Cowboy Fever (19 page)

“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.

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.

She waited, trying to breathe evenly as an engine purred to a halt, then shut off abruptly.

A door slammed. Boots crunched gravel all the way up to the front door.

She held her breath.

Someone stopped outside the door. A man, judging from the heavy footfalls. She could hear him shifting his weight, his boots scuffing on the worn boards of the porch. There was no laughter now, no joking in Spanish.

Whoever it was had returned alone.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Why was he just standing there—whoever he was? Was he trying to find a way to pick the lock? Was he looking for a rock? It would be easy enough for him to break a window and get in that way. She felt suddenly cold. Her palms were sweating where she held the gun, but she was shivering.

Dammit. Whatever he was doing, she wasn't going to stand here all night and tremble like a scared rabbit while she waited for him to do it. He was bigger than her, and stronger—but she had surprise on her side.

Grabbing the doorknob, she wrenched it open and swung the door wide, letting it bang against the wall, and lifted the shotgun to her shoulder.

***

Teague stumbled backward as Jodi's door swung open. She stood in the doorway, dressed in a sheer, almost see-through nightie that would barely have reached her thighs under normal conditions. Since both arms were raised to her shoulders, one holding the fore end of a shotgun, the other poised on the trigger, the thing hovered within a hair's-breadth of uncovering her panties.

If she was wearing any.

She wasn't wearing a bra, that was clear. Very clear.

Man, with the gun in her hands and that see-through nightie skimming her breasts, the lace riding high on her thighs, she looked—well, he ought to be scared she'd shoot him, but he was getting too turned on to care.

He swallowed and backed away, lifting his own hands high.

“Don't shoot,” he said. “It's me. Don't shoot.” He took another step backward and felt the heel of his foot hit open air. The next thing he knew, he was pitching backward down the steps.

“Huh,” he grunted as he hit the ground. He blinked, looking up at the stars. They were spinning slightly, leaving trails of light etched on the sky.
Pretty
, he thought.

Jodi's worried face slid into view.

“Teague?”

He squinted up at her. Her hair was tousled, and from his vantage point on the ground, he could almost see up her nightie.

He shifted sideways, hoping for a better angle. He was pretty sure she wasn't wearing any panties.

“Teague?” She knelt down beside him.

Rats.

“Uh.” He'd meant to say
hi, I'm fine, don't worry about it
, but “Uh” was all that came out.

“You okay?”

“Uh.”

“Here.” She set down the shotgun and took his hand. “Can you sit up?”

He smiled. He was lying down, and she was holding his hand. He felt a little dizzy, and his head hurt, but he was happy. Really happy. He tugged on her hand, but she tugged back.

“Come on. Sit up.” She reached behind his head to lift it from the ground, then sucked in a quick breath and pulled her hand away. She held it to his face so he could see blood tipping her fingers. “You're bleeding. Come on, get up.”

“No,” he said. “You lie down. It'll be easier that way.” His voice sounded slurred, even to him. Had he had that much to drink?

“Come on.” She was ignoring him, hauling on his hand. He couldn't help sitting up. She'd always been strong for her size.

“Hey,” he said. “I was looking at the stars.”

He wasn't looking at them now, though. He was looking at that nightie. The spinning had stopped, and he could see just fine.

Jodi clasped her arms over her chest.

“You fell,” she said. “You all right?”

“Dunno.”

The pain at the back of his head was fading. He was fine, but he wasn't about to tell her that. She looked so concerned, with her forehead wrinkled up and her eyes wide.

Of course, maybe she was just scared. He looked around at the dark outbuildings hulking around the house.

“Where'd they go?”

“The polo guys? They left.”

“You shoot 'em?”

“No. They left a while ago.” She tossed her hair. “No thanks to you. And then I thought you were them, coming back.”

“Sorry.”

She shrugged and led him up the steps and into the house. “Come on. Let me look at your head.”

He let her lead him inside, enjoying the back view as she climbed the steps. The light from the front hall gleamed through her thin nightgown, and he could clearly see the outline of her body. The sheer fabric had thinned at the seat.

Dang, that's some outfit
, he thought.
What's left of it
.

Jodi led Teague into the kitchen. Pulling a chair out from under the kitchen table, she let him sink into it and examined the back of his head. He'd hit the concrete walkway, and there was a good-sized gash under his hair. At least, she figured there must be a gash, because there was a lot of blood. His dark hair was clumped and matted around the wound.

“I'll need to clean this up,” she said. “You're bleeding.”

“That's okay.” He turned. “We cowboys are tough. C'mere.”

He caught her around the waist and pulled her into his lap, and she was suddenly conscious of the worn-out lingerie she'd worn to bed. She'd been worried about the polo players, and now here she was, practically naked in Teague's lap. Teague, who a half-hour earlier had probably been with Courtney.

She moved to stand, but his arms were tight around her.

“Let me up.” She tried to turn, but the movement only made things worse as the hand that had been wrapped around her shoulders swept over one breast. She wrenched herself to her feet, feeling angry, aroused, and thoroughly confused. First there had been the polo players at the bar, good-natured and sexy; then Gustaldo, his body hard against hers on the dance floor. Then the fear, when they'd come to the house, and the anger when she realized where Teague was.

And now? She didn't know what she felt now.

She stalked over to the sink and snagged a few paper towels from a roll that hung under the cupboards. Moistening half of them under the tap, she carried them over to Teague and stood behind him, dabbing at his head wound with the wet towels, then wiping away the blood with the dry ones.

“It's not too bad,” she said. “Head wounds bleed a lot. It's just a little cut.”

“Good. I'm fine,” Teague said. He grinned. “Come sit in my lap again.”

She dabbed at the cut a little harder and he winced.

“Look, I had a few vodka tonics but I'm not that drunk. Besides, haven't you had enough for one night?” she asked.

“Enough what?”

“You know what.” She pitched the towels in the wastebasket and stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. Then she remembered the nightgown and sat down at the table. Maybe she was tipsier than she'd realized.

“What are you so mad about? All I did was take Courtney home and drop her off. Oh, and I lost her dog.”

“Honeybucket?”

“Yeah. I call him Spike, though. No respectable animal should be called Honeybucket.” He put his hand up to touch the cut on his head. “Ow,” he said, pulling his hand away.

“I'm not sure Mr. Bucket qualifies as a respectable animal.” She took his hand. “You're still bleeding.” She grabbed another paper towel and leaned over him, dabbing at the wound again. He reached up and ran his hand down her side from shoulder to hip.

“Don't do that.” She smacked his hand. “Look, I appreciate you coming out, but I'm fine now. You should go.” He blinked, and she heaved out an exasperated sigh. “You're okay to drive, right?”

He shrugged and shifted his gaze sideways. “Doesn't matter. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Yeah you are. You're going home.” She thrust a wad of paper towels into his hand and stepped away.

“I'm not leaving.” He folded his arms over his chest and squared his jaw. “What if they come back?”

She gestured toward the gun. “I'll shoot them.”

“No you won't,” he said. “Not all four of them.”

She set her hands on her hips and blew out an exasperated breath. “Look, I'm fine. I appreciate you playing knight in shining armor, but I can take care of myself now that I found the gun.”

He frowned. “I'm not leaving.”

“Well, you're not staying.”

He stood up.

Good. He was leaving.

He walked over to the sofa. Holding a wad of paper towels to his head, he toed off his boots and laid down, shoving a throw pillow under his head. “You go on to bed. I'll be right here.”

She looked down at him. “No.”

He cracked one eye open. “Yes.”

She sat down beside him. “No. Come on, Teague, you have to go.”

***

Jodi tugged Teague's hand and he swung his legs to the floor and sat up so he was close enough to smell her hair, the same sweet peachy scent it had in high school. She must still be using the same shampoo. A couple days after their last good-bye, he'd gone through every bottle in the drugstore, trying to find what she'd used. He didn't find it, which was just as well. He didn't really want to smell like that himself. It was too girly. Fruity.

Sexy.

She shifted away and lifted one hand to nervously tuck her hair behind her ears.

“Your hands are shaking.”

“No they're not.” She held them out in front of her, and he had to smile. They were definitely shaking.

He took them in both of his and smiled. “Yeah, they are. It's okay, Jodi. Those guys are gone.”

She nodded, but he could see her eyes glistening. Dang. She really had been scared. Impulsively, he pulled her close. Miraculously, she let him.

“You don't have to be scared,” he said.

“It's just… I'm so alone out here.”

“You don't have to be.”

She pulled away and looked at him, her eyes probing his as if she was trying to read his mind. He hoped she could. He hoped she could see how much he wanted her, how much she meant to him. He met her gaze, trying his best to send a telepathic message straight to her heart. It had better work, because for some reason, he sure couldn't say it out loud.

But the telepathy must have worked. Slowly, the two of them drew together, and met in a kiss so tender Teague thought his heart would burst. He buried his fingers in Jodi's hair and tilted his head, trying to put everything he'd ever felt for her into the touch of his lips. His hands moved down her body. He'd seen her breasts, the nipples dark under the sheer fabric of her nightgown, but he didn't touch them, just rubbed her back to soothe her. This wasn't about getting her into bed. It was about showing her how he felt.

Because the way he felt was surprising even him. When he'd seen her with Gustaldo, the truth had hit him hard. What he'd told her that afternoon on the porch had been true. Everything he'd done—building up the ranch, making deals, trying to work his way into respectable Purvis business circles—had been for her.

He'd known that all along. But now he realized that if he lost her, none of it would matter anymore. All his effort, all the times he'd swallowed his pride, all the hard work—it would have been pointless. He'd seen her dancing with Gustaldo and realized he couldn't lose her.

He loved her so much it hurt.

She whimpered, and he realized he was squeezing her to his chest. Now it was his hands that were shaking as he released her. She looked up at him, and her eyes were teary again.

“Oh, Teague,” she said.

That was all she said, but the look in her eyes made him believe she might feel the same way. And when she stood up and headed for the bedroom, he followed her, hoping that was what she'd been trying to say.

***

Jodi wasn't sure what she was trying to say. Part of her was trying to lure Teague into the bedroom, but another part—the sensible part—was trying to run away.

The sensible part didn't have a chance.

The bedroom was dark except for a faint glow from the windows across the room. Teague's face was in shadow, but Jodi didn't need to see his expression to know something had changed. He wasn't playing anymore. This was serious.

He pulled her down onto the bed and took her tenderly in his arms. His kiss started out gentle and pleading as the one before, but when he upped the pressure she did too, and it turned into something hotter and hungrier. His hands moved to her breasts and she gasped as his rough palms grazed her skin and her nipples swelled and peaked.

Closing her eyes, she threw her head back, and Teague kissed her jawline and the soft skin just below it, then moved down her neck to the curve where it met her shoulder. His lips brushed her skin and heat and need flowed from his touch to every part of her body.

Easing her down onto the edge of the bed, he slid the gown's narrow straps off one shoulder, then the other. As the thin fabric fell away from her breasts and settled in her lap, she felt heat pool between her legs. His gaze moved from her breasts up to her face, and when their eyes met she felt the past drift away, and there was nothing but
now.

Bending down, he flicked his tongue out to tease one pebbled nipple, then drew it into his mouth. If she hadn't lost all her inhibitions before, she lost them then. Falling backward onto the bed, she shimmied her hips to shed what was left of her gown and gave herself up to Teague's hands.

Once again, he was still fully clothed and she was naked, at his mercy, just like back in his bedroom. It should have bothered her. He was in control this way, and she was helpless. But there was something delicious and forbidden about giving herself up to Teague. She felt like a teenager again, like the good girl getting too close to the town bad boy.

Tonight, she was going to join him and be very, very bad.

He intertwined his fingers with hers and stretched her arms above her head, then let his fingers trail down across her palms to her wrists. Pausing to caress the soft, sensitive underside of her arms, he let his fingers trace every curve, traveling across her shoulder to circle her breast, spiraling slowly over her skin, the path narrowing until she shivered and arched her back. He bent and sucked one peaked nipple as he played with the other, and watching his tongue and fingers tease and tweak the swollen pink tips made her so soft and hot inside she felt like she'd melt. As if he'd read her mind, he moved his hand down and ran it from one hip to the other, making her nerve endings twitch and shimmer like summer lightning.

Moving lower, he dipped his hand under the lace of her panties and gently stroked her with a light, teasing touch as he ran his middle finger along the damp seam between her legs. She gasped and opened to him as he slid his finger inside and stroked it out. Rocking her hips, she closed her eyes and arched her back, leaving the dimly lit room behind to simply
feel
.

She forgot who she was. She forgot where they were. All she knew was the touch of his hands, the pleasure of his fingers touching her there, right
there
, right where she needed him. He kissed her again and upped the tempo, and the kiss blended with all the rest of it in one dizzying symphony of sensation as she pulsed her hips in time with his thrusts.

She had just what she wanted, what she needed. It was Teague. It had always been Teague, and no promise she made could change that. Crying out, she clutched at his shoulders and clung to him as the room rocked and swayed and a wave of joy crested inside her and broke.

***

Teague watched in wonder as Jodi closed her eyes and gave herself up to the pleasure of his touch. She was giving herself completely, holding absolutely nothing back, and she looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her, her eyes closed in ecstasy, her blonde hair tangled on the pillow, her back arched as she rode out her orgasm.

A moment later she was looking up at him, blinking, looking puzzled as if she couldn't quite remember where she was. Her lips were pink and swollen from his kiss, her eyes blurry with lust and love. It was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen, and he had to kiss her again.

But everything had changed. She was fighting him, pushing him away. He felt a hot bolt of panic shoot through his heart. She'd remembered that damned promise. He'd thought if he could just get her to himself, just show her how he felt, she'd forget, and he'd have a chance. But she was struggling against him, shoving him backward.

He clutched at her for a moment, panicked, but then her hands moved to his collar and he realized she was undressing him, tugging off his shirt, pulling at his belt. He stood up and did it for her, shedding his clothes in record time so he could fall back down beside her and pull her close.

He rolled on top of her and paused, propping himself up on his elbows and settling his hips over hers, the head of his cock just touching her entrance. Their eyes met and she bit her lower lip, giving him a shy smile.

That was all the invitation he needed. He cut loose from everything that had ever held him back and thrust inside her, looking down in wonder at her face as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She moved gently beneath him like waves, like warm, buoyant waves lifting him and receding, lifting and receding, carrying him up and up and up, higher and higher.

He slowed his pace, biting the inside of his cheek to bring himself under control. He watched her face, taking his cues from the shades of emotion that flickered across her face.

Her hands clasped his arms and her grip tightened while she upped the tempo, her hips lifting off the bed to take all of him harder and faster. Pleasure built inside him with every thrust as he bent to kiss her with a claiming kiss, rough but tender, and he kept his lips pressed to hers until they both arched their backs and lost themselves in a swirling tide of passion and pleasure and all the love he'd been holding back seemed to rise in his heart and overflow.