Cody Weiss is fantastic with food but lousy with relationships. Or so says his ex-fiancé whose wedding he’s unwittingly agreed to help his friend Jules cater. Cody wants to help Jules, but what he really wants is to succeed in their relationship where he’s failed in the past.

With both of their exes stirring the pots, can Jules and Cody pull off the wedding without making minced meat of their relationship? And when a hat causes heat to simmer between them, will they be able to survive both in and out of the kitchen?

Love is a lot like cooking…delicious…with the right ingredients.

STOMPIN’ ON STETSONS
will be released in November 2010, just in time for the holiday season. But here’s a little peek to whet your appetite…

T
he sweet allure of vanilla extract and cinnamon chips tickled Jules Lichtenstien’s nose.

She inhaled with the gusto of a yoga master, coaxing her subterranean, larger-than-life-sustaining breath to steady her discombobulated nerves. Short of abandoning the kitchen in favor of her yoga studio, meditative breathing was her only hope of achieving a state somewhat resembling the elusion of sanity.

“Push. Pull. Fold.” Chanting her pastry chef mantra, she worked her mind in place of over-working the dough.

Using the heel of her hand, she pushed the dough away then back, folding it over as she pulled. With each choreographed motion, she envisioned her masseuse kneading her muscles with the same concentrated pressure.

Handling the powdery ball with schooled finesse, she patted it into a ten-inch circle then reached for a cookie cutter. Pressing the cutter’s metal edges into the dough, she punched out a baker’s dozen, wishing she could separate her thoughts as easily as scones.

As if her head were a gigantic tube of icing about to spurt into action, she closed her eyes, squeezing her warring thoughts into a tiny tip of reason.

Placing the scones on an un-greased baking sheet, Jules relaxed her shoulders and settled into her routine. Craving nothing but culinary love in the form of a hot, gooey tea biscuit, she poured her restless energy into pastry chef mode, focusing on the confectionary magic beneath her fingertips.

She brushed the scone tops with beaten egg whites and added a dusting of sugar. Sliding the sheet into the oven, she poked the arrows on the control panel keypad until the numbers ticked off second-by-second. She didn’t have the eighteen minutes it took scones to bake. But if she didn’t feed her tormented ego, along with her work plan, she’d never psych up for her meeting with Music City socialite Sienna Cruz.

Pressing her thumbs into the tingling flesh at the back of her neck, Jules moved her fingers in rhythmic circles, rubbing out the pings of stress hammering the base of her skull.

The renovation of the building for her new bakery and catering company was on schedule.
Sort of
. Sort of being not close to acceptable considering she’d landed the meeting with Sienna for the company’s first big catering event. She should feel great. Terrific. The Cruz gig, if successful, would go a long way toward securing the CMA Fan Fest food service contract. And that job would be Jules’ golden, candy apple. The belle of her bakery’s dough balls.

Hypothetically, her double boiler should be bubbling over with good fortune. Apparently, however, hers was simmering with nothing but pessimism. Hissing streams of doubt gurgled in her stomach. Her normally confident exterior was overtaken by Mount Vesuvius proportioned, what-the-hell-were-you-thinking eruptions.

She flipped on the coffee grinder, cranking the dial from medium to finely ground, counting on the robust flavor to drown out her espresso strength hesitation. With the grinder whirring down to its last, desperate chugs, she coached her inner Buddha to dig a deep refuge in the name of culinary enlightenment.

Doing her best to keep her nerves as level as the quarter-cup into which she measured the ash-like grounds, Jules glanced at the clock on the oven. Quarter after nine.
Damn
. Before she could call an end to the latest in a string of exhausting days, she had to make the berry pudding and get it into the refrigerator.

Where the hell was Cody with her berries?