Cowboy Fever (18 page)

Jodi tried to ignore the heat emanating from her dance partner's body. She tried to ignore the way his breath was warming her ear too, and the way his hand was massaging the small of her back, drifting lower and lower.

Had he just put his hand in her back pocket?

Yep.

She willed away a spasm of something that felt suspiciously like lust. What was it with these guys? They were pure sex on a stick, every one of them.

She winced. Sex and sticks were the last things she needed to be thinking about.

Gustaldo squeezed her hand and bent his head lower, letting his lips brush her hair. Holy crap. He was going to kiss her. She'd only had one drink—or was it two?—but she felt a sudden reckless urge to let him. In the back of her mind, she knew messing with Gustaldo was a bad idea. She turned her head away and pretended not to notice his obvious intentions.

As they passed the far side of the dance floor, she saw Teague watching her. She closed her eyes, only to feel his hand slip into her other pocket. What the hell? Was she wearing a “touch me” sign on the seat of her pants or what?

“Cell number,” he said. “Just in case you need me.”

Yeah, right. Who needed Teague? She had Gustaldo. He was more than enough.

Way more.

When the song ended, she pulled away and looked at her watch.

“Oh, wow,” she said, faking surprise. “Look at the time. I need to get home.”

“You have someone waiting?” Gustaldo said. He looked genuinely disappointed. She tried not to feel flattered.

“No, but I have to be up bright and early,” she chirped.

“Ah.” He took her hand. “I could help.” He lowered his voice to a sexy whisper. “We could stay up all night and greet the dawn together,” he said.

“Ah, no.” Jodi wondered what kind of phrase book he'd used to learn English. The guy didn't seem to be able to say anything that wasn't seductive. Hustling over to the table, she slung her purse over her shoulder. “I don't—I can't. But it's been, um, great.” She turned and graced the other three guys with her best rodeo queen smile. It had been great, actually. They'd been funny, entertaining, and most of all, attentive. Having that many stunningly attractive men hanging on her every word had been good for her.

For a while there, she hadn't even thought about Teague Treadwell. Of course, the fact that it took an entire polo team to distract her probably wasn't a good sign.

She fluttered a casual finger wave at the guys and headed for the door, only to stop short as Gustaldo took her hand.

“I will see you home,” he said. “I must make sure you are safe.”

“No. Gustaldo, no.” She pulled her hand away. “I'm fine. Really.”

His dark brows lowered over his eyes. “I insist.”

“Gustaldo, this is America. You can't insist.”

He looked pained, then sad, then angry.

“Never mind.” He spun on his heel and walked away.

Jodi watched him go, biting her lower lip and wondering if she'd been rude. She just didn't want him to follow her home. She was pretty sure he'd try to follow her inside, and then God knew what would happen.

Well, not just God. She knew too.

She headed out the door and trotted to her truck. Turning the key in the lock, she climbed inside and started the engine. She was just pulling out of the parking lot when she glanced in her rearview mirror to see the polo team spilling out the front door. Throwing the truck into gear, she swept out of the parking lot. Fast.

Her headlights fanned through the darkness, lighting the pitted blacktop as she turned onto the county road. She could see lights on in a few houses along the way, but as the road eased out of town there was nothing but darkness. The wide open spaces that made her feel so free during the day made her feel a little exposed now. She glanced in her rearview mirror. Were those headlights behind her?

She tossed her hair, ignoring the queasiness in her stomach.
Don't be stupid,
she told herself.
They're not following you.
It was probably some other bar patron heading home.

Of course, hardly anybody lived out this way. Just her and Teague. Bill Caxton's ranch was about five miles down the road, but she hadn't seen him at the bar.

She glanced up again as she turned into the driveway. The lights were gone.

Good. Maybe she'd imagined them.

When she got inside, she puttered around in the kitchen for a while, cleaning up the day's dishes, then grabbed the paperback she was reading and headed for the bedroom. Slipping into an ancient, flimsy nightgown that had once been sexy and was now downright disreputable, she slid into bed and propped her head up on an extra pillow. That was the good thing about living alone. You could wear whatever you damn pleased to bed.

Sighing, she flipped open the book and let the world outside the bedroom fade away. No more Teague. No more Courtney. No more Gustaldo.

Her eyelids were starting to feel heavy when a slash of light crossed the far wall of the bedroom. The accompanying crunch of gravel and the unmistakable slam of a car door made her eyes pop open. Then there was another slam.

“Joh-
deeeeeee!
” sang a chorus of masculine voices. “Joh-
deeeee!
”

Gustaldo. And, by the sound of things, all his friends, too. It
had
been their headlights behind her earlier that night. They'd followed her to see where she lived, and now they were outside.

“Joh-
deeeee!
”

She flicked off the bedside light, then cursed herself. They'd see it go out and know exactly where she was.

Gravel crunched under heavy boots. The worn boards of the front porch creaked, then creaked again, and a heavy knock on the door resounded through the house.

“Joh-deeee!” The voice sounded playful. Amused.

Drunk.

Had she locked the front door? She couldn't remember. She held her breath as the knob rattled once, then twice. There was another knock on the door.

Good. She'd locked it.

That was about the only smart thing she'd done all night.

Someone said something in Spanish, and was answered with laughter and another barrage of
Español
. She heard her name mixed in with the foreign words and winced.

Damn. She didn't know these guys. They were probably harmless, but it was two o'clock in the morning, and they were undoubtedly drunk. Why had she gone and danced with Gustaldo? Why had she even sat with them?

Because of Teague. If he hadn't been there with Courtney, she wouldn't have given Gustaldo the time of day. It was all his fault.

Or was it? She remembered sticking her tongue out at him as she walked away with Gustaldo. She'd been petty and jealous and mean. Much as she'd like to blame Teague, it was her own stupidity that had gotten her into this.

“Joh-deee!” Gustaldo sounded impatient. “We have you a present!”

Oh, great. They'd brought her a gift. Like that would make her open the door.

She slid out of bed and stepped into her jeans. She wasn't going to let them in, but if they somehow got inside, she didn't want to greet them half-naked. She slipped on a T-shirt, then remembered Teague slipping the napkin into her pocket.

What the hell. Maybe she did need him.

Grabbing her cell phone off the nightstand, she hit the “OK” button to light the number scrawled on the napkin, then poked the numbers into the phone, the digital “beep” of the keypad sounding like a trumpet blaring in the silence.

***

Teague shrugged Courtney off his shoulder for the third time as they rounded the bend and turned into the driveway of the Skelton mansion.

“Mmm,” she said, snuggling closer as he stopped the truck. “Teague.”

“What?”

She threw her arms around his neck and tugged him toward her until his face was all mashed up against hers.

“Oh, Teague.” Her rum-scented breath was hot in his ear.

“Wait a minute.” He wrenched himself away. “Let's get you inside.” He'd be safe once he got her to the house. Let her father take care of her.

“Okay.” She batted her lashes. “That would be better.”

Teague slid out of the truck, then walked around to the other side and opened Courtney's door.

“I don't know if I can walk,” she said, her lashes still fluttering. “I'm really drunk.”

A warning light flashed in Teague's mind. Courtney's slurred speech had suddenly cleared right up. She didn't sound the least bit drunk now—but she wanted him to carry her?

“Give it a try,” he said. “Walking will do you good.”

She slid out of the truck and wavered on her high heels, falling against him. Instinctively, he backed away. She miraculously regained her footing.

“Come on,” she said. “Help me inside.”

She pitched sideways again, and this time he really had to catch her. Taking her elbow, he half-carried her toward the house. When they reached the porch steps, she seemed to lose what little strength she had. She tripped on the third step and almost took a header, so he scooped her up and carried her up to the door.

He hoped Mitch Skelton wouldn't wake up and come to see what was going on. The richest man in the county probably wouldn't be happy to see his daughter half-comatose in the arms of a man who wouldn't pay for the privilege. Shifting her in his arms, he carried her through the gingerbread archway and across the porch to the front door of her ridiculous wedding cake house.

“Hope your dad doesn't see us,” he said.

She giggled and put her arms around his neck. “Oh, he's gone,” she said.

The warning light was flashing again. “Gone?”

“He went to Arizona to look at some horses.”

“Well, at least he won't see me bringing you home drunk.”

She giggled again and gave him a squeeze. “Yeah, he'd have a fit. He thinks I ought to find some businessman or a lawyer or something. Not a guy like you.”

“A guy like me?” Teague lowered his brows.

“Well, you know. You're kind of from the wrong side of the tracks.”

“Right,” he said. “And that upsets your dad.”

“Yup,” she said. “He's soooo pissed. I mean, you're like the town bad boy.” She squirmed in her seat. “Everybody's scared of you, because you're so—so
disreputable.
”

She said that last word like it meant something good.

She rested her head against his chest. “I heard you even went to jail.”

“Not jail,” he said, as if it mattered. How had she heard that little tidbit about his life? “I was in juvy. Reform school, back when I was sixteen.”

“Oooh,” she said. “You're a
felon.
What did you do?”

“Nothing.” He felt his stomach twist with disgust—at himself and who he was, and at Courtney. The girl really was slumming—on purpose. She thought this was
West Side Story
or something.

Well, he was nobody's Romeo.

Except maybe Jodi's.

“You have a key?” he asked.

“In my purse. I left it in the truck.”

Sighing, he settled her onto a white wicker chair beside the door.

He shifted from one foot to the other, staring down at her. He could just leave her here, he thought—just go. But it probably wasn't safe. Those Spanish guys probably lived on the grounds somewhere, and they'd be home soon. They didn't seem to be interested in Courtney, but you never knew.

They were sure as hell interested in Jodi.

Misinterpreting his look, Courtney simpered and adjusted herself into a languid pin-up pose. He turned away and trudged back to the truck and grabbed her purse off the front seat. Honeybucket poked his head out and blinked.

“Whoa. You've had quite a night, haven't you, Spike?” Teague wasn't about to call any animal Honeybucket. It was insulting. “You got the house key in there?”

He thrust his hand inside and felt around, shifting the little dog sideways as his fingers groped for the key.

“Ark!” said Honeybucket, then let out a disgruntled growl. Teague laughed.

“Come on, buddy.” He lifted the dog out and placed him on the ground, then peered into the depths of the purse. The key gleamed at the bottom.

“All right.” Teague headed back to the porch and climbed the steps. Shoving the key in the lock, he breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened.

“Come on.” He urged Courtney off the chair and guided her inside. Stumbling, she made her way to a white upholstered sofa and grabbed his hand as she collapsed onto the cushions. Pulling free, he grabbed a throw from the back and spread it over her, being careful not to touch her. He stepped away quickly.

“Okay,” he said. “Well, I'll see you.”

She gave him the same squint-eyed stare he'd caught in the bar. She looked perfectly sober all of a sudden, and pissed as hell.

“You can't go,” she said.

“I have to, Courtney. You need to sleep it off.”

“I'm fine.” She swung her feet to the floor and sat up. “See? Fine.” She smoothed her face into a practiced smile and patted the cushion beside her. “Come on. Sit with me.” She dropped her voice into a breathy growl. “I'll bet a big bad man like you can make me feel like a wild woman.”

Dang. She wasn't drunk. Nobody recovered that fast. No, she'd been faking it, pretending to be helpless so he'd follow her into her parlor like a fly being coaxed into a spider's web. And now she was trying to seduce him by letting him know just how low class and dangerous he was. That notion might turn her on, but it wasn't doing a damn thing for him.

And he'd left Jodi at the mercy of the polo players to look out for this woman. Clenching his fists at his sides, he headed for the door.

“I'm leaving,” he said.

“You can't.” She was giving him the stink-eye again, suddenly sober and no longer the least bit sexy.