Chapter 49 Boot Scootin’
boot scootin’
DUKE
My kitchen is full of friends and beer, and for the first time in a long damn time, my chest doesn’t feel like it’s got a cinder block sitting on it.
Rusty’s propped against the island, telling some story about the first barn dance Topper ever attended.
It’s a fantastic story that involves bedazzled suspenders and an unfortunate misunderstanding with a rodeo queen.
Allie’s already crying from laughing, and Leo’s begging Topper to pull out those suspenders for tonight. Georgia’s sitting in a bar chair with her head buried in her hands because she said she remembers that night vividly.
I’m standing there, beer in hand, pretending to listen, but I’m not hearing a damn word because my thoughts keep shifting to the woman getting ready in my bathroom upstairs.
While Roxanne is taking longer than usual, Allie said it was because she was going to put on something special they picked up from Fern & Fable.
“We should be gettin’ on,” Rusty says, checking his watch.
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to glance toward the stairs again like a lovesick idiot. “I’m gonna go make sure she doesn’t need help.”
Topper shoots me a stern look from across the kitchen. “We don’t need you two causin’ a ruckus upstairs, now. I’m hungry.”
I punch him in the shoulder on my way out of the kitchen. “Shut your damn mouth.”
I step into the hallway and see movement at the top of the stairs. When I catch a glimpse of her it’s like she’s moving in slow motion and suddenly every part of me feels warm.
She’s in a white dress with a fitted bodice that hits above the knee.
Thin straps hug her sun-kissed shoulders.
What sends me over the edge is her long blond hair is framing her face under a wide-brimmed cowgirl hat, and oh mercy, she’s wearing sparkling cowgirl boots from Fern & Fable.
All I can do is stand there with my mouth open.
“You’re looking at me like I just grew wings,” she says, pausing on the second to last step.
I rub the back of my neck. “You, uh, definitely grew something.”
Her eyes flick to my crotch and she smirks. “Smooth.”
“I think you forgot something upstairs … in my bed. Let me help you look for it.”
“Later,” she says, stepping down. “I’m actually looking forward to dancing tonight.”
I arch my eyebrows. “You know how to line dance, Trouble?”
“You’ll see,” she says with a wink.
“I guess so.” I try to play it cool as I loop her hand through my arm and walk us back into the kitchen.
Everyone compliments Roxanne, and we all chat on the way to the barn as if this is how our life just is.
Roxanne by my side, Topper’s arm around Allie, Georgia and Rusty laughing from Leo telling more tales of their time working for Uncharted TV.
The barn we use for events is dressed up like an absolute dream. Lanterns hang from the rafters, strung between wooden beams and swaying gently in the warm night air. The music’s already playing thanks to the local band we hire to really make these nights feel special.
The song is twangy and upbeat, with a banjo and a kick drum that you feel in your ribs.
Laughter and light conversation rolls through the yard in bursts, and the smell—damn.
Hickory smoke from the fire, mesquite from the grill, fresh hay, and that little undercurrent of horse that never quite leaves a place like this.
The best part of tonight is that I get to share it with Roxanne, who has her own glow about her, even when I wipe a bit of barbecue sauce off her cheek from the ribs she’s devouring.
I love that she gets animated when she’s telling her travel stories.
Toward the end of dinner, she has the table rolling over another trip of hers.
“There was this gala in Monaco I crashed with a borrowed press pass. I was trying to interview this royal environmentalist, and as I was walking in, my heel breaks and I trip, full-on face plant, right in front of him. He helped me up, we laughed, and he gave me an exclusive interview in exchange for getting to name the article. We ended up calling it ‘Falling for the Planet.’”
I sit back and watch her, and thankfully, she’s too involved in the conversation to notice.
This is not the same woman who stepped off the golf cart and fell into the horse trough that first day.
That woman was closed off, hurting, and hiding.
The woman sitting next to me has her scar on full display and is slugging beer like it’s second nature.
Once we finish dinner, she leans into me. “When do we start dancing?”
Topper puts his hand up from across the table. “No one touches the dance floor until Faraday does his toast.”
“Toast?” Roxanne asks.
“Yup,” Georgia adds. “It’s tradition. Faraday gives his special toast and then we can get to the boot scootin’.”
“Come on, Faraday,” Topper says. “What have you got for us this time?”
I’ve made dozens of these toasts over the years, and I’ve never been nervous, but I’m starting to sweat when I feel Roxanne’s bright blue eyes on me as I stand and raise my beer.
“All right, all right,” I say. I clear my throat and gather my thoughts.
“I’ve seen a lot of storms. So have most of you.
Some of us came here to outrun them. Others to face what was left after.
One way or another, we all ended up in the same place.
So, here’s to second chances, however they find us.
To healing, however slow it comes, and to the people who show up out of nowhere and somehow make us glad we didn’t give up too soon. ”
Everyone raises their glasses getting ready to toast.
When my gaze falls to Roxanne and I look at her longer than I mean to, the corner of her mouth tugs up.
She knows.
The music starts to roar again, and everyone leaves the table, taking their drinks to the dance floor.
Georgia and Rusty start moving into the crowd as Topper tries to tug Allie out on the floor.
The second I step down on the dance floor, the music changes, and before I can even get my bearings, Roxanne grabs the bottle, takes a swig, and hands it back to me.
“Hold this,” she says with a grin.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching her back away with that look in her eyes.
“Showing you how to dance. Since I had to show you how to fish, I thought you might need a lesson here, too.”
She turns on her heel, marches toward the packed dance floor, and falls into line with the rest of the group.
She immediately finds her rhythm with sharp steps, boot kicks, and hip pops that hit every damn beat.
Watching her line dance in a white dress and cowgirl boots is going to haunt me in the best possible way.
Topper slides up next to me, arms crossed, nodding toward the crowd. “Did you know she could do that?”
“Nope.”
“You gonna make it?”
“Nope.”
He laughs and slaps me on the back.
“You’re in way too deep, Faraday.”
“I was in deep the second she got here, I just didn’t know it yet.”
Roxanne glances over her shoulder mid-step and winks at me—like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me and she’s not sorry about it.
When the music changes again, more couples make their way to the floor.
Roxanne doesn’t have to fetch me from the sidelines like some of the other ladies do, I’m already at her side.
I take her in my arms, twirling and dipping her.
When I pull her back up to me, her eyes and mouth are wide. “You can sing, you can dance … are you sure you don’t have a future on Broadway?” she asks as I twirl her again.
“You never know. Mountain Man, the musical? Does that sound right?”
“It sounds perfect.”
When the band shifts into something slower, I pull her close and we sway together under the fairy lights.
Journey’s “Faithfully” starts playing, and now I’m a goner.
This is one of my favorite Journey songs, and the lead singer of this band is killing it.
The rest of the world seems to fall away, and it’s like we are the only two out here.
This is probably as good a time as any to make my own pitch about her coming back to Colorado.
“I’ve been thinking,” I murmur against her ear.
“About what?”
“About us. About making this work.” I pull back to look at her. “You could make your pitch in New York, and then … come back. We could figure out the logistics, maybe spend part of the year in both places?”
Her smile is soft but there’s something in her eyes I can’t read. “Duke…”
“I know it sounds crazy, but what if we try to make it work? I love you, Roxanne. I want to try. I know I’m not going to be able to say goodbye in a week.”
She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me, slow and sweet under the Colorado stars. “I love you, too,” she whispers against my lips. “I know. I’m never going to be ready to say goodbye either.”
I stop dancing and cup her face in both of my hands. “Then, we don’t.”
I kiss her and I don’t care who sees us. When the song ends, she pulls away just enough to meet my eyes. “Okay,” she says.
It’s not much of an answer, but it’s enough for tonight.