Cowboy Fever Page 8

  Or at least, that’s what he’d said years ago. But who knew what Teague liked now? She thought of the new clothes, the big house, the gel spiking his stylishly cut hair. Maybe that was Courtney’s doing. Maybe she’d given him a makeover.

  She felt her heart drop into her stomach and gave herself a mental slap.

  She needed to stop thinking about Teague Treadwell.

  ***

  The next morning, Teague watched Troy strap on his helmet and throw one leg over his bike. His brother had bolted down his breakfast, and now he couldn’t wait to get going.

  “Let’s go, Bessie,” he said, setting his right foot on the pedal. Luna trotted out of the barn and circled the bike, letting out an excited whine.

  “Where you headed?”

  “Jodi’s.”

  Teague nodded. Now that Jodi was home, Troy would probably want to be over there all the time. “Don’t pester her, now.”

  “I’m not pestering.” Troy drew himself up to his full five-foot-three and gave his brother a dignified scowl. “I work for her.”

  “You what?”

  Troy nodded. “I work for her. We gotta fix up that ranch.” He shook his head. “Needs a lotta work. A lotta work.”

  Teague smiled. “Well, good. I’m glad you’re helping her. Maybe I’ll come help out too.”

  Troy shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t think she can hire more’n one of us.”

  Teague’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. “She’s paying you?”

  Troy nodded. “Yup. Now I won’t have to be askin’ you for money all the time.”

  Teague tried to adjust the expression on his face to reflect approval, but he had a feeling it wasn’t working. As long as Troy had to ask for money, Teague could keep tabs on what he was spending it on. Make sure it wasn’t Playboy magazines or violent video games. Not that Troy had ever shown any inclination for either one—but you never knew. It was a rough world out there, and it was Teague’s job to make sure Troy was protected from it.

  “Well, I better talk to her. See what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on,” Troy said. “I got a job, that’s all.” He gave Teague a stubborn look, chin thrust out, shoulders set. “Why would you need to talk to her?”

  “Okay,” Teague said, backing off. He’d need to think about this. Figure out how to deal with it. “That’s fine. That’s okay, Troy.”

  “’Course it’s okay,” Troy said. “It’s for Jodi.” Setting one sneakered foot on the bike’s upraised pedal, he hiked himself onto the Schwinn’s padded seat and teetered off down the driveway with Luna loping behind him.

  Teague set his fists on his hips and watched them go, the plump figure diminishing in the distance, moving farther and farther out of his reach. The bike hit a stone and Troy wobbled slightly; Teague took a step toward him, then sighed as his brother righted himself and picked up speed.

  ***

  “Hey, you’re good at this.” Jodi nodded approvingly as Troy stretched a length of wire tight and tweaked it with one finger to test the tension. “Nice work.”

  Troy grinned and pulled more wire from the spool. Beside him, Luna panted in the sun. “Told ya. Teague says I do it better than him.”

  “I think he’s right. You okay if I go take care of Eightball while you check the line?”

  “I’m sure.” Troy furrowed his brow. “Long as you don’t need help.”

  “Nope. I’m fine. But thanks.” She gave him a brisk nod and swallowed the urge to heap him with praise. She really was impressed with how helpful he’d been, but she didn’t want to patronize him. Troy was a grown man, and she’d do her best to treat him like any other worker. She’d just look out for him a little, that was all. Keep an eye on him.

  She scuffed her boots in the dusty driveway as she headed for her horse trailer. Her father’s land—her land now—was baked to a golden brown from the June sun, the grass brittle, the ground hard. It wasn’t the Garden of Eden by any means, but it felt good under her feet.

  The horse standing in the corral was familiar too. She’d had Eightball shipped from Pennsylvania so she could get home faster and get his quarters ready. She’d finished up last night, hammering the horse’s brass nameplate over his door and refitting the tack and feed room with hooks for halters and bridles, racks for saddles, and a vermin-proof container for grain and supplements.

  The horse nuzzled at her pockets, poking around for a treat as she clipped a lead to his halter and led him to the barn. Nickering, he tossed his head and pranced in place the way he had at the beginning of every barrel race, when he’d itched to explode out of the gate and pound his way around the cloverleaf.

  “Glad to be home? Me too, buddy,” Jodi said, giving him an affectionate pat. “But you’re going to have to stop that dancing around. You’re not a barrel horse anymore, okay? You’re a therapy horse.”

  She led the horse into his stall, then headed for the trailer. It was a remnant of her queen winnings, a gift from one of her sponsors. It had space for two horses, along with a cubbyhole for tack and feed and small but comfy living quarters at the front she’d called home through many a rodeo. Everything was fitted out like a super-deluxe yacht on wheels with polished wood and brass hardware. She cared for it like it was a yacht too, keeping the two stalls sparkling clean, the wood polished, and the brass shining. She didn’t use it much, since it was a bugger to tow with the Ranger, but the transport company she’d hired to haul Eightball had been happy to hook it to a diesel and haul it home.

  She was clearing out the last of the dirty straw from the trailer when Teague’s truck pulled into the drive. Looking up from her work, she watched him slide down from the cab and felt a flutter in her stomach. He wasn’t dressed quite so much like a dude today. His jeans were a little faded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose tanned, muscular forearms. He was pure cowboy, and her heart did a happy little jitterbug at the sight while her body warmed and urged her closer.

  She scanned him from hat to toes, looking for something to distract her from the way his shirt tapered from broad shoulders to slim hips, and decided his boots were a little too polished and his shirt was too crisply creased at the collar.

  But finding flaws didn’t do any good. Teague’s style of dress might have changed, but his walk was still a loose-hipped swagger that made her heart dance in her chest. She remembered how he’d looked in the dim light of his bedroom, how his muscles had gleamed in the half-light from the window, and she had to take a deep breath to stop her hands from shaking. She felt suddenly self-conscious remembering the last time they’d been together, but she needn’t have worried. Teague shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the barn, the horizon, everything but her.

  “Troy around?” he asked.

  Evidently, it was business as usual for him. He was going to pretend their little roll in the hay hadn’t happened.

  Fine. She was fine with that. He’d hurt her once, but she wasn’t going to let it happen again. This time, she’d known from the start that sex with Teague was just that: sex. Great sex, incredible sex, but nothing more. Not love. Not romance.

  It was liberating, she told herself. She felt strong. Powerful. It was like being a man, taking what you wanted and refusing to let anyone put reins on your heart just because you’d shared your body.

  Something in the back of her mind was nagging her, though, saying it hadn’t been just her body she’d given. It had been something more—a meeting of souls as well as bodies. Hadn’t Teague felt it?

  Probably not. She was just being a girl. She’d been raised to think sex meant love, but it didn’t have to. Sometimes sex was just sex.

  She looked up and caught him eyeing her with a subtle sideways glance. There was a hint of yearning in his expression—just a hint, but unmistakable. Good. She was still ahead then.

  “Troy’s stringing fence
.” She stopped sweeping and leaned the broom up against the wall, then gestured toward her new employee, who was pounding another metal post into the ground halfway down the fence line.

  “By himself?”

  “Luna’s with him. But yeah. He’s good at it.”

  “I know. I taught him. But aren’t you watching him?”

  Shoot. She’d barely had time to appreciate Teague before he ticked her off. She grabbed a mop out of a bucket of soapy water and pulled the lever that wrung it out.

  “It’s electric fence, not barbed wire,” she said. “And it’s turned off. I gave him gloves too.” She ran the mop across the floor of the trailer in short, angry swipes.

  He stepped up into the small space, filling the doorway, stooping so his hat wouldn’t brush the ceiling. Jodi could stand straight up in it and then some. She’d forgotten how tall he was.

  “It’s nice of you to give him a job,” he said grudgingly. “I hope he’s not too much trouble.”

  “I didn’t hire him to be nice,” Jodi said sharply. She dipped the mop into the water and wrung it out again, letting a few drops spatter onto Teague’s polished boots. He stepped back and she mopped the place where he’d stood. “I needed somebody, and I trust Troy. Besides, he wanted a job. He’s a grown man now, right?”

  Teague nodded. “I know, I know. But you need to keep an eye on him. He could get hurt.”

  She concentrated on her job, refusing to look up at him. “Of course he could get hurt,” she said. “So could I.”

  “You just need to look out for him. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I look out for him, Teague. I love your brother dang near as much as you do, you know.”

  “I know. He was always your favorite.”

  Jodi kept mopping, keeping her head down so Teague couldn’t see her smother a smile. “You jealous or what?”

  “No.” Teague shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked away. “I just think giving him a job is a bad idea.”

  Jodi shoved the mop back into the bucket, gave it a final rinse, then leaned it up against the wall beside the broom. “Why?”

  “It just is.”

  She looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes. “Because he only works for you?”

  “Because I’m the only one who really understands him.”

  Jodi grabbed the bucket and carried it to the door, tossing it out in a wide wet fan across the dry ground. “Teague, I understand him. I’ve spent the last four years getting a degree in special ed, remember? I’m dedicating my life to helping people like Troy.” She hung the bucket on a hook, then turned. “What are you dedicating your life to?” She looked him up and down and quirked a faint smile. “Fashion?”

  He frowned, hitching up his belt self-consciously. “I’m dedicating it to Troy. You know that.”

  “Yeah, and that’s a lot easier to do if he never leaves the house, right?” She softened her tone. “I know it’s hard, Teague. But he needs a life of his own. He needs validation, a purpose—just like anyone else.”

  “I give him a good life,” Teague protested.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want you to give it to him,” she said. “Maybe he wants to earn it.”

  “Maybe he… What was that?”

  It was Troy. Jodi heard it too—a faint wail coming from across the pasture, followed by a barrage of sharp barks from Luna. She jumped off the trailer behind Teague and took off across the field, ducking through the fencing as he vaulted over.

  On the far side of the field, Troy was crouched on the ground, his hands over his face.

  Dang, Jodi thought. Maybe Teague was right. Maybe I should have watched him closer.

  Chapter 13

  Teague swore to himself as his foot slipped on a cow patty and he almost went down. Scrambling for balance, he kept running, headed for the spot where his brother was kneeling in the grass beside the fence.

  He’d known this was a bad idea. What if the wire had snapped and hit Troy in the eye? What if he’d cut himself? He slid to a stop and fell to his knees as he reached Troy, pulling his brother’s hands gently away from his face.

  “What happened, bud? You okay?”

  “I—I’m fine.” Troy looked up at him and Teague winced. A slash of red stood out on his right cheekbone, dangerously close to his eye. “I was picking up the roll and the end of the wire bounced up and bit me.” Troy swiped a gloved hand across the cut and looked down at the blood staining the leather. “I need a Band-Aid.”

  “Let me see,” Teague said. “You might need stitches.”

  Troy’s eyes widened, then filled.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Jodi said from behind them. “He doesn’t need stitches. It’s just a little cut. Come on, Troy. Let’s get it cleaned up.” She took Troy’s hand and led him back toward the house. Luna trotted in anxious circles around them, her eyes never leaving Troy’s face.

  “But…” Teague had to practically jog to keep up with her.

  “But nothing.” Jodi turned and gave him a furious look. “It’s nothing to worry about, okay? Right?”

  “Oh. Right.” Teague gave himself a mental slap. She was right. He was only making things worse. He always panicked when Troy got hurt, and then the kid got upset.

  The man, not the kid, he reminded himself. He needed to stop thinking about Troy like he was a child. He was twenty-eight years old.

  But truth be told, Teague didn’t know how to deal with Troy except as a child. When he’d been a teenager, there’d been days he hated his brother—his older brother—for needing so much care and attention. He’d gotten frustrated, and on a few occasions, he’d said some things he wasn’t proud of. It was only later, when he understood that Troy’s mind had finished growing up while Teague’s kept going, that he learned to love his brother without resenting him.

  He thought of Troy as a child because Troy was a child in so many ways. A child in a man’s body. But Troy was beginning to have a man’s needs, too—the need to assert himself, to take care of himself, to feel independent and useful. No doubt he had other needs too, but so far those hadn’t been a problem—because Teague kept Troy close. He watched him. He made sure he didn’t get into trouble.

  Now Jodi was threatening that setup by encouraging Troy to be more independent—and look where it had gotten them. His first day on the job, and already Troy was hurt.

  “Let me see.” Jodi settled Troy on a stool next to the sink and pressed a paper towel to the wound. “It’s not deep or anything. Just a scratch.”

  “Just a scratch,” Troy echoed. He rocked slightly on the stool, comforting himself.

  Jodi headed for the bathroom for first aid supplies while Teague rested a hip against the counter, watching his brother and feeling helpless. Luna shoved her nose into his hand and let out a worried whine. Great. Even the dog knew he fretted too much over Troy.

  “Does it hurt?” he finally asked.

  “Nope. Not much.”

  “This might,” Jodi said. She upended a plastic bottle of peroxide onto a clean paper towel and dabbed at the wound.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Troy said stoutly.

  “Good.” She patted the cut dry, then put a dab of antibiotic ointment on a Sesame Street Band-Aid and pressed it onto Troy’s cheek. “You got Oscar the Grouch,” she said.

  “Cool.” Troy giggled. “Like Teague. Teague’s a grouch.”

  Jodi smiled. “Yeah, he kind of is, isn’t he?” She punched Teague gently on the arm. “But it’s just because he worries about you.”

  Troy rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said. “I know. He worries too much.”

  ***

  A half-hour later, Teague watched Troy head back to his fence-stringing, his eyes protected by safety goggles, Luna trotting at his heels. He’d started to roll his sleeves up as he went back to work, probably in imitati
on of Teague, but Jodi had insisted he keep his arms covered too.

  “Thanks,” Teague said as his brother set off across the field, armed with his trusty pliers. “Sorry I freaked out.”

  “I’m sorry he got hurt,” Jodi said. “It wasn’t much, but it could have been worse. I’ll be more careful. I guess it’s a learning experience.”

  Teague nodded, but he couldn’t quite rid himself of the nagging feeling that he didn’t want his brother to be anybody’s “learning experience”—not even Jodi’s. He followed her into the trailer, where she picked up a frayed cloth and started polishing the brass rails of the ladder that led up to the top bunk.

  Teague perched on the side of the lower bed’s thin mattress, where he could keep an eye on Troy through the tiny sliding window. The trailer’s sleeping area was small, and his knees doubled up in front of him like grasshopper legs. He stretched out instead, crossing his ankles in the doorway. “So what are your plans? You said you’re starting a therapy clinic?”

  “Uh-huh. It’ll take a while to get it going, though. Mostly, I’m working for my mom.” Jodi poured a dab of Brasso on the rag and rubbed it onto the brass trim on the top rung, then polished it off. “Until I get some funding together, the clinic’ll have to wait.” She backed away for a moment, assessing the shiny brass, then polished some more. The brass looked fine to him, but she’d always been obsessive about her trailer, keeping it clean as a house—maybe cleaner. The interior still looked brand new.

  Jodi had won a lot of stuff in her rodeo queen com-petitions, but at least she didn’t take it for granted, the way a rich girl would. He thought of Courtney Skelton. He’d seen her tooling around town in a sweet little Beemer, but when he’d admired it, she said she was about to trade it in. She’d had it two years, so it was time for a new car, she said. When he’d peered inside, he’d seen fast food wrappers and junk littering the backseat.

  He wondered what Courtney would think of Jodi’s ten-year-old trailer. He sure couldn’t see Courtney polishing brass.

  He liked watching Jodi do it, though. She was stretched up onto her toes, reaching for the top rung. Since she was so busy polishing, he could look at her all he wanted—at her hips, round and firm under tight Wranglers, her breasts pressing against the stretched fabric of her T-shirt, the swath of flat belly the shirt exposed every time she reached her arms over her head.