Cowboy Fever

by Joanne Kennedy

  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.

  Chapter 29

  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.

  Chapter 30

  Back home, the river rock shower felt like a sanctuary as Teague washed off the dirt, the blood, and the memories he’d spilled in the struggle with Cal. He closed his eyes and let the water pelt his skin, cranking it as hot as he could stand it. Once he’d dried off and dressed, he strolled out to check on Rocket. He needed a few minutes with the big horse, a short conversation with the ultimate reality to ground himself.

  “Rocky.” He rested his arms on the top rail of the fence. The horse turned, eyed him a moment, then walked over for a visit, taking his sweet time getting there. “I did okay, Rocky. I didn’t kill him. Guess we’re both tamed now.” The horse shoved his head over the top rail of the fence and Teague rested his forehead against his long muzzle. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  It did. It felt good knowing he could trust himself—that he could hold it together and act like a rational human, instead of attacking like an animal. Now if he could just convince the rest of the town he’d changed, he’d have peace. If he could convince Jodi’s mother, he’d have everything.

  Because changing wasn’t enough. He didn’t believe in living his life to earn anyone else’s approval—that was Jodi’s way. But he wouldn’t be truly free of the Treadwell curse until he changed his reputation. If Courtney already knew how “disreputable” he was, everyone in town must know—including the parents of Jodi’s clients. They wouldn’t want to trust their children to someone like that. Russell’s father hadn’t minded—but then, Ben was pretty disreputable himself.

  Russell. Shoot. He’d forgotten the kid had another session today. He’d promised to be there.

  He needed to get over to Jodi’s.

  He felt a little spasm of joy squeeze his heart at the prospect. It wasn’t all about Jodi this time; he was looking forward to seeing Russell too. The kid didn’t know or care about Teague’s past. All he saw was a genuine cowboy—someone to look up to. The admiration in his eyes had done Teague more good than any of Courtney’s winks and nudges.

  He squinted as a glint of light caught his eyes. Another vehicle was turning into the drive—a big diesel pickup with some kind of writing on the side.

  Shit. It was probably the sheriff. Maybe he’d hurt Cal worse than he’d thought. Or maybe the idiot had gone and filed charges. They wouldn’t stick, but everyone would think Teague had gone and lost it again, solving his troubles with his fists just like his father, and his victory over the ghosts of his past would gain him nothing.

  Except peace. He felt stronger inside—the kind of strength he’d been looking for all his life. He used to try to find it by fighting, but it never went clear to his bones before. Now he felt like he could tackle anything without losing control.

  He stepped off the porch as the vehicle pulled to a stop. That wasn’t the sheriff’s county crest on the side; it was a prancing horse, framed by the words “Skelton Polo Center.” The driver’s door opened and Courtney Skelton slid to the ground.

  Shit.

  Jodi was right. The girl was after him. That Sting song started running through his head. Every move you make, every step you take, I’ll be watching you.

  Yep. Courtney was a solid gold stalker.

  “Hi, Teague!” She put a little skip in her step and her breasts bounced beneath her tight shirt.

  “Hey,” he said, pinning his gaze to her face. If she thought he was eying her boobs, she’d think she had a chance with him. Although judging from her behavior this morning, she’d been pretty mad about last night. He’d thought she was through with him.

  She simpered and stepped in close so her breast brushed his arm. “So what are you doing this afternoon?”

  So much for being through with him. She was back to her old ways.

  Luckily, he had plans, so she couldn’t hijack him and try to subject him to more of her jiggling and sex-starved sideways glances.

  “I’m helping Jodi,” he said. “Hey, I thought you were too.”

  “No, I’m done.” Courtney tossed her hair and a fleeting hint of anger cr
ossed her face. “She told me to go. Guess she doesn’t really need any help.”

  “Yeah, she does,” Teague said. “She’s starting that business all by herself. It’s a lot of work.”

  “Yeah, and then there’s the baby,” Courtney said.

  Teague’s heart sank into his stomach. “You know about that?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked off toward the horizon. He didn’t want to talk about Jodi with Courtney. It seemed wrong somehow.

  “I heard she was shopping for prenatal vitamins at the drugstore. And she sure looks pregnant.”

  “She does?” Teague didn’t think Jodi looked pregnant. She looked the same as always. “No she doesn’t. She’s still—well, she’s still just fine.”

  “You’re a man. You wouldn’t know.” Courtney tossed her hair as if to demonstrate the superiority of women. “She’s glowing.”

  “Glowing?” Teague remembered how Jodi had looked the night before. She’d been glowing, all right. He’d thought it was something he’d done, but maybe not.

  Courtney’s voice interrupted the memory. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Whatever I can.”

  She barked out a laugh that sounded a like Honeybucket yipping. “Well, good luck. I doubt the Treadwell name is something she wants painted on her mailbox, though. Not if she’s going to be trusted with other people’s kids.”

  Courtney was only echoing his own thoughts, but her words sank into his gut like a dose of lead. Sometimes he managed to convince himself that he could overcome his past, but Courtney was right. In a town this small, the past was inescapable.

  “I guess that’s up to Jodi,” he said.

  Courtney thrust her lower lip out in a little-girl pout.

  “Well, I guess I’ll just go home then. Maybe I’ll go see Gustaldo.” She slanted a narrow-eyed glance his way, as if gauging his reaction.

  “Whatever,” he said.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me to be careful?” she asked. “You were all concerned about Jodi and Gustaldo last night.”