Monday, April 4, 2011
Are you ready for a really fun read?
I hope so, because today we have an excerpt from the very funny Bootscootin' Blahniks by D.D. Scott. When I started reading this book, I just had to email D.D. and ask if she would let me feature it here. So sit back and get ready to laugh.
A little about the book first:
Manhattan apparel designer Roxy Rae Vaughn has exchanged her stiletto-clad clientele for the frequent shoppers of a Nashville, Tennessee tractor supply store.
Tomato-growin’, bootscootin’ cowboy Zayne McDonald has vowed to produce Nashville’s finest hybrid tomato while teaching Music City tourists to bootscoot.
But Roxy needs more than cash crop customers and the soft spot she’s developed for Zayne. She must accept that her best fit is on the dance floor moving to her own bombshell stomp.
When she and Zayne are discovered by a reality dance show producer, Roxy knows she’s found her groove. That is, if she can protect her future from Beefsteak Jack Baudlin, the toughest tomato man in CMT country.
BOOTSCOOTIN' BLAHNIKS is Book One of The Bootscootin' Books Series where it's all about romantic comedies with a chick lit gone-country twist. Think Sex and The City meets Urban Cowboy.
“What a light, fun read with lots of laughs...and love. Roxy Rae and Zayne have danced right onto my (cyber) keeper shelf. I’m looking forward to reading more from the very talented D. D. Scott.” --- Heather Webber, author of The Lucy Valentine Novels and The Nina Quinn Mysteries
And now, from Bootscootin' Blahniks:
The nanosecond the light turned green, Roxy Rae Vaughn pressed the gas pedal toward the floorboard of her Mercedes. She didn’t have time to jack around. Her boutique opened in an hour. It took twenty-two more minutes to get there, thirty-three minutes to make everything perfect before she unlocked the doors for customers, and she counted on five minutes to spare. Apparently, the driver in the beat-up pick-up truck in front of her had all kinds of time for lollygagging. But she didn’t.
Taking her speed up a notch, Dipstick yelped. His pudgy Puggles body slid across the pashmina-covered leather cushion of the passenger seat then propelled off the heated lumbar rest. Not to be outdone by her litter brother, Darling whined from the backseat, followed by an odd, panic-laden pant.
Roxy was a bit worried by her dogs’ unusual behavior. Normally, they were good riders. Perhaps they needed some fresh air, she thought, cracking the windows a smidgeon. She’d read, however, that too much air wasn’t good for them so they were only getting a tease of the Tennessee summer morning breeze. Something else the driver in front of her obviously wasn’t aware of. His mangy mutt, although kind of cute in a disheveled take pity on me way, had free roam of the bed of his truck. Except for what looked to be tomatoes lined-up in well-used baskets, the man’s dog owned his space.
“It’s okay, Babies,” she attempted to soothe Dipstick and Darling. “Mommy is right here. You two love going to work with me. What’s wrong?”
In her rearview mirror, Roxy noticed Darling moving her snout in large circles followed by loud, disturbing smacks of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. And was that a bit of frothy drool forming and bubbling around her canines? What the hell was going on?
She stole another quick peek in the mirror then glanced back to the road in front of her in case Grandpa Jones slowed down again. Another look in the mirror revealed Darling was now anxiously pawing at the cashmere blanket covering the backseat as if trying to find a perfect spot to...
Like lightening punctuating the green screen of a horror flick set, a precursor to a grotesque scene coming to life in front of the cameras, Roxy finally understood the red herring for what it was. “Oh no, Darling. Don’t do that to Mommy. We’re almost to the boutique. Please wait, Honey. Not in the car.”
She pounded her fist against the steering wheel, silently cursing her luck. Her determination to live and succeed in her new, classy chick-gone-country lifestyle seemed to kick her in the ass every choice she made.
Darling made a larger-than-life whimper then let loose a super smoothie-sized barrage of pre and partially-digested dog treats - all over Roxy’s backseat.
Between the agonizing sounds of her poor sick Puggles and the sickening stench, Roxy was thrown for a loop her stomach and nerves were at a loss to rectify. Before she could get her wits about her to deal with the current crisis, Dipstick took his turn at bat and went nuts in the front seat. He paced the floorboard. Jumped back into the seat. Then pounced into Roxy’s lap and out again, his anxiety-heavy yips and yaps turning into awful half wails, half barks before dissolving into fits of desperately pathetic growls.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Roxy reached out to comfort him. Evidently, however, Darling needed her master’s touch too. She hung her hurl-soaked muzzle over Roxy’s arm, whimpered then sneezed sending dog snot and God only knew what else blowing out her nose.
Although abhorred by the residue Darling had now smeared all over her arm, Roxy’s heart filled with pity for her ill puppy and its wigged out partner in mischief. Composing her psyche for the challenge she faced, she searched the street ahead for a decent place to pull over. It appeared she’d have a good spot just up the road a tad further. Good thing she’d taken this alternate route to work. Not much traffic traveled this old road.
“There there, guys. It’s okay. Hang with me just a wee bit longer and we’ll get you cleaned up,” she coached the dogs, having no unearthly clue how exactly she was going to do that. Never one for organization, she could only hope while God was hee-hawing about her predicament, he’d have the decency to pitch down a roll of paper towels or produce a magical box of tissue.
Increasingly shallow pants and gross gurgles once again consumed Darling’s body. Roxy hit the panic button way ahead of her dogs.
Before the air even left Roxy’s lungs carrying her message through even higher octaves of a Hollywood-worthy cartoon voice-over, Darling was at it again. This time, the pup relieved her ailment - projectile style - all over the dashboard and center console.
Making a decent effort to keep the foul fluid from landing on her neck, shoulders, and vintage-inspired couture t-shirt, Roxy tried to punch the brakes for an emergency exit from the roadway. Instead of a Nascar-qualifying pit stop, the heel of her Blahnik caught between the floor mat and the accelerator, forcing her car square into the rear-end of Grandpa Jones’ truck. She rode out the impact in bumper car fashion as the two vehicles careened off the side of the road and came to an abrupt stop.
“Damn.” She lowered her head against the wheel, forgetting to make sure none of Darling’s snacks had decided to take up residence prior to her landing. “I’m such an idiot.”
In the hullabaloo of noise emanating from not only her dogs going ape-shit after the crash but Grandpa’s mutt sounding off too, Roxy wished with everything in her she was just an unwitting participant in some way too vivid nightmare. Taking a deep breath, the stench from the car filled her nostrils and brought her oh-so-back to reality.
Oh, God. What if the guy is hurt? Or what if his dog is too?
Roxy jerked her head from the wheel so fast a dizzy fog overtook her mind. She may have much more to worry about than coming up with money to fix her car and Grandpa’s truck. She could have injured him – and his dog too.
She rested her head once more on the steering wheel. Images of Judy Garland lying on her bed on her way to Munchkin Land in the midst of the tornado swirled through Roxy’s mind in Technicolor splendor. She could hear the Wicked Witch taunting her and her “little dog too”.
She shouldn’t have tried to save a few bucks by buying Dipstick and Darling the tractor supply store’s off-brand dog treats. Look where that had gotten her. How could such terrific ideas at the time end up going so wrong?
She took a chance and looked away from the wheel at what she was convinced would be another nightmare in front of her. But she couldn’t see through the smoke rising from underneath the crumpled hood of her way-too-pricy sedan. Trying to peer through the haze, she panicked. She still couldn’t see Grandpa or his dog.
A brisk tap against her driver’s side window caused Roxy’s heart to race. She was sure she’d look through the glass only to find the man and his dog dripping with blood.
She shivered. She’d seen way too many scary movies with one nanny after another.
Afraid to take another deep breath for fear on the inhale she’d succumb to the hurl hell surrounding her, she looked through the window.
Grandpa Jones had morphed into a hunky, hot cowboy, complete with a sexy-as-all-hell square jaw. A single strand of straw precariously dangled from his sinfully ornery grin. And a lock of unruly, sandy blonde hair fell over his flirtatious, dark mocha eyes.
Roxy’s insides shook, but not from fear or exasperation.
Perhaps God was guffawing at her misstep. But Roxy might just have the last laugh. It seemed her luck had changed.
D. D. Scott is a romantic comedy author and a Writer’s Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy, plus the #1 Amazon Bestselling Author of MUSE THERAPY: UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL and the co-founder of The Writer’s Guide to E-Publishing, your destination site for Everything E-Publishing. You can get all the scoop on her, her books, her Muse Therapy Online Classes and Live Workshops, plus juicy tidbits from her fabulous grog The Naked Hero at www.DDScott.com.
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Other books by D.D. Scott: