Cowboy Fever Page 5

  Jodi tucked her hand up under the paint’s mane and rubbed his neck. He turned and gave her the same treatment he’d given Teague, rubbing his forehead against her shoulder.

  “He seems a little depressed. I think his days are kind of long,” Teague said regretfully. It made his chest ache to see the way Vegas stood in the corner of the paddock day after day, gazing over the fence longingly at a world he could barely see. “And his goat died.”

  “His goat?”

  “The other horses bully him, but he gets lonesome by himself, so I got him a goat. But it died.”

  “Poor Vegas.” Jodi looked at the old horse thoughtfully. “He’ll trust you, though? He’ll let you lead him?”

  Teague nodded.

  “He’d be a great horse for kids,” Jodi said. “Heck, he was a great horse for kids. For us. Remember?”

  Teague remembered all right. Looking at her standing there beside Vegas, he could almost convince himself they were still the kids they used to be.

  No such luck. They definitely weren’t kids anymore.

  Troy appeared at the barn door, his face creased with worry.

  “Teague, you want me to feed the horses? I didn’t mean to forget. I’m really, really sorry.”

  Teague shrugged. He’d meant to chastise Troy, but it wasn’t really necessary. His brother did his best. He just forgot stuff sometimes.

  “I did it, bro.” He saw a look of dismay cross Troy’s face and thought fast. “But if you clean up the workshop, that would help a lot.”

  “Okay.” Troy ducked back into the barn. “I’ll clean it really good. You’ll see. I’m good at cleaning. Just ask Jodi.” His voice faded away.

  Jodi laughed. “You’re going to have the cleanest workshop in three counties,” she said.

  “I know. And it doesn’t even need cleaning. But if I don’t give him something to do, he’ll feel bad.”

  “You handle him really well,” Jodi said.

  Teague shrugged. “He’s my brother.” Compliments on his relationship with his brother always embarrassed him. He just did what he had to do.

  He glanced around, searching for a way to change the subject. As he’d shown Jodi the horses and the barn, it seemed like she really was impressed with the changes he’d made. Maybe there really was hope for a resurrection of their friendship—or even something more. If there was, the house would clinch it.

  “Want to see the house?” he asked. He took a step closer. “I could give you the tour.”

  Oh, man. For some reason, his voice had dropped into a lower register when he’d said that. It sounded like he was trying to seduce her or something. And he wasn’t—not really. Jodi needed a lot more than he had to offer, especially if he was right about the reason she’d come home.

  “You don’t have to,” he said. “I didn’t mean…”

  “No,” Jodi interrupted. “I mean, yes. I want to.”

  Chapter 8

  Jodi followed Teague into the house, ignoring the warning bells clanging in the back of her mind. When he’d invited her inside, his voice had gone all soft and sexy and she felt something inside her warming and softening. And now they were headed inside, where he’d give her the tour, which would probably include the bedroom.

  She’d fantasized about Teague for years, but now that she could conceivably live out those dreams, they seemed infinitely more dangerous.

  The front door was solid oak, with an arched window of frosted glass inset in the top half. Like the rest of the structure, it was grandiose to the point of tackiness. But when Teague opened it, golden light spilled out onto the porch.

  The place was beautiful, decorated in a cozy, homey way. Oak cabinets glowed with a subtle sheen, echoing the glint of copper cookware that hung from an iron rack over an island cook top. The brushed stainless appliances were surprisingly spotless, and a windowed alcove in the corner held an old oak table and four pressed-back chairs. Jodi would have figured it was all for show if it hadn’t been for the clear signs of culinary ambition scattered around: a Mario Batali cookbook, spotted and stained, lying open to a recipe for short ribs; pots and pans, along with a copper colander and the work bowl from a Cuisinart drying upside down next to the sink; a glass pan of something baked, probably brownies, covered with aluminum foil on the countertop. A slow cooker bubbled in one corner of the counter, a rich, beefy scent wafting from under its glass lid.

  “Nice,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  He led her down a narrow hall, pausing so she could admire a bathroom fitted with a glass-fronted shower lined with river rock and double sinks set into a tiled counter. The first room past that was Troy’s bedroom, heaped with a happy chaos of CDs, DVDs, and model cars.

  Next was Teague’s room. Jodi felt a warm awareness in the pit of her stomach as they stepped through the door. A rustic bed carved from raw pine was draped with a heavy tapestry comforter, woven in warm reds and golds. Matching nightstands flanked the bed, topped by graceful curving lamps made of antlers, and an enormous dresser crouched in one corner. Gleaming hardwood floors were decorated with strategically placed throw rungs whose rich colors matched the comforter, and the window was draped with lush velvet drapes. It looked like a suite at a swanky resort, not a rancher’s bedroom.

  “This is nice,” Jodi said. Her voice came out husky and she cleared her throat and tried again, but Teague’s eyes met hers and her mouth went suddenly dry. Her throat slammed shut and all she could do was look at him.

  Who was this guy, anyway? He’d changed so much. The clothes were one thing, but it took a certain kind of person to create a nest this cozy. Only a person who cared about home and family could put together a home like this.

  Only a person with a heart.

  Maybe she’d stick around for a re-ride after all.

  ***

  Teague wondered if Jodi could sense his nervousness. If she couldn’t hear the thumping of his heart, she was bound to notice the catch in his breathing as he wondered if there could be a second chance for them after all. Maybe if he played his cards right he could erase all the ugliness of their last time together and start again.

  She turned and he saw a flicker of—something—cross her face. Fear? No, she wasn’t afraid of much of anything. Uncertainty, maybe. Whatever it was, she was remembering their last meeting.

  He knew she’d never forget it. You couldn’t erase something like that. Not the good part, and certainly not the bad.

  He put a hand to his forehead and squeezed his temples, trying to wring out the memory of that crazy, desperate night. He hadn’t meant to make love to her. He’d meant to avoid her. But she’d come to him. There she’d been, standing in his bedroom. His bedroom.

  What was he supposed to do?

  He remembered the scent of her, the taste, the softness of her skin. Their shared peak had been the one perfect moment of his life—the fulcrum where everything balanced, spun, and turned. It could dip, or it could rise. Afterward, he’d closed his eyes and tried to hold his breath so nothing would change.

  But when she’d told him she was willing to change her life for him, he’d realized what a disaster that would be. Jodi was headed for a golden future. Holding her here, locked in his sordid life, would be wrong on every level.

  So he’d shut her down. Sent her away.

  He’d done her a favor, really. There’d always been something between them—something they needed to finish. And they’d finished it, all right. Finished it for good, so she could get on with the life she deserved. He’d made it easy for her to leave town and never come back.

  But she had come back.

  He pushed his hair back from his forehead and tried for a smile, but it was shaky and tense. He could feel it, a cockeyed grin trembling on his face. He probably looked like an idiot, but at least Jodi didn’t look scared anymore.

  She st
epped over to the dresser and picked up a bucking horse figurine, a cheap imitation bronze that didn’t fit the rest of the room. “Didn’t your dad give this to you?”

  Teague looked away. “Maybe. I don’t remember.”

  “I guess that’s just as well.” She set the sculpture down and leaned against the dresser. “I don’t blame you for wanting to forget about him.”

  He hunched his shoulders and looked away. He’d put his childhood behind him. Long as he didn’t think about it, he didn’t need to drink to wipe out the memories, or punch something or someone just to release the anger that inevitably followed them. He’d managed to build a new, improved life—but ignoring your demons wasn’t the same as conquering them for good.

  “Teague?”

  She had her hand on his arm and was looking up into his face, her blue eyes wide. Shit. When had she gotten so close? He could smell her hair. She still used the same fruity shampoo she’d used as a girl. Without thinking, he put one finger under her chin and tilted her face up towards his.

  Their eyes met, and there was no trace in hers of the fear he’d seen when they first walked into the room. All he saw was Jodi standing beside him, close enough to kiss.

  Chapter 9

  Jodi had felt something pulling her toward Teague from the moment she’d seen him at the Rexall, and now that they were alone the attraction intensified to the point where she wasn’t sure she had a shred of free will left. One more second of silence, one more touch of his hand, and she’d drag him over to that bed and rip his clothes off.

  The thought made her squirm inside, and something reckless swelled up in her heart. What the hell was wrong with acting on your impulses once in a while? She wasn’t an eighteen-year-old anymore. More important, she wasn’t a virgin. Teague had seen to that the last time they’d been together in his bedroom. She wondered if he knew he’d been her first.

  But the main thing was, she was a woman now. She’d had casual relationships. She’d learned to separate sex from love and enjoy it for its own sake.

  So what the hell? Why not?

  She hiked up on her toes and touched her lips to his.

  The minute she did it, she knew she’d made a mistake. There was no separating Teague Treadwell from anything. He was part of the fabric of her life, a piece of her: the first friend she’d had, the first boy she’d loved, the first man she’d slept with, and the first to break her heart.

  And as much as she wanted to deny it, he had the power to do it all over again.

  Teague cupped her head in his hands and answered her kiss with the urgency she’d dreamed of every night when she was lying alone in her dorm room, surrounded by girls who looked down on the country cowgirl from Wyoming. Once she’d started school her memory had wrapped their disastrous liaison in a golden glow, downplaying its hurtful ending and replaying one moment over and over: the moment she’d opened her eyes and caught him looking at her with helpless adoration, his eyes soft and shining with emotion. She’d always wanted Teague, but in that instant, despite his denial, she’d known he’d been hers all along. She’d treasured that thought and held the memory close all through school, using it to shut out what had happened afterwards and comfort herself when she felt alone, which was most of the time.

  His breath brushed her cheek, warm and caressing. He smelled of mint and leather and clean laundry, laced with fresh-cut hay. She opened her eyes to meet his, and his gaze was as intimate as a touch. Her body warmed and softened and she knew there was no way she was leaving this room without making love to him.

  He kissed her again and she closed her eyes and let go of all her inhibitions and her good sense, too, letting herself float in a sea of sensation while his hands brought her alive. He stroked her skin to a heated flush, making her nerves twitch with anticipation as he kissed his way down her neck and flicked his tongue at her throat, sending a tingle through her veins. His kiss grew harder, more insistent, probing and tasting as he unbuttoned her shirt with shaking hands and cupped her breasts through the thin fabric of her bra.

  She opened her eyes and watched his face while he undressed her. He seemed unaware of her gaze, and the naked lust in his eyes heated her skin and filled her mind with an unbearable need to touch him, to hold him, to writhe against him until the two of them melted into one being. She was vaguely aware that there might be consequences to what they were doing, but the outside world seemed small and insignificant compared to the magnitude of what was happening in this room.

  Teague was hers again. And she was his.

  He was still dressed, right down to his boots, and she felt flagrant and shameless as she sprawled on the bed, letting him explore her naked body with his fingers. He traced the swell of her breasts, circled each swollen nipple, and traced a tingling line across her stomach and down her thighs, touching her everywhere but where she wanted him most. She let out a frustrated whimper but he didn’t react, just continued his slow journey over her hills and valleys. She arched her back and he bent to follow his touch with his tongue, licking here, swirling there, spreading tender kisses all over. When she closed her eyes, his hands and tongue were suddenly everywhere at once, probing, stroking, driving her crazy. She let loose a moan and opened herself, whimpering as he did something complicated with his fingers and his tongue that sparked a faint tingle that grew to a full-body flush as she arched and cried out.

  She opened her eyes, surprised to see they were still right where they’d started, on Teague’s bed, in Teague’s room. She’d felt like they’d ascended to heaven, floated up on a sweet pink cloud of sensation. But Teague was standing in the slanted light from the window, shucking his clothes aside like a rescuer stripping for a dive into deep water.

  She bit her lower lip, tugging it between her teeth as he sat down beside her. She’d waited five long years for this, and whatever the consequences, she was helpless to stop herself. She stroked her hands over his chest, watching them trace a lazy path up over his shoulders, then down again, skimming over the dark nipples, sweeping over the flat, muscular plane of his stomach to cup his hips as she slid off the bed and knelt on the floor.

  ***

  Teague leaned back on his elbows and closed his eyes. He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even expected it. It was probably a mistake, but the woman of his dreams was kneeling at his feet and licking her lips and he didn’t care what happened later. He only cared what happened next.

  He threw back his head and groaned as she ran the tip of her tongue up and around, and then everything got warm and wet and he couldn’t tell what she was doing, only that it felt heavenly and he could barely hold on and keep control. He closed his eyes tight and literally saw fireworks, pinpoints of light exploding into a Technicolor sunrise in the dark sky of his consciousness.

  He reached down and buried his fingers in her hair, letting himself luxuriate in the miracle of touching her for one more minute before he gently pulled away. Sitting up, he pulled her up onto his lap so she was facing him. She scooted up and pressed her body to his, and he looked into her eyes.

  “Is this okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, smiling.

  “It won’t hurt… anything?”

  “It’s fine, Teague,” she whispered. “Just fine.”

  The last time they’d done this, they’d been kids, sneaking around. Now he could savor it, watch her face, lock his eyes on hers as she lowered herself onto him, gauge her expression as he eased inside her. She was tight and slick and hot, and the two of them closed their eyes and set to rocking with a gentle rhythm that sped up as he felt his thoughts fade.

  He was hers. She was his. He clutched her hips and drove himself into her one last time as the tension that had built up over all those years left his body in one final, blinding rush.

  ***

  Jodi lay sprawled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and told herself the God’s honest truth for the first ti
me since she’d arrived in Purvis.

  This was what she’d come for.

  This moment, and the all-out celebratory rhumba that had preceded it.

  Teague might have thrown her out of bed five years ago, but he’d been more than willing to let her back in today. And judging from the look in his eyes when they made love, this meant something to him—as much as it had meant to her all those years ago.

  She suddenly realized that all she had to do now was walk away the way he’d walked away from her, and the score would be even.

  But this wasn’t about revenge.

  Much as she wanted to hide from the truth, she’d never lost her feelings for Teague. And what did that tell you? When you couldn’t get a man out of your head even after he’d used you and tossed you away like a dirty Kleenex, you had a problem.

  Especially if that man was Teague Treadwell. His brutal, abusive childhood had understandably left his heart wrapped in scar tissue. She wasn’t sure he was even capable of loving anyone but Troy long-term, and if he was, he probably wasn’t capable of admitting it to himself.

  She couldn’t believe she was risking a replay of the heartbreak he’d dished out last time they were together.

  She turned over and looked at him. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling. It made her realize he’d never smiled back then. Being with him now felt different—safer. She could feel the solidity of him, the stability of his new life.

  It was like being with another man—but he was still Teague. There was still a hot, hard danger at his core, and she realized that’s what had been missing in the boys she’d bedded at school. They were safe. Superficial. What you saw was what you got. With Teague, there were depths inside she might never understand. Depths, and dangers.