Cowboy Fever

by Joanne Kennedy

  Way more.

  When the song ended, she pulled away and looked at her watch.

  “Oh, wow,” she said, faking surprise. “Look at the time. I need to get home.”

  “You have someone waiting?” Gustaldo said. He looked genuinely disappointed. She tried not to feel flattered.

  “No, but I have to be up bright and early,” she chirped.

  “Ah.” He took her hand. “I could help.” He lowered his voice to a sexy whisper. “We could stay up all night and greet the dawn together,” he said.

  “Ah, no.” Jodi wondered what kind of phrase book he’d used to learn English. The guy didn’t seem to be able to say anything that wasn’t seductive. Hustling over to the table, she slung her purse over her shoulder. “I don’t—I can’t. But it’s been, um, great.” She turned and graced the other three guys with her best rodeo queen smile. It had been great, actually. They’d been funny, entertaining, and most of all, attentive. Having that many stunningly attractive men hanging on her every word had been good for her.

  For a while there, she hadn’t even thought about Teague Treadwell. Of course, the fact that it took an entire polo team to distract her probably wasn’t a good sign.

  She fluttered a casual finger wave at the guys and headed for the door, only to stop short as Gustaldo took her hand.

  “I will see you home,” he said. “I must make sure you are safe.”

  “No. Gustaldo, no.” She pulled her hand away. “I’m fine. Really.”

  His dark brows lowered over his eyes. “I insist.”

  “Gustaldo, this is America. You can’t insist.”

  He looked pained, then sad, then angry.

  “Never mind.” He spun on his heel and walked away.

  Jodi watched him go, biting her lower lip and wondering if she’d been rude. She just didn’t want him to follow her home. She was pretty sure he’d try to follow her inside, and then God knew what would happen.

  Well, not just God. She knew too.

  She headed out the door and trotted to her truck. Turning the key in the lock, she climbed inside and started the engine. She was just pulling out of the parking lot when she glanced in her rearview mirror to see the polo team spilling out the front door. Throwing the truck into gear, she swept out of the parking lot. Fast.

  Her headlights fanned through the darkness, lighting the pitted blacktop as she turned onto the county road. She could see lights on in a few houses along the way, but as the road eased out of town there was nothing but darkness. The wide open spaces that made her feel so free during the day made her feel a little exposed now. She glanced in her rearview mirror. Were those headlights behind her?

  She tossed her hair, ignoring the queasiness in her stomach. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. They’re not following you. It was probably some other bar patron heading home.

  Of course, hardly anybody lived out this way. Just her and Teague. Bill Caxton’s ranch was about five miles down the road, but she hadn’t seen him at the bar.

  She glanced up again as she turned into the driveway. The lights were gone.

  Good. Maybe she’d imagined them.

  When she got inside, she puttered around in the kitchen for a while, cleaning up the day’s dishes, then grabbed the paperback she was reading and headed for the bedroom. Slipping into an ancient, flimsy nightgown that had once been sexy and was now downright disreputable, she slid into bed and propped her head up on an extra pillow. That was the good thing about living alone. You could wear whatever you damn pleased to bed.

  Sighing, she flipped open the book and let the world outside the bedroom fade away. No more Teague. No more Courtney. No more Gustaldo.

  Her eyelids were starting to feel heavy when a slash of light crossed the far wall of the bedroom. The accompanying crunch of gravel and the unmistakable slam of a car door made her eyes pop open. Then there was another slam.

  “Joh-deeeeeee!” sang a chorus of masculine voices. “Joh-deeeee!”

  Gustaldo. And, by the sound of things, all his friends, too. It had been their headlights behind her earlier that night. They’d followed her to see where she lived, and now they were outside.

  “Joh-deeeee!”

  She flicked off the bedside light, then cursed herself. They’d see it go out and know exactly where she was.

  Gravel crunched under heavy boots. The worn boards of the front porch creaked, then creaked again, and a heavy knock on the door resounded through the house.

  “Joh-deeee!” The voice sounded playful. Amused.

  Drunk.

  Had she locked the front door? She couldn’t remember. She held her breath as the knob rattled once, then twice. There was another knock on the door.

  Good. She’d locked it.

  That was about the only smart thing she’d done all night.

  Someone said something in Spanish, and was answered with laughter and another barrage of Español. She heard her name mixed in with the foreign words and winced.

  Damn. She didn’t know these guys. They were probably harmless, but it was two o’clock in the morning, and they were undoubtedly drunk. Why had she gone and danced with Gustaldo? Why had she even sat with them?

  Because of Teague. If he hadn’t been there with Courtney, she wouldn’t have given Gustaldo the time of day. It was all his fault.

  Or was it? She remembered sticking her tongue out at him as she walked away with Gustaldo. She’d been petty and jealous and mean. Much as she’d like to blame Teague, it was her own stupidity that had gotten her into this.

  “Joh-deee!” Gustaldo sounded impatient. “We have you a present!”

  Oh, great. They’d brought her a gift. Like that would make her open the door.

  She slid out of bed and stepped into her jeans. She wasn’t going to let them in, but if they somehow got inside, she didn’t want to greet them half-naked. She slipped on a T-shirt, then remembered Teague slipping the napkin into her pocket.

  What the hell. Maybe she did need him.

  Grabbing her cell phone off the nightstand, she hit the “OK” button to light the number scrawled on the napkin, then poked the numbers into the phone, the digital “beep” of the keypad sounding like a trumpet blaring in the silence.

  ***

  Teague shrugged Courtney off his shoulder for the third time as they rounded the bend and turned into the driveway of the Skelton mansion.

  “Mmm,” she said, snuggling closer as he stopped the truck. “Teague.”

  “What?”

  She threw her arms around his neck and tugged him toward her until his face was all mashed up against hers.

  “Oh, Teague.” Her rum-scented breath was hot in his ear.

  “Wait a minute.” He wrenched himself away. “Let’s get you inside.” He’d be safe once he got her to the house. Let her father take care of her.

  “Okay.” She batted her lashes. “That would be better.”

  Teague slid out of the truck, then walked around to the other side and opened Courtney’s door.

  “I don’t know if I can walk,” she said, her lashes still fluttering. “I’m really drunk.”

  A warning light flashed in Teague’s mind. Courtney’s slurred speech had suddenly cleared right up. She didn’t sound the least bit drunk now—but she wanted him to carry her?

  “Give it a try,” he said. “Walking will do you good.”

  She slid out of the truck and wavered on her high heels, falling against him. Instinctively, he backed away. She miraculously regained her footing.

  “Come on,” she said. “Help me inside.”

  She pitched sideways again, and this time he really had to catch her. Taking her elbow, he half-carried her toward the house. When they reached the porch steps, she seemed to lose what little strength she had. She tripped on the third step and almost took a header, so he
scooped her up and carried her up to the door.

  He hoped Mitch Skelton wouldn’t wake up and come to see what was going on. The richest man in the county probably wouldn’t be happy to see his daughter half-comatose in the arms of a man who wouldn’t pay for the privilege. Shifting her in his arms, he carried her through the gingerbread archway and across the porch to the front door of her ridiculous wedding cake house.

  “Hope your dad doesn’t see us,” he said.

  She giggled and put her arms around his neck. “Oh, he’s gone,” she said.

  The warning light was flashing again. “Gone?”

  “He went to Arizona to look at some horses.”

  “Well, at least he won’t see me bringing you home drunk.”

  She giggled again and gave him a squeeze. “Yeah, he’d have a fit. He thinks I ought to find some businessman or a lawyer or something. Not a guy like you.”

  “A guy like me?” Teague lowered his brows.

  “Well, you know. You’re kind of from the wrong side of the tracks.”

  “Right,” he said. “And that upsets your dad.”

  “Yup,” she said. “He’s soooo pissed. I mean, you’re like the town bad boy.” She squirmed in her seat. “Everybody’s scared of you, because you’re so—so disreputable.”

  She said that last word like it meant something good.

  She rested her head against his chest. “I heard you even went to jail.”

  “Not jail,” he said, as if it mattered. How had she heard that little tidbit about his life? “I was in juvy. Reform school, back when I was sixteen.”

  “Oooh,” she said. “You’re a felon. What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” He felt his stomach twist with disgust—at himself and who he was, and at Courtney. The girl really was slumming—on purpose. She thought this was West Side Story or something.

  Well, he was nobody’s Romeo.

  Except maybe Jodi’s.

  “You have a key?” he asked.

  “In my purse. I left it in the truck.”

  Sighing, he settled her onto a white wicker chair beside the door.

  He shifted from one foot to the other, staring down at her. He could just leave her here, he thought—just go. But it probably wasn’t safe. Those Spanish guys probably lived on the grounds somewhere, and they’d be home soon. They didn’t seem to be interested in Courtney, but you never knew.

  They were sure as hell interested in Jodi.

  Misinterpreting his look, Courtney simpered and adjusted herself into a languid pin-up pose. He turned away and trudged back to the truck and grabbed her purse off the front seat. Honeybucket poked his head out and blinked.

  “Whoa. You’ve had quite a night, haven’t you, Spike?” Teague wasn’t about to call any animal Honeybucket. It was insulting. “You got the house key in there?”

  He thrust his hand inside and felt around, shifting the little dog sideways as his fingers groped for the key.

  “Ark!” said Honeybucket, then let out a disgruntled growl. Teague laughed.

  “Come on, buddy.” He lifted the dog out and placed him on the ground, then peered into the depths of the purse. The key gleamed at the bottom.

  “All right.” Teague headed back to the porch and climbed the steps. Shoving the key in the lock, he breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened.

  “Come on.” He urged Courtney off the chair and guided her inside. Stumbling, she made her way to a white upholstered sofa and grabbed his hand as she collapsed onto the cushions. Pulling free, he grabbed a throw from the back and spread it over her, being careful not to touch her. He stepped away quickly.

  “Okay,” he said. “Well, I’ll see you.”

  She gave him the same squint-eyed stare he’d caught in the bar. She looked perfectly sober all of a sudden, and pissed as hell.

  “You can’t go,” she said.

  “I have to, Courtney. You need to sleep it off.”

  “I’m fine.” She swung her feet to the floor and sat up. “See? Fine.” She smoothed her face into a practiced smile and patted the cushion beside her. “Come on. Sit with me.” She dropped her voice into a breathy growl. “I’ll bet a big bad man like you can make me feel like a wild woman.”

  Dang. She wasn’t drunk. Nobody recovered that fast. No, she’d been faking it, pretending to be helpless so he’d follow her into her parlor like a fly being coaxed into a spider’s web. And now she was trying to seduce him by letting him know just how low class and dangerous he was. That notion might turn her on, but it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him.

  And he’d left Jodi at the mercy of the polo players to look out for this woman. Clenching his fists at his sides, he headed for the door.

  “I’m leaving,” he said.

  “You can’t.” She was giving him the stink-eye again, suddenly sober and no longer the least bit sexy.

  “Watch me.”

  “Where’s Honeybucket?”

  “He’s in the… shit,” Teague said. “Hold on. I’ll get him.”

  He slouched back outside to get the dog. He’d set it down in the drive and forgotten about it.

  He scanned the driveway. There was his truck, and a pot of flowers, and a rock.

  No dog.

  Scratching his head, Teague looked right, then left.

  The damn dog was gone. Damn. Now he’d have to hunt for it. He scanned the area, his hands on his hips. Skelton had all kinds of shrubs and flowers planted around the place. The dog could be anywhere.

  A shrill ringing pierced the night, and he grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

  “Hello?”

  “Teague.”

  “Jodi?”

  “Those guys are here.” She was speaking in a harsh whisper.

  “What?”

  “They followed me home. They’re at the door.”

  “They followed you—you’re just now getting home?”

  “No, I’ve been home. I think they followed me, and then they went and had some more to drink, by the sound of it. They’re knocking at the door.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” He heard her suck in a shaky breath. “Can you come over?”

  “Yeah. I—I’ll be right there.” He glanced around the yard, praying the dog would magically turn up somehow. “I just have to…”

  A sudden banging sounded through the phone.

  “That’s them,” she said. “Hurry, Teague.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right there…”

  “Where are you? Are you home?”

  “No, I’m at Courtney’s. I…”

  “Shoot. Forget it.” She was talking in a normal tone now, too angry to whisper. “You’ll never make it in time. Just—never mind.”

  He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it.

  She’d hung up.

  Chapter 26

  Jodi clicked off the phone and buried her head in her hands. Teague was at Courtney’s. She wasn’t surprised, and she wasn’t angry. Well, not much, anyway.

  But she was scared.

  If Teague had been home, he could make it to her place in minutes, but Courtney’s place was miles away.

  A barrage of Spanish sounded from the porch, and then four male voices broke into song, harmonizing clumsily on something that sounded like a Spanish love song. Jodi felt tears stinging her eyes. What was she going to do?

  The song trailed away into drunken laughter, and she held her breath. The men were talking again. If only she could understand what they were saying. She could make out her name, but nothing else. As she listened, the voices faded, along with the sound of boots crunching on gravel. She held her breath as one car door slammed, then another.

  They were leaving. Thank God.

  She felt a stab of guilt. They weren’t bad guys. They were just
out having a good time, and she’d kind of encouraged them to think of her as a friend. Maybe they really had brought her a present. Maybe they just didn’t realize how late it was.

  Maybe she should have let them in.

  Yeah, right. She remembered the palpable aura of testosterone that had floated above their table. Letting them in the house would be asking for trouble. Hell, sitting at their table had been asking for trouble.

  An engine cranked to life and she heaved a sigh of relief as a bar of light from their headlamps crossed her wall. The sound of truck tires on gravel receded into the distance and the night was silent again.

  She slumped onto the side of the bed and stared at the wall. She needed to get a dog or something. The visit from Gustaldo and his merry men cast her country isolation in a pretty unattractive light.

  She was helpless out here. And she hated feeling helpless. Hated it.

  But wait a minute. She wasn’t helpless.

  She got up and slipped her feet into a pair of oversized fluffy slippers. Traipsing out to the front hall, she opened the door to the coat closet and rummaged around behind the coats. Her father had a… there it was. She hefted a scarred old 12-gauge shotgun in her arms. Now she wasn’t helpless. Let Gustaldo and his pals come back now.

  She’d teach them to follow girls home.

  Cradling the gun in her arms, she started back to the bedroom. She was exhausted. Setting it beside the bed, she slipped out of her jeans and threw her flimsy nightie back on. She just wanted to crawl back into bed and go to sleep. That was all she wanted. She just…

  She stopped and cocked an ear. What was that? Was that…

  That was tires on gravel.

  They were coming back. A chill skittered up her spine, then down again. She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to let them scare her. Grabbing the gun, she returned to the hall and pressed her back against the wall beside the front door. She broke the shotgun over her thigh and peered into the barrels. No shells. Dodging back to the closet, she rummaged around on a high shelf until her hand closed over a small but heavy cardboard box.

  Kneeling beside the door, she winced at the loud snap as she slipped a shell into each barrel, then clicked it shut. If she remembered right, the roar of the first one would be enough to set anybody running. It would also be enough to punch a deep bruise into her shoulder with the recoil, but she’d deal with that.