Cowboy Fever (13 page)

“Small sacrifice?” Cissy shook her head. “Have you
looked
at him lately?”

“I try not to.” Jodi grinned. “Really, seriously, my priority is to straighten things out with my mom. And I think she has a point about Teague. I know he helped you, Cissy, but he was in jail himself, for God's sake.”

“He was a kid. A kid who got in a few too many fights.”

“A kid who's first impulse is to smack somebody when things don't go his way.”

“Come on, Jodi, half the time it was because kids were giving Troy a hard time. Teague's first impulse is to protect the people he loves.”

“I know.” Jodi sighed and ate a shred of her salad, thinking. “I just need to take care of family first, you know? Maybe she'll change her mind about Teague someday.”

“I hope so,” Cissy said. “I love you both, and I'd love to see you together. I'm not trying to tell you what to do or anything.”

“I know. It's okay.” Jodi smiled. “Teague did a lot for you. I don't blame you for defending him.” She munched another mouthful, then pointed her fork at Cissy while she swallowed. “So when does Cal get out?”

“Tuesday.”

“And he doesn't know where you're staying?”

Cissy shook her head. “Nope. And if he finds out, I'll be okay. I've got Teague on speed-dial.”

Friday dawned hot and hazy, and by two o'clock Jodi had had enough of the unaccustomed humidity. Pushing a lock of hair back under the bandanna covering her head she let out a long, slow breath. Her arm muscles ached, she was sweating like a three-hundred-pound Gator running back, and her clothes, skin, and even her hair were speckled with white paint. Luna lay beside her, panting, her black patches bearing white spatters as well.

“Quittin' time.” Jodi set down the paint sprayer and waved for Troy to put down his brush. They'd spent the entire day constructing a wheelchair ramp and windbreak for the clinic and painting them white to match the house.

“But it's not done,” Troy said.

“We'll finish tomorrow,” Jodi said. “Nobody's going to see it between now and then.”

“Okay. Can I go home now?” He set his brush on the lid of the paint can and bounced to his feet.

Jodi nodded, smiling. “Sure. You deserve a rest. Working all morning for Skelton, and then coming over here—you're a hard worker these days.”

Troy scuffed one sneakered foot in the dust. “Yeah, but I might have to quit working for Mr. Skelton.”

“Why?” Jodi tensed. “Doesn't he treat you right?”

“Oh, yeah. He doesn't even make me do that much. Mostly, I just clean stalls, and he pays me real good. But it's a conflagration of interests.”

“A conflict?” Jodi suppressed a smile. “Conflict of interests?”

“Uh-huh. Because of the war.”

“The war?”

“Yeah. The Johnson County War. It's the rich guys versus the cowboys, Teague says. And Mr. Skelton's a rich guy, and I guess I'm a cowboy, even though I am making a lot of money now.”

“Troy, the Johnson County War was in 1892.”

“No. It's in August,” Troy said.

Jodi laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“The Johnson County War,” Troy said. “Teague's in it, and so is Nate Shawcross and Trevor Baines.”

Maybe her neighbors were planning an insurrection against the Skeltons.
Hmm,
she thought.
I might want to get in on that.

“They're practicing right now,” he said. “You want to come see?”

“No, that's okay.” The last thing she needed was to see Teague. For some reason, the steamy weather made her thoughts turn in forbidden directions. “But I'll take you home. Let's just clean up our stuff.”

“Okay. But maybe you could watch for just a minute.”

She shrugged. “I don't need to watch Teague play cowboys and Indians, or whatever.”

“It's not cowboys and Indians,” Troy said. “It's cowboys and rich guys.”

“Whatever. We need to get you home.”

She didn't want to admit it, but she kind of wanted to know what Teague was up to. She was willing to bet it had something to do with Courtney Skelton.

***

Twenty minutes later she and Troy tooled into the turnout in front of Teague's ranch house. Jodi could hear shouts and whoops coming from behind the barn. A sharp clicking sound punctuated the rumble of hooves.

“What are they doing back there?” she asked Troy.

“I told you. Practicing for the war.” Troy tugged her arm. “Come see. Come on.”

Whatever “the war” was, Troy was obviously excited about it. Jodi allowed herself to be led around the back of the barn to see Teague and two other riders galloping around the arena where he and Jodi had practiced team roping years ago. But there were no ropes today. Instead, the cowboys carried long mallets as they galloped in tight circles, leaning from their saddles to whack a small white ball around in the dirt.

“What the hell,” Jodi said.

“It's to prove cowboys are better.”

“Nobody needs to prove that,” she said.

Teague caught sight of her and galloped over to the side of the arena. He was breathing hard, and his quarter horse was lathered with sweat.

“Whaddaya think?” He swung the mallet in a wide circle, making it whistle through the air. His quarter horse flicked an ear, but otherwise seemed unconcerned.

“You don't want to know,” Jodi said.

Teague ignored her dry tone—or maybe he didn't even notice it.

“Know what we're doing?” he asked.

“Troy said something about a war between the cowboys and the rich guys. So you're learning polo? That's nuts. Why don't you hold a roping contest? Or bronc riding?” She grinned. “I'd like to put Courtney on a bronc.” Her grin widened. “Yeah, we could introduce Courtney to the joys of the rodeo. I'd enjoy that.” She paused. “What's going on between you and her, anyway?”

He reached down to pat the horse's neck. “Nothing.”

“Right.”

“She's not for me, that's for sure.” He swung a leg over the horse's broad rump and slid to the ground. Slinging the reins over the top rail of the fence, he ducked through the bars and stood beside Jodi. “She and her dad think everything we do is ‘low class.' I figure we'll show them what class is.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“By kicking their asses at their own game.” Teague took off his hat and smacked it against his thigh, releasing a cloud of dust. “Players have to buy in, and we can charge for admission and refreshments too. I'm going to have it catered so they can nosh on their natural diet: martinis and hors d'oeuvres.”

Jodi snorted. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Nope.”

“Don't you have anything better to do?”

“Nope.”

Jodi glanced around Teague's ranch. Judging from the neat, tidy appearance of the house and barn, he really didn't have anything pressing that needed doing. She hiked herself up on the fence, keeping a healthy distance away from him while they watched the two cowboys whack the ball around. Even from two feet away, she swore she could feel heat coming off him, or pheromones or something. She scooched a little closer, then clenched her hands in her lap.
You promised
, she told herself.
You promised.
She concentrated on the polo players.

“Is that Nate Shawcross?”

Teague nodded.

“I can't believe you got him to do something fun.”

“He's been different since he got married. Even talks once in a while now.”

Jodi laughed. Shawcross was famous for his quiet, somber demeanor. She'd heard he married a wild child from New Jersey and started a riding camp for teens. It had been hard to picture Nate dealing with kids, let alone an Easterner, but love did funny things to people.

She looked over at Teague and felt a flutter in her chest.

Funny things. Yeah.

Real funny. So funny they took up hobbies that were totally out of character.

“So this polo thing,” she said. “Was it Courtney's idea?”

“She kind of suggested it.”

“Great.” Jodi rolled her eyes. “And I suppose she'll need to hang around here all the time, helping out.”

Teague spread his hands, indicating the entire ranch. “You see her here anywhere?”

“Not yet.”

“She's not coming. I didn't invite her. Besides, the polo game isn't about Courtney. It's about…”

“Never mind. It doesn't matter.” At least, it shouldn't. What Teague did was his own business and none of hers. She hopped off the fence. “I've got to go. Stuff to do.”

“You need help?” Teague asked.

“Nope. I'm good.” She headed back to her truck, slapping her dusty hands on the thighs of her jeans, then digging in her pocket for her keys.

“I thought I'd stop by—tomorrow, maybe?” Teague called to her. “Got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Dang. She was trying to stay away from him, but she loved surprises. And somewhere deep inside, the notion of a surprise from Teague lit her up like a spark hitting tinder.

“Nothing big,” he said. “Well, actually, it is pretty big, but… Never mind. You'll like it.”

The double entendre was apparently unconscious, but Jodi's mind jumped straight into the gutter and rolled around for a while. An image came to mind of Teague kicking off his boots and stretching out on her lace-bedecked canopy bed. She'd had the bed since junior high, and if dreams were dollars, he owned it.

Teague was looking down at her and smiling, and she realized she had a faraway look on her face and a smile on her lips that probably told him exactly what she was thinking. She gave herself a quick mental slap. No way was she signing up for another event in the mattress rodeo. Not with Teague. She'd won the last go-round, and she wanted to go out a champion.

Jodi was putting Eightball out to pasture the next morning when Teague's truck pulled into the drive, hauling a battered one-horse trailer behind it.

Releasing her horse, she slipped out the gate and watched her neighbor stroll around the pickup to lift the trailer's metal latch. Vegas's spotted head hung over the door, his eyes cloudy but his expression placid. His ears were tilted forward, twitching one way, then another as he took in his new surroundings as best he could.

“Oh, Teague, you brought him.” Jodi stroked the horse's nose and let him nuzzle her hand, mumbling it between his lips in search of a treat. “That's wonderful. I was just thinking I needed a new therapy horse. Eightball's just too antsy.”

“Well, we'll see how it goes.” Teague clipped a lead to Vegas's halter and dropped the trailer's ramp. Immediately a gray blur about the size of a large dog raced past them with a frantic jangling of bells, stopping dead in the center of the driveway to resolve itself into a black and white goat with long, spindly legs and a devilish smile on its face. A bell hung from a red leather collar around its neck.

“What the hell is that?” Jodi asked.

“A goat.”

“No kidding. But I thought you said his goat died.”

“Got another one.”

The goat looked right, then left. It apparently decided the daylilies growing beside the house looked appetizing, because it rushed over and grabbed three mouthfuls of lily in quick succession, pulling them out by the bulbs.

“His name is Beelzy,” Teague said.

“Beelzy?”

“Short for Beelzebub. He's the son of Satan.”

Jodi watched the beast yank up another mouthful of flowers. “I believe you.”

“No, really,” Teague said. “His dad Satan was the one that died. I went back where I got him and they gave me Beelzy. They didn't even charge me for him.”

Jodi laughed. “I think they should have paid you to take him.”

Teague strode toward the goat, waving him away from the flowers. Beelzy turned, a wicked glint in his yellow eyes, and leapt up to spin in the air. He hit the ground with all four legs churning like a cartoon character and charged at Jodi, head lowered. She dodged away just in time and the goat hurtled past her, barreling into the corral gate with a painful clang.

Teague grabbed a leash from a hook by the trailer door and folded it in one hand. Dropping into a crouch, he stalked toward the goat as it munched on the tall grass near the gatepost.

“He wears the bell so that—
umph
!” He flung himself at the goat and it dodged away, leaving him to belly-flop onto the ground.

“So that Vegas knows where he is,” he continued, scrambling to his feet.

Teague was evidently accustomed to belly flopping on the ground in pursuit of goats. As Jodi watched, he and the animal squared off. Teague crouched low like a wrestler looking for an opening as the goat ducked and dodged like a prizefighter. Finally Teague flung himself at it and hit the dirt again.

“Damn.” He brushed off his shirt and pants, narrowing his eyes as Beelzy faced him and let out a vibrato-laced bleat. If goats could laugh, Jodi would have sworn that's what Beelzy was doing. The goat dodged left, and Teague followed suit. The goat dodged right.

“Help me out here.” Teague feinted toward the goat again, and the animal bowed down on his front legs like a dog in play posture, skinny butt raised high.

Jodi looked from Teague to the goat and folded her arms across her chest.

“No,” she said. “I'm not your goat girl.”

“Come on.” The goat made a dash toward Teague, then dodged sideways and hurtled forward. Teague grabbed for his tail as he rushed past, but he was too late.

“You guys are enjoying this,” Jodi said. She was too, to tell the truth. She'd never seen this side of Teague before. “You're
playing.
”

Even as a kid, Teague had never played. Everything he did had a purpose. He rode and roped to build rodeo skills so he could make money. He played baseball so he could make the team at school, though his notion of earning any kind of athletic scholarship died when he was cut for fighting two weeks after the season started.

But now he was playing. With a goat.

Beelzy bleated and scampered sideways, then rocketed past Teague and pranced in a wide circle around the house. As he came around the corner Jodi lunged for him, but he leapt out of her grip and spun her off balance. She hit the grass hard as Teague grabbed the goat and missed as well, thumping down beside her.

Well, sort of beside her. Mostly, he was on top of her. She opened her eyes to see his face inches away, his eyes wide with surprise. Every part of his body was rigid, pressing into her.

Every part.

“Either you really like goats or you're happy to see me.”

She regretted the words the minute she said them. Now he'd get embarrassed and move, and the sweet, warm feeling that had blossomed between her legs and was slowly spreading through her whole body would go away.

And that would be good
, she told herself sternly.
Step away from the cowboy.

The cowboy closed his eyes, but he didn't move.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He opened his eyes and looked down into hers. “How 'bout you?” His voice was low and he sounded a little breathless.

“I'm… yeah.” She started to say something else, but suddenly his lips were on hers and danged if she could remember what she was going to say. She remembered the warm, liquid sensation of kissing Teague though—the sweet heat of his mouth, the taste of mint and the faint scent of sweat, sunshine, and sage that combined to make cowboy.

When they pulled apart, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then hiked himself up on his hands to rise, but the movement pressed his hips harder into hers. She squirmed against him, and he moved himself against her again, deliberately this time, watching her face.

Their afternoon in his bedroom came back to her with such startling clarity that she felt like she'd gone back in time. Teague was kissing her again, his mouth hot on hers, his hands in her hair, and she couldn't help kissing him back, couldn't help moving beneath him. Closing her eyes, she tucked her hands under his shirt and ran them over his bare chest while the kiss deepened and their bodies rocked in rhythm.

Suddenly Teague stopped and pulled away. She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, his eyes scanning her face.

“What exactly did you promise your mother?” he asked, his voice hoarse and breathless.

“I—I said I wouldn't get involved with you.”

“Oh.” He relaxed slightly. “That's okay, then. This isn't ‘involved.' We're just playing.”

She started to get up but he was immovable, his elbows on either side of her arms, his face inches away. Warmth was still flowing through her, slow as thick, hot honey in her veins. She struggled, not very convincingly, and the full length of a rock-hard erection pressed against her in exactly the place she wanted it. The honey flowed a little faster and she closed her eyes and threw her head back in full, delicious surrender.

He took full advantage of the opportunity, kissing her throat, rocking against her, bringing one hand up to caress her breast. She arched her back and pressed into his hand, gasping at his touch. She could feel herself peaking under his hand, her body begging for more.

The hand moved from her breast to the hot aching spot between her legs and she couldn't help pressing up against him to stop the need from overwhelming her. It felt so good she did it again, and again, and again… He was definitely winning the game this time. She felt like she was about to explode, like her body would shatter and fly off into orbit any minute.

“Teague,” she gasped. “Teague. More.”

His breathing was quick and harsh as he unsnapped her jeans. He watched her while he touched her, the heat of his fingers soothing the hot, needy heart of her. She tilted her face to the sun and closed her eyes while she pulsed against him, feeling the tension inside her rise and break so she cried out and clenched her thighs, gripping him as if she was urging on a fast horse while sweet, hot magic flooded her veins.

When the feeling eased, she sat up again, then closed her eyes and tipped her face to the sun.

“Damn,” she said. “You won. You definitely won the game that time.”

She started to rise but he gripped her arms, meeting her eyes with an honesty and intimacy she'd never seen from him.

“Is this really just a game to you?”

Was it? Of course it was. It had to be.

She was saved from answering by the goat, who chose that moment to gallop around the corner and slide to a stop, greeting them with a loud bleat.

“Son of a bitch,” Teague muttered, rising on shaky legs and wincing as he made a quick adjustment to the fit of his jeans. “I'm going to kill that animal.”

She stood and staggered a little, then caught her balance and set off after the prancing son of Satan. Darting toward the goat, she grabbed his collar.

“I got him.”

She hung onto the bleating animal while Teague picked up the leash where he'd dropped it on the grass and clipped it to the goat's collar. Beelzy allowed himself to be led across the grass, but once he reached the driveway he splayed all four legs in the dirt and refused to budge. Grimacing, Teague wrapped his arms around the animal's front and rear legs and lifted him to his chest. Jodi tried not to laugh as the goat let out a high, nasal protest.

“Put him in the corral,” she said. “The pasture fence won't hold him.”

Teague glanced over at the electric fence his brother had strung days before. “No, and it won't hold Vegas, either. If he gets shocked, he's liable to spin around and slam into it again. If something hurts him, he can't see what it is and he panics.”

“Do you think he'll be okay in the corral?”

Teague scanned the metal panels lashed to wooden posts. “Probably. Those'll give if he hits them. And if you show him the boundaries, he'll remember where they are. He does really well, considering.” He took a deep breath. “Jodi…”

“How much can he see?” She wasn't going to let him say a word about what had happened. Not a word.

“I'm not sure. He can see shadows out of his left eye, I think, but probably nothing out of his right. If something spooks him from the left, he'll dodge right no matter what's in the way—a fence, a wall, a human… he doesn't know it's there. You have to talk all the time to make sure he knows where you are.” He looked troubled. “I'm worried one of your kids could get hurt. Your students, I mean. Or whatever.”

“Clients.” Jodi shrugged. “They'll understand better than anyone that Vegas needs special care.”

Gathering the lead rope in one hand, Jodi led Vegas down the ramp. The old horse placed each hoof carefully, testing his footing before committing himself. Teague guarded the gate while she led the horse into the corral, waving Beelzy back when he bolted for the opening.

“I'll miss Vegas, but Beelzy? Not so much,” Teague said. “It's almost worth giving up Vegas to get rid of him.”

“Thanks.” Jodi rolled her eyes. “Just what I've always wanted. A goat.”

“Not just any goat. That's the son of Satan, there.”

“I would have known even if you hadn't told me.”

Jodi's legs still felt weak and shaky while she led Vegas around the perimeter of the corral, letting him nose the panels. She kept her eyes carefully averted from Teague while Beelzy frolicked around them, playing keep-away when Jodi tried to pet him, then trotting up behind her, head lowered. She dodged sideways and his effort to butt her turned into another headlong rush into the side of the corral. Vegas shied at the clang of the goat's horns against the metal.

“It's okay, buddy.” Jodi stopped. She'd circled the corral twice. She turned to Teague, making her tone casual and offhanded. “You think that's enough?”

He folded his arms on the top rail and gave her a slow smile. “No. It definitely wasn't enough.”

“I think it was too much.” She unclipped the lead from Vegas's halter and stepped out of the corral to stand beside him, keeping a good foot of distance between them while they watched the horse settle in. The goat stood beside Vegas, still poised to run, and Jodi could swear he was smiling.

“Look at that goat,” she said. “He's dreaming up more devilment.”

“Me too.” Teague moved behind her and held the rail on either side. His body aligned with hers and she could feel his arousal pressing into her back. He dropped his voice to a low rasp and spoke into her ear, ruffling the delicate curls that had escaped her ponytail. “We didn't finish our game.”

“I—I can't.” She checked her watch and straightened. “I have a client coming right now.”

He released his grip and groaned. “Tell me you're kidding.”

“No, really. Russell and his dad'll be here any minute.”

He looked down and took a few deep, shaky breaths. When he looked up again, his gaze had cooled down from hot to warm.

“Okay,” he said. “But you're not putting Vegas to work that fast, are you?”

Jodi shook her head. “Nope. Bill Caxton brought over Triple Threat for me to use.”

“How'd you manage that? I must have tried a dozen times to get Bill to part with that horse.”

“Feminine wiles. And the fact that Triple Threat has arthritis now didn't hurt.” She waved a hand in invitation. “Come on. Let's go in the barn and wash up.”

She led him into the barn and cranked on a faucet that arched over a battered tin laundry tub. Washing his hands, Teague shook his head.

“So you've got a blind horse, a lame horse, and a pain-in-the-ass goat. This isn't a clinic; it's a home for wayward critters.”

Jodi shrugged. “They'll help the kids. It'll actually be good for them to see that animals can overcome disabilities too.”