Cowboy Fever (4 page)

As her truck crunched up the driveway, Jodi saw Teague emerge from the front door of the house, snapping a cell phone shut. He stood on the porch, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched their arrival.

“Oh, boy,” Troy said, staring down at his lap and shaking his head. “Oh, boy-oh-boy-oh-boy. He sure is mad.”

Jodi flashed him a look, concerned. “Teague's not…
mean
to you, is he?”

She never would have thought such a thing possible until today. But the Teague she'd seen in the drugstore wasn't the Teague she remembered. Hopefully the inside hadn't changed as much as the outside, but you never knew. She'd been planning to drop Troy off and go, but maybe she'd better stick around and make sure everything was okay.

“No, but he'll be disappointed in me. Really, really disappointed.” Troy sighed. “He counts on me for stuff, and then I mess up.” He was breathing hard, as if he was trying not to cry. Jodi patted his shoulder.

“It'll be okay, Troy. And if Teague's a mean old bear, I'll set him straight. I'll tell him you were helping me clean house.”

“You will?”

Jodi realized her mistake a moment too late. Teague might be a little miffed at his brother for neglecting his chores, but he'd be furious if Troy lied to him. And Jodi had just offered to help him do just that.

“We're not going to lie, Troy,” she said. “But I'll tell him what a good job you did keeping my house clean while I was gone.”

“No!” Troy clutched her arm. “Don't tell him! Don't! It's a secret!”

Jodi's eyes narrowed and she glanced up at Teague, who was still standing on the porch, his arms folded over his chest, a stern expression on his face. Teague wouldn't abuse Troy, would he? Sometimes caretakers got impatient with handicapped adults.

“I go there to be by myself,” Troy whispered into his lap. “I like to pretend it's my house. That I don't have to live with my brother.”

Jodi nodded. Maybe Troy was just feeling the need for more independence. She'd have to talk to Teague about how they could make him feel more self-sufficient.

“I won't tell him,” she said. “But we won't lie either, okay?”

“Okay.” Troy puffed out his chest. “I'll take it like a man. He'll yell at me, but I'll just shake it off.” He shimmied all over like a wet dog. “Shake it off.”

Smiling, Jodi climbed out of the car as Troy slouched to the tailgate to hoist his bike out. Ducking his head, he pushed it toward the shed.

“After you put that away I need to talk to you, buddy,” Teague called from the porch. Jodi was relieved at his tone—calm, rational, in control. He turned to Jodi, his eyes assessing her with that arrogant top-to-bottom stare again as she stepped out of the truck cab. “Where'd you find him?”

“He came by the house,” she said. “He was helping me.”

Teague lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “How'd he know you were home?”

She shrugged, hoping he wouldn't pursue it any further.

He didn't. He was too busy watching her approach. She felt like he was eating up her body with those hard, hungry eyes, and her face heated with a blush. She was tempted to shake it off, like Troy had, but Teague would probably see that as a jiggle—and judging from the look in his eyes, he didn't need that kind of encouragement.

“Rocket's right through here,” Teague said, leading Jodi into the barn. He knew he should be following up with Troy, helping his brother understand that he needed to keep his promises, especially when the animals were depending on him. But Troy had been with Jodi, so Teague kind of understood how he'd lost track of time.

Teague tended to forget stuff when she was around, too.

His dog Luna lifted her head as they entered the barn. The skinny black and white collie mix let out a shrill bark, then leapt to her feet and whirled in a joyful circle, graceful as a fox. Trotting over to them, all slender legs and dancing white paws, she shoved her nose hard into Jodi's hand, begging to be petted. Jodi knelt on the floor and obliged, burying her hands in the dog's shining coat.

“Who's this?” she asked, ruffling the thick fur over the dog's shoulders.

“That's Luna. She's supposed to be a cattle dog.”

“Supposed to be?”

“Mostly she herds Troy.” Teague rolled his eyes. Sometimes he felt like he was a cowboy at a crazy farm. “And me, sometimes. She's part border collie and all bossy.”

Jodi shook the dog's proffered paw. “She's sweet.”

“See if you still say that once you get to know her,” Teague said, but he bent and stroked the dog's head too, his fingers brushing Jodi's for one warm half-second. “She pretty much figures humans were put on earth to serve her.”

Jodi laughed and they strolled through the barn, the dog trotting comfortably behind, as if the three of them were a unit.

It was a shotgun barn with a wide alley stretching between broad sliding doorways front and back. Stalls lined the sides and sunlight beamed in through open stable doors of each compartment, striping the rough wooden floor with shafts of light. Bridles and halters dangled from pegs on the walls, and two well-used Western saddles were mounted on two-by-four racks that jutted from the wall by the back door.

He'd fixed the place up, but with Jodi here, it still felt the same. The scent of horses and hay, the calm in the air, the sunshine—it was where the two of them were meant to be.

“It's good to be here,” she said.

He smiled. So she was feeling it too.

“It's good to have you back.” The words came out low and husky, and he cleared his throat. It was good. Really good. In this moment, he and Jodi were comfortable again, best friends, with none of the tension between them that had grown up over the years as they floundered their separate ways toward adulthood—before they'd drowned the connection between them in hormones and adolescent drama.

“What brought you back?”

Me
, something inside him pleaded.
Say it was me.
He muzzled his pathetic, needy inner voice and turned his attention to Jodi. There was no way she'd come back to reconnect with him. After the way he'd treated her, he was lucky she'd even talk to him.

“I came back for my mom.” She didn't even have to think for an instant. “I need to make things right with her. I blamed her for everything when my dad died, and I've barely talked to her all these years.”

He nodded. It had been the talk of Purvis, with half the town taking Jodi's side, the other half standing with her mother.

“I'm going to work with her at the boutique for a while. She's always wanted that. I'm hoping we can be close again.”

“That's good,” he said. “Family's important. When you've got a family that—you know.”

She nodded. He didn't have to explain. She knew what his family had been like.

He led her out the barn's back door into the sunlight. The ground sloped down from the doorway and the world opened up in front of them, the land spreading out like a rural red carpet welcoming her home. The way the setting sun glinted gold on the grass seemed like the only gift he could offer her, and he felt something inside him give way, weakening his knees and tripping up his heartbeat to a speed that rivaled a Riverdance routine.

He glanced at Jodi to see if she felt it. Her eyes met his briefly, then slid quickly aside before he could read them. Breaking away, he lengthened his stride, putting more distance between them as he led her to the side of the barn where long narrow enclosures stretched from each stall door. A gigantic sorrel stallion with a broad back and heavy hooves stood impatiently at the gate of the first enclosure, swinging his big head to face them as they approached.

“This is Rocket,” Teague said. Looking at the horse, he could feel his pulse slowing to normal, his world straightening on the axis Jodi had shoved sideways when she walked into the drugstore. Rocket was the core of his success, the heart of the ranch, and a bona fide masterpiece. God was serious about horses when he'd constructed that powerful combination of bone, muscle, and spirit.

Teague could tell Jodi couldn't take her eyes off the horse either. The animal was heavy like bucking horses always are, but perfectly proportioned and solidly built, with a strong arched neck and a broad, solid chest. At rodeos, the saddle broncs were always a little shaggy and disreputable looking, but now that he was retired, Rocket's coat shone like a new penny. He nickered as Teague approached and stretched out his muscled neck, lifting his upper lip over his teeth in an equine smile. Teague stroked his muzzle, grinning.

“No pride,” he said. “Always looking for a handout.”

As if to disprove the statement, Rocket lifted his front hooves and spun away from the fence, then trotted the length of the enclosure with his neck arched and his tail held high, kicking up his heels to prove his manhood.

“Looks pretty proud to me,” Jodi said.

“Yeah, he's got an ego,” Teague said. “But when it comes to food, he's shameless.”

“Any of the cowboys figured that out yet?” Jodi asked.

“No. He doesn't work anymore. Unless you call covering mares working. He does seem to take that duty pretty serious.” He cocked his head and eyed the stallion, who stood blowing in the center of his pen. “Rocket's got a great work ethic when it comes to that stuff.”

Jodi smacked him teasingly and he felt an electric rush shimmer up his arm. She smiled up at him, and for a minute he wondered if she'd let him kiss her. For a minute more, he was pretty sure she would—but then she turned her head aside as if nothing had happened.

“Who's that?” She pointed at an animal standing in a corral off to the side of the barn. Actually, it was more than an animal. Bruiser was a presence.

“That's Bruiser.” Teague grinned. “Meanest bucking bull in three counties.”

“I thought you just had broncs.”

“Nope. Starting up with bulls, and that over there is step one.”

“Yikes,” she said. “Be careful.”

“Oh, I am,” he said. “He's a handful.” He turned and gestured toward the pasture. “I'm going to run the mares in, since Troy didn't get it done. You said he was helping you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “My house needed cleaning.”

“He help much?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jodi said. “He did a great job.”

“Good.” Teague kicked at the ground. “With me, he can't seem to stay focused for long. But he always wanted to please you.”

It was true. Troy would do anything for Jodi. It had always been like that. With Teague, he was stubborn and resistant. With Jodi, he was an angel.

“I love him,” Jodi said sincerely. “And I believe in him.”

“So do I—most of the time. I guess it's the other times that are the problem.” He hefted a bale of alfalfa from a stack by the side of the barn and lugged it to the pasture gate, where a half-dozen mares milled impatiently. “You girls hungry?” He fished his Leatherman out of his pocket and clipped the wire around the bale, then shook out all but two flakes on the ground by the fence. The other two he carried over to Rocket, who was bucking and crow-hopping along the fence like a teenager practicing for a hip-hop dance crew.

“Food, Rocky,” Teague said. He shook out the flakes and the horse trotted over and grabbed a mouthful of hay, chomping greedily.

“You eat like a brontosaurus,” Teague said fondly. “Try to have some manners.”

They stood by the gate, watching the horse, avoiding each other's eyes.

“You want to see Vegas before you go?” Teague asked.

“You still have him?” Jodi squealed. She hopped up and down a couple times and clapped her hands, giving Teague a flashback to fifth grade. “Oh, I'm so glad! I was afraid to ask!”

“I shouldn't still have him,” Teague grumbled. “I'm trying to run a business here, and all that horse does is eat and crap. But he's—well, you know. He's Vegas.”

“You love him,” Jodi said.

Teague grunted, then nodded reluctantly, looking away.

“Where is he?”

“On the other side. He doesn't like Rocket much.”

“Jealous?” Jodi asked.

“No, just irritable, I think. He's gotten old.”

“I guess. He'd be, what, twenty-five now?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“He doing okay?”

“Yeah. Brace yourself, though. He's… changed. But he's doing all right.”

They reached the other side of the barn, where all the stalls opened into one big paddock. Teague's old brown and white paint stood in one corner, staring off across the landscape, but he turned and ambled to the gate as they approached. The brown spots around his eyes had whitened with age.

“Vegas,” Jodi whispered.

Vegas had been Teague's father's horse until his dad quit cowboying so he could get serious about drinking himself to death. The paint had become Teague's horse then, and he'd carried him and Jodi everywhere before her dad bought her a barrel horse. Seeing Jodi standing beside Vegas gave Teague a rush of nostalgia that almost hurt. He wished the two of them could mount up like they used to and take off at a gallop. Hell, he'd even let Jodi take the reins.

They used to fight about that every time they rode.

“He
has
changed,” Jodi said.

She was right. The paint's flashy coat had lost his luster, and his withers and hip bones stood out. He just couldn't keep weight on anymore. The old horse walked slowly across the corral, his head hanging low, then butted his head against Teague's chest just like always.

“He's glad to see you,” Jodi said.

“No. He's glad I'm here,” Teague said. “But he can't see me. Not much, anyway.”

Jodi looked closer at the horse. His brown eyes were cloudy, misted with cataracts. “He's blind?”

“Mostly.” Teague ran his hand down the horse's long muzzle. “You'd never know it to watch him, though. Long as I keep his routine steady and don't move stuff around, he's fine. He misses riding out, though. He'll do it—he trusts me to guide him, and I think he can see shadows and stuff—but if I got distracted… well, he could hit a hole or something. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to him.”

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.”