Cowboy Fever (21 page)

“I'm
happy
,” she said.

Jodi smiled too. Dorsey spent every minute of the day struggling through a confusing cacophony of sound and sight that overwhelmed her senses. If she could recognize the magic of this moment, how could Jodi miss it? There was nothing better than spending this day in the warm Wyoming sunshine with kids and horses, doing good work.

Well, except for last night. That had been about as good as it got.

She caught herself glancing at the driveway for the umpteenth time. There was no way Teague could be back yet. It would take him a while to deal with Cissy's situation.

She just hoped he dealt with it in a way that wouldn't land him in jail.

She moved to the center of the ring while Courtney took TT's lead rope and Troy led Peach. Constance stared down at her hands, a worried expression on her face as she adjusted the reins over and over. She sat ramrod straight, her heels pressed down, her shoulders stiff. Dorsey, on the other hand, slumped in the saddle and tilted her face up toward the sun, an expression of total bliss lighting her face.

“Look at the clouds,” she said, as if the whole world was a miracle. “Look at the blue, blue sky.”

“It's a beautiful day, Dorsey,” Jodi said.

Dorsey nodded so enthusiastically she almost fell off the horse.

“I'm
happy
,” she said again.

Jodi had the horses circle the ring a few times to see how they adapted to their inexperienced riders. Once she figured everything was going smoothly, she put the kids through their paces, having them ride with hands on their helmets, with arms spread like airplane wings, with hands over their heads, and even backwards. The kids responded well, Dorsey giggling, Constance gravely executing each movement with perfect precision.

Next they played a game, matching numbered cards to painted sheets of cardboard Jodi had duct-taped to the fence.

“Number
two
!” Dorsey hollered, waving her card in the air. She swung around in the saddle and pointed dramatically at the matching sign. “
That
way!” She sounded like a tiny general commanding the troops.

Constance was more hesitant. “Four,” she whispered. She scanned the fence, her forehead wrinkled with worry as if the fate of the nation rested on her success. Finally, she pointed toward the correct sign. “Over there?”

“Sure, honey.” Courtney led the child to the fence, where she carefully leaned down from the horse to set the card in a hanging bucket.

“Did I do it right?”

“Perfect.”

Jodi had to admit that Courtney was handling Constance just right, affirming her choices, helping her build confidence.

Next came basketball, where each mounted student threw Nerf balls through a hoop and cheered each other's successes. Dorsey's ball-throwing was a little wild, but her cheers could have urged the Cubs to a World Series victory.

Constance was more cautious. “Yay,” she said every time she made a basket.

They finished with a ride to a mailbox perched on the rail near the gate. Each child rode up and leaned over to open the box and take a lollipop from inside.

“I got purple!” Dorsey waved her Dum Dum triumphantly. “That's
grape
!”

“Good!” Jodi said. “You guys did great! Now we're going to brush our horses and give them treats.”

She grabbed two buckets containing brushes and hoof picks from the edge of the arena and turned to Troy. “Can you help Dorsey groom Eightball? Have her do it the way I showed you.”

Troy nodded and turned to Dorsey. “Now look, you brush the horse like this. Can you brush his shoulder? Brush it ten times, okay? Let's count.” He guided the child's hand as they counted each stroke. “Go with the hair. And be gentle,” he said. His tone was professional, but knowing him so well, Jodi could hear the note of pride in his tone as he played the teacher role.

Courtney followed his lead, setting Constance to work on Triple Threat's shoulder.

“Brush it ten times,” she said. Turning away, she trotted back to the fence and pulled a compact out of her purse. Flipping it open, she scanned her face, frowned, and powdered her T-zone.

“Courtney! You can't leave her like that,” Jodi shouted after her.

“I'll be right back. I just need to pretty up.”

Jodi grimaced and walked over to help Constance, struggling to keep her mood in check. Constance didn't need to work with an agitated adult. It was Jodi's job to create an environment where these kids could learn, and that meant staying calm and serene.

“Look, Troy and Dorsey are brushing the horse's back now. Let's do that too. Ten strokes. Can you count with me?”

She set her hand over Constance's and guided her strokes, but she couldn't help watching Courtney out of the corner of her eye as she reapplied her lipstick and made a kissy face at the mirror. Dammit, if Courtney was going to help, she needed to stay focused. Jodi felt anger welling up in her chest like hot lava, threatening to spill over.

“Courtney!” she called sharply. “I need you over here!”

Courtney took her time putting the compact away, then trotted back to the arena like an obedient pony.

“When you're with a child, you're responsible for her,” Jodi told her. “Don't ever leave one of the students like that again.”

“Oh, pooh,” Courtney said. “I was only gone for a minute.”

“A lot can happen in a minute.”

Constance looked from Jodi to Courtney, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

“Miss Jodi, are you mad?” she asked.

“No, she's not mad.” Courtney smiled and turned back to Constance. “She's just having a bad day. Do you want to give the horse a treat, honey?”

Constance nodded and Courtney handed her a treat nugget from the bucket. The child immediately thrust it under the horse's muzzle, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.

“Not like that!” Courtney smacked the child's hand away. Jodi had been wondering if anything could shake the child's uncanny composure, and she had her answer now. Constance's face puckered up and tears stood in her eyes.

“You hold it like
this
.” Courtney grabbed the child's hand and yanked the fingers straight. Setting the treat on the child's palm, she jerked the kid's hand toward the horse, her thumb holding the treat in place. Greedily, Triple Threat snatched it up, his teeth raking Courtney's thumb in the process.

“Damn it!” Courtney flicked her hand up and smacked the horse's muzzle. Triple Threat backed up, his eyes rolling to show the whites as he laid his ears back. “Don't you bite me, you big lug!” She smacked the horse's nose again. He lifted his front hooves slightly, almost rearing up, and spun away.

Jodi held her breath as the horse turned. One flick of his heels could put an end to her business forever—kick all her dreams to pieces. She didn't have to look across the arena to know the parents were watching the scene play out. She didn't have to look at their faces to know they were shocked at how poorly trained her assistant was.

“Courtney,” she said, keeping her tone even. “Go sit on the fence.”

“You can't let horses get away with sh—with stuff like that,” Courtney said. “They have to be disciplined.”

“Go sit on the fence,” Jodi said. “Or better yet…” She lowered her voice. “Go the hell home and don't come back. You hit one of my horses again, or any other horse, and I'll hit you back.”

“Are you threatening me? Because my father…”

“Go home, Courtney.” Jodi ducked her head a moment. She needed to hang onto what little composure she had left. She swallowed, then plastered a perfect, gleaming rodeo queen smile on her face and stepped away from Courtney.

“Thank you for all your help, Courtney!” she said, loud enough for the parents to hear. “But I think you're getting tired. You go ahead home.” She turned toward the kids. “Come on, Dorsey, Constance,” she said. “Let's help Mr. Troy lead the horses back to the barn.”

“Good-bye, Miss Courtney,” Constance said.

“And good riddance,” Jodi muttered as Courtney flounced out of the ring without a backward glance.

Teague pulled up to the trailer and froze behind the wheel.

Could he really go in there? The place was full of memories, none of them good. He hadn't been inside since the day he'd locked the door behind him and moved with Troy to the new house down the road. He'd been relieved and a little ashamed when Cissy volunteered to clean the place herself in return for the free rent he'd offered her. He'd said he could pay somebody but she'd declared the cleaning would do her good. It would keep her busy, keep her last encounter with Cal from running over and over in her mind like some kind of horror-show tape loop.

Teague knew all about tape loops. His cranked into motion the minute he stepped out of the truck. There were a few familiar sounds—the one loose shutter tapping the siding, the clicking of grasshoppers in the weeds gone wild that surrounded the place—that brought the past back in snippets of memory that built on each other like cancer cells invading his brain.

Buck up
, he told himself.
Shake it off.

This was no time to fall prey to memories. Cissy was in danger. Her asshole husband had figured out where she was staying, and having heard what she'd endured throughout their nearly five-year marriage, Teague had no doubt Cal had come to knock the crap out of her again. For old times' sake, apparently.

He'd endured too many of his father's rages and his mother's tears to let that happen to any woman.

He stepped out of the truck, letting the door hang open so the slam wouldn't alert Cal to the fact that he didn't have his helpless soon-to-be–ex-wife all to himself anymore.

When his boot struck the bottom step, the memories came in a rush. The sound of his father's voice, slurred and thick with booze. The panicked pleading of his mother. He took a quick step back. This was worse than he thought. It seemed so real—as if his parents were alive again. As if the fighting had never stopped. He paused with one hand on the railing, staring down at the ground and fortifying himself with a few deep breaths. When he lifted his head again, he realized he wasn't hearing ghosts. That was Cal's voice, and Cissy's.

Cal had gotten inside.

Adrenaline flooded his brain—adrenaline and a long-shuttered memory. He was twelve. He'd come home from school to find the door locked. Behind that door his mother was crying, his father was shouting, and then came the sickening thwap of fist on flesh. He'd been a skinny little kid, but adrenaline surged that time too, and convinced him he could go in there and make his father stop. He'd stormed up the steps and found the door locked. Then he'd run around the back and found that locked, too. He'd kicked and cursed and whaled on both doors until he was exhausted, partly in an effort to get in, partly as a release for his fury at his own helplessness, and partly to drown out the sound of his father shouting and his mother crying.

Well, he wasn't helpless now. There wasn't a door that could keep him out. He'd get inside, and he'd stop it this time, no matter what it took.

He surged up the steps and slammed into the door with enough force to break the lock, and hurtled into the trailer, stumbling over his own feet and sprawling on the living room floor.

The door hadn't been locked. It hadn't even been latched. And he wasn't twelve, and that wasn't his father shouting.

Sobered by the impact, he rose to his knees and listened, struggling to sort out what was real and what was memory. That was Cal's voice, not his father's, and it was Cissy pleading with him. There was no sound of violence, only shouting.

He needed to get a grip on himself. That wasn't his father. This wasn't then—it was now. He took two deep breaths, shoved his memories back into the dark hole they'd come from, and set off down the hall.

Behind the closed bedroom door, he heard Cal's voice shouting.

“You bitch. You whore. I'll…”

Teague flung the door open, letting it smash against the wall to reveal Cal standing apelike in the center of the room, his arms bowed like King Kong, meaty fists clenched at his sides. Cissy cowered on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chin.

Cal turned around in what seemed like slow motion, raising his fists and setting his legs in a fighter's stance. Teague didn't bother to pose. He rushed into the room, head down, and tackled Cal, knocking him onto the bed while Cissy scrambled out of the way.

Grabbing the front of Cal's shirt, Teague hauled him upright and waltzed him out of the room, shoving him backward down the hall, keeping him off-balance and stumbling. Shoving him through the living room, he barrelled through the open front door and the two of them tumbled down the steps.

They landed with Teague on top. Cal was bigger, but Teague had rage on his side. Looking down at his adversary's face, he hauled his fist back and then reminded himself:
This isn't my father.
Breathing hard, he scrambled to his feet and stood over Cal, looking down at the former football hero all curled up with his hands over his face, and resisted the urge to kick his unprotected ribs.

“Teague, man, I didn't touch her. We were just talking—honest, I didn't hit her or anything.” Cal uncurled and crab-walked backwards through the weeds and junk that littered the lawn. “She's my wife, man, I got a right to talk to her…”

“You got a right to get in that car and drive away. And your wife—she got a right to file a protection order now, so if you come within thirty yards of her, she'll have you arrested. Again.”

Cal backed into the side of his own car and sat on the ground like a giant baby on a blanket. “Aw, Teague, come on, you know how women are. I was just tryin' to talk some sense into her. I was just…”

“Cal.” Teague held up a hand to stop the babbling. “You notice how I didn't kill you yet?”

Cal swallowed and nodded.

Teague rested one hip against the car and looked down at Cal. “You know, my dad used to hit my mom and yell at her, kind of like you were doing there. Right here, in this trailer.”

Cal nodded.

“Thanks for the fucking flashback, Cal. You're lucky I didn't go all PTSD and kill your ass. You know that?”

Cal nodded again.

“Now go home. And don't cross my path. Not ever again. Because you just became a symbol of everything that fucked up my childhood, and if I see you again, I probably won't be able to control myself.”

He looked down at his own fists, clenching and unclenching, and realized he was back in his own body. Since he'd come through the door, he'd felt like he was watching what was happening from a distance, listening to himself talk like an actor on a stage. Breathing slow and deep, he settled back into reality and took a step backward.

Watching him warily, Cal lumbered to his feet and opened the car door. Sliding behind the wheel, he started the engine and backed out onto the road. Teague watched him disappear in a cloud of dust, and hoped to God he was taking the memories with him.