Cowboy Fever (23 page)

Her mother shot her a penetrating stare. “Did you?”

Jodi remembered the dread that had sat in her stomach all afternoon like a cold, hard stone, and the overwhelming relief she'd felt when Teague told her he hadn't hurt Cal.

“I—I
hoped
,” she said.

“Do you want to live your life that way?”

Jodi whisked the hangers back and forth a few more times until her mother stood up and put her hands over Jodi's.

“Stop,” she said.

Jodi slumped her shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Honey, if he means that much to you, there's not a thing I can do about it.” Her mother squeezed her hands and shook them up and down while she tried to get her next words out. “If you love him, I can't stop you.”

“But I promised,” Jodi said.

“I don't have any right to make you keep that promise,” her mother said. “Come here. Sit down.” She led Jodi to the chairs and they both sat, still holding hands. “My mother didn't like your father, you know.”

Jodi nodded. Her grandma had died when she was little, but she remembered her as a loving but vaguely disapproving presence.

“She didn't like his cowboy ways,” her mother continued. “She said I'd be unhappy living on a ranch, not having any neighbors, dealing with animals and weather all the time.”

“But you…”

“She was right.”

Jodi pulled her hands away and started to protest, but her mother held up a finger to stop her.

“I didn't like the ranch life. You know that. I'm not an animal person. I missed going to concerts and cocktail parties and wearing nice clothes—I missed so much. But I would have missed him more.”

Jodi felt a faint glow of hope lighting her heart as she looked up at her mother's face.

“I loved your father. I would have been miserable without him. Being with him had its drawbacks…” she laughed shakily “…but it was worth it. Always, every day, it was worth it.”

Jodi nodded, the glow growing brighter. Maybe her mother understood.

“You and Teague would have problems, you know. He has issues you can't possibly understand. You know that, right?”

Jodi nodded. “When I talked to him about today, I could tell he was holding a lot in. Keeping his feelings from me.”

“There will always be a part of him you don't understand, and if he's not willing to confide in you, that makes it even harder. You need to decide if you can accept that.”

Jodi nodded again, then looked up with a hesitant smile. “Does this mean I don't have to keep my promise?”

Her mom smiled and shook her head. “Let's change the promise, okay? Promise me you'll think very, very hard before you pledge yourself to this man. Promise me to keep your eyes wide open, and listen to your head as well as your heart.”

“I promise,” Jodi said. “I really do promise to think it through.”

Her mother sighed. “Being a cowboy is on a slightly different level than being—whatever Teague is. The child of an abuser. The man has deep-seated psychological issues.”

Jodi shifted forward, ready to defend Teague, but her mother looked away and held up her hand to stop her.

“It's true, and you know it.”

Reluctantly, Jodi nodded, but she couldn't help going for the last word. “Maybe he's learned from his experience, Mom. Maybe he's actually
less
likely to have that issue, because he's seen the effects.”

“Maybe.” Her mother sighed. “I sure hope so, because I don't think anything is going to keep you away from him.”

***

Teague was out in back of the barn when Jodi arrived at the ranch. He was working with a black and white paint, apparently trying to get the horse accustomed to the motion of a polo mallet by waving it around his head. The horse had a shaggy, unkempt coat, stocky legs, and a coarse, bullet-shaped head. His tangled forelock dangled rakishly over one eye; he peered at his tormenter through the other and blew out a flaccid raspberry. Closing his white-lashed eyes, he cocked one hind leg and dozed off.

Teague turned to Jodi.

“Watch this.”

He swung the mallet sideways, letting it skim the tips of the horse's ears. The horse sighed and shifted, cocking the other leg. “I'm thinking he'll make a great polo horse. Totally bombproof.”

“Don't polo horses have to, like, run?” she asked.

“Yeah, that might be an issue with him. He's just not a high-energy kind of guy.”

They both stood back and watched the horse snooze in the sun.

“Maybe he'd make a good therapy horse,” she said.

“No way.” Teague groaned. “If anyone finds out one of Rocket's colts is a kid's therapy horse, my reputation will be ruined.”

“I'll change his name,” she said. “Give him an alias. I'm thinking we'll call him Sleepy.”

“That fits,” Teague said. He leaned the mallet up against the fence and shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head.

“Hey,” she said. “I've got news.”

He arched an eyebrow and gave her a sideways look.

“I talked to my mom.”

“Oh.” He leaned up against the fence. “You tell her I passed the test?”

She looked away. “Sorry about that.”

“It's okay. I can't blame you for thinking I'd go off. I'm just glad I passed.”

“Me too. I don't think that's what did it, though.”

“Did what?” A spark leapt in his heart, then died. It couldn't be what he was hoping. He couldn't be that lucky.

She spread her arms and grinned. “No more promise.”

He was. He was that lucky. He felt weak and lightheaded as he stared at the woman who could be his.

“You…”

“She realized it was wrong, and that…” Suddenly shy, Jodi stared down at her boot, scuffing it in the dirt. “That there was no stopping me anyway.” She looked up at him through her lashes with a smile.

Teague grinned. “That's true. There is no stopping you when you want something.”

She tilted her chin up and met his eyes full-on. “I want you.”

“I sure won't stop that.”

He stepped closer and looked down at her, his mouth working, and her eyes caught his with an unmistakable statement about just what he was to her. His whole body came alive with the awareness that she was finally his—but his lungs just died.

He couldn't breathe.

His arms swept around her, cupping her denim-clad bottom and tugging her toward him, and his tongue flicked out and touched hers, and it was like she lit a fire inside him. He was lost, gone, out of control; kissing her like he was starving and she was his last meal.

He buried one hand in the hair at the back of her neck and kissed her again, deeper, harder. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but she was backed up against the barn wall and his body was keeping her there, pressing into the warmth that radiated from her skin and the sun-warmed wood. He moved his hands down to savor the sweet shape of her, the tuck of her waist, the smooth swell of her hip, the heft of her breast… her breast… her breast… oh, God…

What was he doing?

Kissing Jodi, that's what. Kissing her long and hard, the way she needed to be kissed. Kissing her as if she was his. And she was kissing him back.

The way her lips caressed his, the way her hands fisted in her hair—there was more to this than wanting. In the back of his mind, he'd always believed she loved him. He'd figured maybe she kept her feelings hidden because she was ashamed to be seen with trailer trash, but when she'd told him what her mother had said, he'd understood why she didn't want to get involved with him. Sometimes he himself felt his father inside him, crouched like a demon in some dark part of his brain. He couldn't deny that it was a rational reason to stay away from him—but when had love ever been rational?

He moved his hands down her body, savoring the womanly curve of her hips, the way his hand swooped and smoothed when he caressed her. He'd been insulted when he realized she saw what had happened at the trailer as a test, but now he realized she'd been right. He'd faced his demon back there at the trailer, and he'd won. He'd proven he was more than his father's son.

She pulled away from him and a frustrated growl rose in his chest, but when she looked him in the eyes he felt a surge of love so strong it made him dizzy.

***

Jodi knew she should stop. She'd promised her mother that she'd think this through, that she'd use her mind as well as her heart, but she couldn't let this moment pass. For the first time since that long-ago good-bye, there was a real possibility that she and Teague could be together for real. No hiding, no shying away. They didn't have to keep this a secret from the world.

Even though Teague still had his share of secrets. She remembered his guarded eyes when she asked him about Cal. He wasn't all hers. Not yet. There were parts of himself he kept hidden—but surely, now that they could really commit to each other, he'd come to trust her and confide in her.

She pulled away and held his face in her hands, looking into his eyes. There was love there, but mostly there was hunger. And lust.

Lots of lust. She felt an answering heat well up inside her and when he moved to kiss her again, she turned her head.

“Um, Teague?”

“Mmm?” He looked at her with dreamy, half-closed eyes.

“We're outside, you know. And where's Troy?”

“He's out.” Teague glanced around, then smiled a slow, sheepish grin. “I'm glad you said something. Forgot where I was.” He reached out and stroked her hair. “I think I forgot who I was too.”

“Wouldn't the bedroom be more appropriate for… this?”

He nodded and slid one arm around her shoulders, then bent down and hefted her in his arms. Carrying her down the hill to the house and kicking the front door open, he strode down the hall and swung her over the bed in a wide arc before lowering her gently onto the cushions.

There were a lot of cushions, heaped neatly against the headboard. Some of them had ruffled trim. Jodi shifted and sat up, looking around the room. Last time she'd been here, she hadn't really thought about the décor. This time, she was a little more conscious. More aware of her surroundings.

“What are you, some kind of metrosexual?”

He'd sat down on the edge of the bed to kick off his boots, but that made him pause. “What?”

“The decorating. You're like
Queer Eye for the Cowboy
or something.”

“Hey.”

She grinned. “Okay, I know you're definitely heterosexual. But really—what's with the decorating?” She sat up. “All of a sudden, you're like Martha Stewart or something. And it's not just the house. It's the cooking. I mean, Mario Batali? And your clothes.” She looked him up and down. “You're like a cowboy fashion plate, Teague. What happened to the ripped jeans and T-shirts?”

Teague shrugged. “Hey, I got tired of Chef Boyardee, fiberboard furniture, and Walmart clothes. Thought it was time for a change.”

“It's just that there's been a lot of change. It's like… I hardly know you anymore.”

“You know me. You know me better than anyone.” He eased closer and she felt a sudden tension, like a faint hum in her veins. “You knew me when.”

She nodded. “Exactly. And I kind of miss ‘when,' you know? You've changed, Teague. What matters to you now—it's all this
stuff.
”

“It's not the stuff.” He stiffened and moved away slightly. “That's not what it's about.”

“Then what's it about?”

“You.” He bent his head and kissed her neck. She felt his fingers stealing into the hair at the back of her neck. He was going to kiss her, partly to make her stop asking questions. She pushed him out to arm's length and gave him her best schoolteacher glare.

“No, really. Teague. Tell me what brought this on.”

“I told you,” he said. “You.” He scooted up beside her and took her hand. “When you left—I realized I'd missed my chance. I kept defending who I was, instead of trying to be somebody else.”

“I don't want you to be anyone else.” She waved her hand, indicating the nightstands with their antler lamps and the heavy draperies. “This is just stuff. Window dressing. Literally.” She stepped closer and adjusted his collar. “You're still you.”

“Yeah, well, don't tell anybody, okay?”

She grinned. “Okay. I won't tell them what you look like naked, either.”

“Who says you're going to find out?”

“I do.” She grabbed each side of the collar and pulled him in for a kiss. As their lips met, she yanked the shirt apart, unsnapping it all the way down to his belt. Tucking her hands under the fabric, she reached in to savor the warmth of his skin, the rippled muscles coursing his ribs, the faint dusting of hair that arrowed down to his belt buckle.

“Naked,” she muttered against his lips. She swept her palms over the swell of his chest, caressing his flat nipples as she moved down to kiss his neck, his throat, his collarbone, while her fingers fumbled with his belt buckle. She was taking her time, pausing to brush his fly teasingly with the flat of her palm, dancing her fingertips over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his jeans. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

“There.” She undid the buckle and unsnapped his jeans, then slipped the zipper down. He let out a sigh at the relief of release and she stroked him through the taut fabric of his shorts before she hooked them with her fingers and slid them down, along with his jeans.

“Here.” She pushed him backward toward the bed. “Sit.”

He sat, and she knelt between his legs, fondling him, taking her time, teasing him with light touches until he groaned and fell backward and she took him in her mouth.

***

Teague closed his eyes and gave in to the swirl of sensation that started at his groin and spread like licking, flickering flames through his veins. Jodi was taking her time, teasing him with her tongue, then letting him ease into her warmth just when he thought he'd die of wanting. He reached down and tugged at her shirt, bunching it above her breasts and holding them cupped in his hands, caressing the soft, giving flesh and kneading her taut nipples between his thumb and fingers while she lavished him with attention, first teasing, then giving in, then teasing again.