Cowboy Fever (12 page)

Suddenly the air in the arena seemed close and hot. He tugged at his collar and glanced right and left, wondering if there was a way to leave without being seen. He'd had enough of polo.

He'd had enough of Courtney.

“I don't mean
she's
low class,” Courtney said, as if she'd sensed her mistake. “It's just that most of the people in my circle don't understand the cowboy code, you know?”

Teague didn't understand the cowboy code either. It was something you read about in books, or heard about in movies. Really, there was no cowboy code. He and his friends just tried to be decent human beings, that was all. They helped each other when they were down and razzed each other when they weren't. That was about it.

But Courtney apparently thought she knew all about cowboy morality.

“They don't understand what's
real
, you know?” she continued. “What really matters in life. Like being honest and forthright and a true buckaroo.”

Had she really just said that? What was she raised on, Roy Rogers? Or was that from
Barney & Friends
?

“I just know you'll win the match if you try.” She snuggled closer.

Teague looked down at the polo players, who were cantering figure eights in the arena, practicing lead changes. They rode well, he had to admit, but the horses seemed reluctant, as if they were being forced to perform. Their ears were pinned back, their eyes wild.

“Yeah, I think you're right,” Teague said. “I think we'll win for sure.”

“Well, come on then,” she said, rising from her seat. “Come and meet my dad. You can issue the challenge right now.”

“I thought you didn't want your dad to know I was here,” Teague said as they climbed down the bleachers.

“Well, we won't tell him you watched a practice. But I want him to know you're here,” Courtney said as they crossed the yard. “He needs to know I have my own life, my own friends. I do what I want.”

Teague stopped dead. “Look, are you just hanging out with me to bug your dad? Because I'm not going to be a part of that.”

“Oh, no.” Courtney turned and plastered herself to his front, lacing her arms around his neck. “You know I love you, Teague. I mean, this is the real thing.”

Teague gave her an incredulous look as she looked up at him with an expectant smile.

“Uh, Courtney,” he said. “That's—I'm not looking for that, okay? I mean, we're just friends. Sorry.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and cursed himself. He knew he should stay away from this girl. He sure as hell didn't want to be loved by a woman he didn't even like. Besides, when girls loved you, they eventually wanted to marry you and have babies, and Teague's future plans definitely didn't include either activity. Especially not with Courtney.

“It's okay, Teague.” Courtney slapped his arm playfully and he relaxed. She'd just been kidding. He should have realized.

“I know it's hard for real men like you to express yourselves,” she continued.

“Uh, yeah.”

Shoot. She was right, but not in the way she thought. What was hard to express was the fact that he was just here for the polo game, so Jodi could get her clinic started. How did you tell a woman you were only using her to get money for the girl you really cared about?

Hell, Shakespeare would have trouble coming up with a line for that one.

“Look, I should go,” he began. “This isn't…”

“Oh, come on.” She waved toward the house and dropped her voice into an urgent whisper. “I already told Daddy about this. If you don't talk to him, he'll think I screwed it up. Don't you dare make me look stupid.” Grabbing his arm, she dragged him up the steps and through the front door, then motioned for him to wait while she headed down a hallway to the right.

Teague twisted his hat in his hands and tried not to look as nervous as he felt. The place was like a palace, with a soaring cathedral ceiling that swept up to a stained-glass skylight depicting knights on horseback on eight separate panes that radiated out from a sunburst in the center. A balcony edged by a carved wooden railing bordered the room on three sides. He wasn't a nervous guy, but this place was somehow intimidating. It made him feel totally out of his element. He wondered if that was deliberate.

After what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes, Courtney emerged from the hallway.

“Daddy will see you now,” she said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Tell him about how it's for charity. And don't tell him you're going to beat him.” She giggled. “Tell him it's an exhibition match.”

Teague followed her down the hall and through a massive oak doorway into a room lined with books. Skelton was seated at a desk at the far end, backed by a window that threw his features into shadow. He was a slight man, made smaller by his massive leather desk chair. As Teague entered, he leaned forward and folded his hands on the table.

“Daddy, this is Teague Treadwell. Teague, this is Daddy.” She glanced from one to the other, then turned toward the door. “I'll let you two talk.” She skipped out of the room. Evidently she didn't want to spend any more time in her father's presence than she had to.

“Mitch Skelton.” The man rose and held out a hand. Teague grasped it in his own and winced at the cold clamminess of the man's limp handshake.

“Nice to meet you, sir. I don't know how much Courtney's told you about our idea.”

“A polo match, she said.” Skelton dropped bonelessly back into his chair and crossed his ankle over one knee. “A fund-raiser.”

“Right.” Teague shifted from one foot to the other. Something about the man's air of confidence reminded him of his high school principal. He felt like he'd been called in for a scolding. “There's a—a woman in the area who's starting a therapy riding clinic. Courtney suggested that a benefit polo match pitting your riders against some locals might draw attention.”

“I suppose it would,” Skelton said. “Courtney informs me you would be competing yourself?”

“That was her suggestion. It would be the cowboys versus the seasoned players. I'm sure we'd make a poor showing, but it would bring out the town to watch.”

“Hmf.” Skelton looked down at his hands. “Well, I was never one to turn down a challenge. Though it would hardly be a challenge competing against
cowboys.
” He looked Teague up and down as he pronounced the label. “You're hardly the kind of competitive player my men are accustomed to.”

Teague felt anger rising in his chest. He swallowed it down and cleared his throat. “I think we'll surprise you, sir. Meanwhile, we'll need to establish a date—say a month or two from now? My team will need time to learn the game.”

The tips of Skelton's lips turned up slightly in what apparently passed for a smile. “You'll need more time than that. But you choose the date.” He leaned back in his chair. “As you can see, my time is my own. I spend a few hours a day studying the market, and the rest pursuing my passion for polo.”

“Right. You're in investing?”

The man nodded. “After I retired from my firm, I began to dabble in the stock market. I've met with much success.” He tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Teague. “Many of my friends have substantial sums to invest.”

“Right.” Teague had managed to resist clocking the guy, although he'd had to suppress a picture in his mind of Skelton pitching backward through the window, chair and all. “I have some substantial funds myself. Just sold a colt the other day for ten thousand. Cash.”

He would have kicked himself if Skelton hadn't been looking. It was low class to talk about money—but he couldn't let this pathetic little man think he was some field hand. He was a successful businessman—and he'd earned his money with hard work and smart choices, the same as anyone.

“Ten thousand?” Skelton steepled his fingers and raised his head, staring down his nose at Teague. “A substantial sum for you. Have you considered how you'll invest it?”

Teague tried not to take offense at Skelton's snobbishness. Judging from the elaborate house and pricey trappings, the guy was a brilliant investor. Sometimes smart people were kind of awkward socially. He'd give the guy a break.

He gave a lot of guys breaks these days. That's how he'd managed to stay out of trouble for so long. The old Teague would have decked this guy, or at least sworn and stormed out.

The new Teague kind of envied the old Teague sometimes.

“I haven't given much thought to investing,” he said.

Skelton rose and came around the desk to sit casually on the corner, letting one leg dangle carelessly. “I could make some suggestions,” he said.

“Sure,” Teague said.

“Futures are the way to go these days,” Skelton said. “Prices are set to rise across the board.”

Teague laughed. “I have no idea how to go about doing that kind of thing,” he said. “Generally I opt for something a lot simpler. A mutual fund is about as complex as my finances get.”

“I could possibly assist you,” Skelton said. “I understand you've been seeing my daughter. That means it's in my best interest to help you move up in the world.”

“Your daughter and I are just friends,” Teague said. “I don't think you need to worry about my position in the world.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I'm about as far up as I want to go. Thanks, though.”

“Hm.” Skelton stared down at the rug for a moment. “Courtney told me otherwise.”

“Well, she might be taking things a bit more seriously than she should,” Teague said. “I'll make sure I tell her different.”

“I can understand your concern over the difference in your backgrounds,” Skelton said. “However, my daughter has always been drawn to the, shall we say, rustic type. And things can change. As I said, if you put the money in my hands we could possibly parlay that ten thousand into a substantial sum by year's end.” He stretched his lips in what appeared to be his version of a smile and narrowed his eyes. Courtney didn't look much like her dad, but the expression reminded Teague of the scheming look he'd caught on Courtney's face a couple times when she didn't think he was looking. “If you'd let me advise you, we might be able to turn you into a fit match for my daughter. I know that would make both of you happy.”

Teague felt his civilized persona shattering like glass, leaving Old Teague jutting his chin and clenching his fists.

“You don't know a thing about me,” he said. “And besides, it's July. Anything that would parlay that money very far that fast would probably be a little on the sketchy side. So thank you, but I'll stick to my original plan and put it in the bank.”

Skelton shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if you're not willing to better yourself, you might look for a match amongst your equals.” He stood and whisked his hands together, as if dusting flour from his hands. “I'd appreciate it if you'd let my daughter down easy. She's—sensitive. Things could get—complicated.”

“Sure,” Teague said. “I'll be careful, all right. I can imagine her self-esteem is pretty weak, seeing as her father's willing to sell her off for ten thousand dollars.”

He strode out of the room, not bothering to tread lightly. His boot heels struck the gleaming hardwood floors and rattled the crystal in a glass-fronted case in the hallway. Courtney came trotting down the hall.

“Did you tell him?”

“Sure did,” Teague said. “I told him, all right.”

***

“Jodi, this is great.” Cissy sat back in the diner's red vinyl booth and smiled down at a burger that was almost as big as her head, with a mound of fries beside it. “Thanks for buying. It'll be my turn next time—once I get my finances straightened out.”

“I don't mind buying. I'm just happy to get our friendship back on track. We should make this a regular thing, okay?”

“Um, I can't really do that.” Cissy munched contemplatively on a French fry. “Cal gets out Tuesday. I'll have to be careful for a while.”

“Oh, Cissy.” Jodi was tempted to tell her not to let Cal limit her life, but who was she to tell anyone what to do? She'd never had to deal with anything like what Cissy had been through. “I wish I could help.”

“You do, just by being here. And Teague, too. You know he helped me move out? Cal was out on bail, and I'd left without any of my things because he wouldn't let me in the house. Well, Teague said I ought to have my craft supplies and stuff, and he called Cal and told him we were coming to get it and he'd better clear out.” Her eyes took on a faint teary sheen. “He helped me pack stuff up, and loaded it in his truck, and you know Cal never even showed his face? He's scared of Teague.”

“He should be.”

“Yeah, if there's one thing Teague won't put up with, it's a man abusing a woman. He really understands, because his dad—well, you know.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jodi said.

“I was scared to death Cal would show up. I didn't want Teague to get in trouble, and I wasn't sure what he'd do, you know?”

“I know.”

“So are you two—you know.” She waggled her eyebrows.

Jodi shook her head and pretended to concentrate on her food. “No.” She tried to sound casual. “Nothing going on.”

She didn't see any reason to tell Cissy something
had
gone on. It was over, after all. Over and done.

“That's too bad.” Cissy bit into her burger and chewed thoughtfully, then wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I always thought you two would end up together.”

“Don't tell my mom that. She's dead set against Teague.”

“Well, you aren't going to let that stop you, are you? I mean, my parents were all for Cal, and look what happened. Only you know who's right for you. I should have listened to my heart, and you should listen to yours.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not sure it's my heart that's telling me Teague's the one,” Jodi said. “I think some other body parts are chiming in.”

Cissy giggled. “I'll bet.”

“And my mom has a point. Stuff like Cal did—like Teague's father did—it runs in families. Teague might be okay now, but he's pretty quick to use his fists. You never know what might happen if he got really mad or frustrated.”

Cissy stared at her, open-mouthed. “Jodi, how can you believe that? Teague
hated
his father. He'd
never
hit a woman.”

Jodi shrugged.

“That's just stupid. Don't let your mom tell you what to do.”

“I have to.” Jodi forked up a mouthful of salad greens and held them suspended over her plate. “I came here to make things right with my mom. I treated her like dirt, Cissy, and she's been so good about it.”

“What did you do?”

“I blamed her when my dad died.” Jodi set the forkful of food down uneaten. “I left for school right after, and I wouldn't take her calls or anything. I didn't speak to her for years.”

Cissy shrugged. “So it took you some time to process your grief.”

“
Years
, Cissy. And I was downright mean. I mean, she was grieving too, and instead of helping her cope, I disappeared. I wish I could change the way I acted, but I can't—so I'm doing everything I can to make it up to her now. If she doesn't want me to see Teague, that's a small sacrifice to make.”