Cowboy Fever

by Joanne Kennedy

  That was a lie. He hadn’t wanted to talk at all. Not until he figured out what was going on with Jodi, and how he felt about her. It was like they’d switched places. Now she was the one in torn jeans and T-shirt, and he was the one in the monkey suit.

  “So,” he said, dredging up a grin. “Is it cancer?”

  “No.” She laughed. Her looks had seemed so important to her all those years ago, and now she’d just been told she looked like death—and she was laughing.

  What had happened to Jodi Brand?

  And what was he going to do about it?

  Chapter 2

  Jodi scanned Teague’s outfit again, her eyes narrowing. She probably figured he’d stolen it, or robbed a bank and wasted the whole haul on clothes. He was sure she’d never expected to see her trailer trash neighbor in classy threads like these.

  “So what are you doing these days?” she asked. “You haven’t broken any broncs today, I’ll bet.”

  “Nope.” He stepped away from the window and hitched up his belt. “Been to Lackaduck. Had a meeting with the rodeo committee.”

  “Oh.”

  Lackaduck wasn’t much of a town, but every July they hosted a huge outdoor rodeo that rivaled Cheyenne and Calgary. He was itching to tell her he’d signed a contract to provide broncs for next year’s event, but he needed to fit it into the conversation casually, so it wouldn’t seem like he was bragging.

  “How’s your brother?” she asked.

  “The same.” Teague felt a growl of frustration growing in his gut. She was always more interested in Troy than him. Sometimes he thought she’d only hung around with him to be near Troy. He knew it was Troy who had inspired her to go off to school and make all those promises about making Purvis a better place. It was probably Troy that made her want to come back, too.

  Troy. Not him.

  Never him.

  “The same?” She frowned. “The same as what?”

  “The same as always,” he said. “He doesn’t change much, you know?”

  Jodi smiled. “That’s one of the best things about him.”

  Reluctantly, he let a smile tweak his own lips. “Yeah, that’s true.”

  He tried to figure out how to turn the conversation back to his trip to Lackaduck. He couldn’t let her walk away without showing her he wasn’t the trailer trash he used to be.

  “I’m raising roughstock,” he finally said. “Just signed a contract to provide some broncs for Lackaduck Days next year.” He tried to toss off the news casually, but he knew there was a prideful note in his tone, along with something else—something almost defensive. All in all, he wasn’t liking himself too much today.

  And that was the problem. When Jodi turned rodeo queen, he’d hated himself for his poverty, his discount store clothes, and his screwed-up family. When she’d left, he’d worked his way up to the opposite—a smooth, suave rancher.

  But now Jodi was back, and looking at her clean, unadorned face and practical clothes, he almost wished he was his old Walmart self again.

  But there was no going back now.

  “Bought a stud up in Miles City a while back,” he said.“Bucked like a sonofabitch and won a lot of money. Got me started.”

  He stopped himself. Talking about money was low class. You never heard the big contractors talk about what they paid for stock. Besides, a horse like Red Rocket didn’t need to be bragged on. You just looked at that big lug and knew he played hell with the cowboys.

  “He’s part Percheron. I put him to some thoroughbred mares and got prime foals—stocky and tough. The ones that have hit the circuit so far take after their dad and spin like the devil.” He leaned back against the window, trying to force the tension out of his stance so she wouldn’t see how much this mattered to him. “Want to see him sometime?”

  “Sure,” she said, but he could tell she wasn’t really listening. “Maybe.” She bit her lower lip. “Does he like kids?”

  “Kids?” Teague tried to picture Rocket trotting around the ring with a three-year-old on his back, but the closest he could get was an image of Rocket stomping the kid into the ground. “No. He’s, um, not that kind of horse.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed, as if she would have been more impressed if he’d picked up a birthday party pony from a petting zoo. “I was hoping you might have some horses that liked kids.”

  What the hell? When she was a kid herself, Jodi had been willing to saddle up anything with four legs and a tail. They’d never cared if a horse liked kids or not. He gave her a nervous sideways glance. She was staring at the ground, biting her lower lip. She looked troubled, and suddenly reality knocked him down and ran him over, cutting him up like a runaway combine.

  Anything could have happened in the time Jodi had been gone. She’d left right after her dad passed away more than five years before, and she hadn’t come back—not even for a visit. She could be engaged by now. Even married. After all, look how much he’d changed during that time. He’d gone from town black sheep to respectable businessman—or at least he’d tried.

  “So. You got kids now?” He gazed down the street, squinting like he was watching something or somebody. Like this was just a casual conversation, and her answer didn’t matter to him.

  “Not yet.” She gave him a saucy smile, as though her answer was a joke.

  Not yet? What did that mean?

  Maybe she’d come back to Purvis to have a baby. That would explain why she looked a little pale. It would explain why she wasn’t wearing makeup, too. Stuff was probably toxic—bad for the baby.

  He glanced down at her stomach. She didn’t look pregnant. In fact, she still had the same slim, sweet, slightly hippy figure he remembered, along with breasts that swelled just enough to be tempting, but not enough to brand her a bimbo. Looking at that body, he wondered if any man could have knocked her up and walked away.

  If it had been him, he would have stayed. Would have stayed and…

  He clenched his jaw. He would have stayed and screwed up. He had no idea how to be a father, and no intention of ever trying. His own dad had been a non-stop lesson in what not to do, and he wasn’t going to pass that legacy along to anyone. No kid was ever going to call him “dad.” That was a name that brought nothing but bad memories.

  Besides, he and Jodi had a past with a capital “P.” It wasn’t likely he’d ever get the chance to make up for all the mistakes he’d made. She seemed friendly enough, but he sensed a wariness, the kind of caution you used when you were trying to corral a bad-tempered bull.

  He swallowed, trying to dislodge the ache of disappointment that was lodged in his throat like a swollen toad. This wasn’t how he’d pictured his reunion with Jodi Brand. It wasn’t what he’d expected.

  He didn’t want to admit he’d been expecting anything at all—but looking at her after all these years, he had to confess she’d been the reason for everything. He’d pictured her return a thousand times—how surprised she’d be at his success.

  Not that it would change anything. After the way he’d treated her the last time they met, there was no way she’d ever trust him again.

  ***

  Jodi watched Teague go. What the hell was wrong with him?

  First he’d grinned and teased her like he used to, giving her the sense that nothing had changed. Then he’d suddenly cut her dead and walked away. When she’d caught up with him outside the drugstore, he’d bragged to her about his business like he was trying to impress her, and then he’d given her a long, languid look that lingered on her breasts and made her body heat up and smolder like a slow fire.

  Then he’d turned and run away.

  It wasn’t quite the reunion she’d expected. She knew Teague had it bad for her all those years ago, and truth be told, she’d felt the same about him—but dating the town’s baddest bad boy could have scuttled her hopes for the crown and a
ll that went with it. Once she’d really committed to winning, she’d made the tough decision to let their childhood friendship lapse, and Teague had been more than willing to cooperate. She’d moved on into a different world, and so had Teague.

  She had no idea what his had been like, and he sure as hell didn’t understand hers. He seemed to think she wanted to be rodeo royalty, when really, she’d just been gunning for a ticket out of town.

  She headed over to the parking lot and climbed into her pickup. Pulling down the visor, she scrutinized her face. Without makeup, she did look a little washed out. She was blonde as blonde could be. Her eyelashes just about vanished without a coat of dark mascara, and her eyebrows were all but invisible. Her hair looked good, though—long and wavy, with a glossy golden sheen.

  She didn’t look like she had cancer. Darla Black was just looking for scandal. Fishing, like she always did.

  Well, the gossip queen just might catch something. Teague Treadwell might not look like the cowboy Jodi had left behind, but she was pretty sure the man that had haunted her through all the years she’d been away was hiding under all those expensive clothes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d break down and give in to the impulse to strip off all those layers of phony sophistication and find the real Teague underneath.

  She’d start with that dang jacket.

  Chapter 3

  They’d paved the road through Purvis since Jodi left—recently, by the look of it. The blacktop had a tarry sheen, and the yellow painted line stood out sharply from the asphalt. But the minute Jodi hit the county line, the smooth surface ended at a jagged drop-off, dumping the pickup down onto a dirt road speckled with gravel and jolting the chassis so hard it was a miracle the tires didn’t flatten on the spot. The old Ford sounded like it was falling apart at the best of times, and now she’d evidently jiggled a few more parts loose. There was a new rattle somewhere near the console, and an ominous clang sounded from the muffler area.

  She really needed to trade the thing in. Get herself something new. An F-250 Super Duty, maybe—her dream truck. Something tough enough to take the punish-ment Wyoming dished out on a daily basis.

  Trying to ignore the sounds of impending automotive doom, she bounced along and admired the scenery. Most people wouldn’t have found much to look at in the high plains landscape—just long stretches of flatland speckled with stones and sagebrush that eased into a few languid hills rolling toward the horizon. But for Jodi, seeing all that open space was like breathing fresh air for the first time in ten years. She’d tried to appreciate the green, canopied forests of the East, but she’d felt claustrophobic, like a prisoner forbidden to see the sky.

  As she neared the ranch, she felt her heartbeat skip and thrill with nerves and dread. She’d spent less than a month there after her father’s death, and coming back was bound to stir up her grief all over again. She doubted her mom had kept the place up; Peggy Brand had hated ranching from day one, and after her husband’s accident, she’d hated it even more. The place was liable to be as much of a wreck as her family, Jodi knew—but like her family, it was her wreck. Her father had left it to her and only her, knowing she loved it like he did. He’d been sure she’d someday build a future for herself out of the bare patch of arid acreage they’d called home. He knew she was a girl who kept her promises.

  But Teague didn’t know that. She remembered what he’d said in the drugstore. You don’t always keep your promises. He was wrong. She tilted her chin defiantly, as if he stood right in front of her. She did keep her promises. She’d dare him to come up with one she’d broken. What the hell could he be…

  Oh.

  She thought back to the summer she’d turned fourteen.

  Dang. He was right. She had broken a promise that year—but at fourteen, kissing Teague Treadwell just because she’d lost a horse race had seemed like a dangerous idea.

  Matter of fact, it still did.

  But hey, she’d actually kept that promise. It had just taken a while, that’s all. She’d kissed Teague, and then some, on her last day in Purvis. She’d done one hell of a job of saying good-bye.

  She’d been smarter when she was fourteen.

  She glanced out the passenger side window at a battered trailer crouched in a grove of cottonwoods just off the road. Chez Treadwell was still standing, but it was obvious that Teague had moved out and moved on. Once white, it had rusted so thoroughly it seemed almost a part of the landscape. One end of the roof was curled up as if some cosmic can opener had cranked it back, and someone had put a couple of old tires on top to hold it down.

  On a whim, she turned into the overgrown drive. Not much grew on the arid Wyoming plains, but what few plants could work their roots into the rocky soil had sprouted in the driveway, almost obliterating the dirt two-track. Wincing as weeds raked the truck’s undercarriage, she slid to a stop and shut down the engine, then climbed out and whisked through the weeds that had taken over the scrubby front yard.

  She climbed the rickety steps to the front door, remembering how Teague’s father had called the front stoop his “office.” He’d spent every evening there, drinking beer from a grubby cooler and surveying his ramshackle domain. He’d talk big about heading out to check on his cattle—all three of them—or wax eloquent on his plans to delve into one of the half-dozen rusting vehicles that moldered in the yard, some up on concrete blocks, others tilting as drunkenly as their owner on half-inflated tires.

  Passing the ghost of Mr. Treadwell, she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered into the door’s smudged window. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a ghost, but when an actual human face swam into view on the other side of the glass, she screamed and stumbled backward down the steps, her heart thumping so fast it made her dizzy.

  “Jodi!” The door swung open to reveal a plump, pretty woman with short black hair standing up in sleep-inspired spikes. “You’re back!”

  “Cissy.” Jodi put one hand to her chest and sucked in a deep, deep breath, trying to return her heartbeat to a normal rate. “You surprised me.”

  Cissy didn’t seem to notice her distress. “Come on in!” She waved her hand impatiently, but then her smile faded as she leaned out of the door and glanced right and left. “How did you find me? Who told you I was here?”

  “Nobody. I-I just…” Jodi ducked her head and examined the toes of her shoes.

  “You didn’t know, did you?” Cissy grinned. “You were looking for Teague.”

  “No, I found Teague,” Jodi said. “Saw him at the drugstore. I was just—I don’t know.”

  “You were just taking a stroll down Memory Lane,” Cissy teased.

  “I guess.” Jodi climbed the steps and gave her old friend a hug. Cissy had been a member of her Rodeo Queen Court—first runner up. Jodi would never have guessed she’d end up living in the Treadwell trailer, of all places. “I didn’t think anyone was living here,” she said.

  “That’s kind of the idea.” Cissy surveyed the weed-choked yard. “I finally left Cal. Didn’t think I could afford a place of my own, but Teague said if I could make this livable I could stay here. And long as I park the car out back and take the long way home, I figure Cal won’t find me.”

  “You and Cal…?”

  “Worst decision I ever made.” She waved her hand airily, but Jodi saw the telltale sheen of tears in her friend’s eyes. “Turns out his success on the football field didn’t translate to real life, and when things started to go wrong, he wasn’t exactly equipped to handle disappointment. I know he was frustrated when he didn’t hang onto his golden boy status, but when he started smacking me around…”

  Cal had been the blond God of the Gridiron. Everyone had been surprised when he chose Cissy to be his goddess, but he liked to be worshipped, and Cissy had been thrilled to oblige. Evidently, things hadn’t worked out.

  “Anyway, he’s in jail for now, but he’ll be out next Tuesday.
So it would be best if you didn’t tell anybody where I am.”

  “I won’t. Course not.” Jodi paused, but the silence was so awkward she rushed to fill it. “Wow, Cissy, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. Should’ve realized it wouldn’t work,” Cissy said. “I knew he was trouble before I married him, but for some weird reason, that only made me more determined to have him. And dang, my folks loved him. They’d have disowned me if I’d turned him down.” She looked down at her hands a moment, and when she met Jodi’s eyes again, she’d blinked back the tears and changed back into her old cheerful self. “So how ’bout you? Married?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good for you.” Cissy stepped back into the trailer’s dim interior. “You always were the smart one. I’m living proof how the wrong man can mess up your life.” She waved a hand to indicate the trailer. “Come on in. I’ve been working nights, so I was kind of napping, watching a soap.”

  The outside of the trailer might have looked abandoned, but the front room was spotless and homey, with evidence everywhere of Cissy’s crafting addiction. Pink crocheted pillows in the shape of poodle dogs perched on the sofa, and a tangle of spider plants dangled in macrame holders in one corner. Flickering images from a small television lit one corner. Cissy grabbed a remote from a coffee table covered with crafting magazines and flicked it off.

  “You must have some fond memories of this place,” she said with a wicked grin.

  Jodi smiled back. “You’re fishing.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying. Darla Black’s still the gossip queen, but I’m a close second. And a tidbit about you and Teague Treadwell just might put me out in front.”

  Jodi laughed and stepped in for a hug. “You’re shameless.”

  “Not completely.” Cissy gave Jodi a squeeze, then stepped away and motioned her into the kitchen. “Old friends are exempt. I wouldn’t spread stories about you—even if they were true.”

  “Well, we didn’t spend much time here,” Jodi said. “Teague kept his home life to himself.”