Cowboy Fever (6 page)

The Brand Boutique: The Best of the West and to Hell with the Rest.

The sign's sentiment might not be poetic, but it was sure as heck accurate. Jodi's mother loved Western clothes, Western men, and Western decor, but she hated everything else about Western life. Horses, dirt, hot summers, cold winters, cattle, rodeo—she hated it all. She'd especially hated the ranch—the center of Jodi's life, and her father's.

But you'd never know it to look at the Brand Boutique.

It was housed in a generic strip mall that crouched at the very end of Purvis's three-block-long city center. Tall brick storefronts housing the Rexall, the ancient movie theatre, the Okay Café, and an assortment of saloons and office buildings abruptly gave way to the low, blocky strip mall and a Conoco station that had better be any visitor's last stop before they launched themselves into the endless high plains beyond the city limits. The sign at the other end of the street read “Welcome to Purvis. Next Services 30 miles.”

The outside of the boutique looked about as interesting as the dry cleaner and the dentist's office that shared the building, but once you stepped inside the door, a tinkle of bells signaled your entry into an alternate universe where all the men were cowboys and the women were buckaroo belles. Log walls lined the interior, and beamed ceilings held wagon-wheel chandeliers that lit rack after rack of Western shirts, rakish hats, and tight trousers. Everything was spangled, fringed, beaded, and bedazzled.

“Honey!” Jodi's mother slid off a high stool and jogged over to wrap her daughter in a rose-scented embrace. Jodi closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar perfume while her mother gave her three quick squeezes and stepped back, holding Jodi's shoulders and scanning her from head to toe.

“You look
fine
,” she declared. Her dark hair, streaked with silver and cut in a springy pageboy, bounced as she nodded approval. “You don't look sick at all. Not a bit.” She gave Jodi a firm shake and stepped away. “I know this is a small town, but that doesn't give Darla Black license to make stuff up. She just needs to dig deeper and find some
real
gossip.”

“I knew it,” Jodi groaned. “She's spreading it all over town that I've got cancer, isn't she?”

“Well, I have to admit, I thought something was wrong with you too when I got your e-mail, but I figured it was mental.” Peggy Brand cocked her head and gave her daughter a bird-like, inquisitive once-over. “What's got into you? I'm thrilled to have you, but you never had a shred of interest in fashion. You really want to work here?”

“You said you needed help.”

“And I do. Sales have gone through the roof.” Her mother pointed toward the ceiling and made a noise like a rocket to illustrate her point. “I can't keep up.” She swept her arm around the room to indicate the racks of clothes and accessories. “But this just isn't
you.
”

“Well, ranching wasn't
you
either, but you put up with it for Dad's sake. And for mine.”

Her mother stepped back, narrowing her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I got to thinking about things, that's all. And I realized I hadn't been fair to you.”

“You were grieving too, honey, and you needed someone to blame.”

“So I picked you? And that's okay? No.” Jodi shook her head. “I was wrong.”

It was true. When her father suffered a riding accident that left him paralyzed, it seemed to Jodi that her mother had been paralyzed too—at least where the ranch was concerned. She'd been suddenly incapable of lifting a finger to keep it running. At fourteen, Jodi had been mired in teen self-obsession. It hadn't occurred to her that the situation was as difficult for her mother as it was for her.

“I blamed you for everything, Mom.” She pulled a beaded necklace from the clearance basket and threaded it between her fingers, her eyes pricking with hot tears.

“I know it was hard for you. You two were so close.” Her mother pulled a pink T-shirt emblazoned with a rhinestone-studded bucking horse silhouette from a box beside the counter and folded it rapidly.

Jodi pulled a fringed Western shirt with pearlized snaps off a nearby rack and held it up to her body as if checking it for size. “I was such a little snit, though. All I could think of was that you'd sold the horses.” She took a deep breath. It was still hard to talk about this stuff, even after five years. “I know you only did what you had to do.”

“It was hard for everybody.” Her mother set the shirt on the counter and pulled out another. “But it's over and done.”

“Not for me.” Jodi slumped against the counter. “I can't sleep nights, thinking of how it must have been for you when I didn't answer your calls or return your e-mails. I want to make it up to you, and I thought if I helped out with the store…”

“Well, I'd like that, honey.” Her mom set the second shirt on top of the first one and folded her hands. “But I thought you wanted to work with horses somehow, and if there's one thing I've learned in all this, it's that you should do the things you love. You can only go so long living your life for other people.”

“I know. And I'm going to start a therapy riding clinic eventually, if I can raise the funds. It'll take it a while to get off the ground.” Jodi rounded the counter and pulled a shirt from the box. Clumsily, she tried to emulate her mother's quick folding technique. “So I thought I'd at least help you set up a system to deal with the Internet orders. I took some computer classes in school.”

“Well, that would sure help. And working together…” Her mom bit her lip and ducked her head as if the shirts suddenly required her full attention. “It would be nice.”

Jodi smiled. Throughout her nearly six-year brat-fit, her mother had never complained, never stopped calling, never stopped trying. And now that they were reconciled, she'd never ask for anything—but it was obvious Jodi had hit on the one thing that would mean the most to her.

“I think it'll be nice, too, Mom.”

“But take a week or so to settle in. Have you seen any of your old friends? I guess most of them have left.”

“I saw Teague,” Jodi said.

“Teague.” Her mother pronounced the name the way most people would say
maggot infestation
or
uncontrolled vomiting
. “Of course he's still here.”

Jodi swallowed back a snappy retort. Her mother had never liked the Treadwells. Keeping her distance from Teague's parents was understandable, but it wasn't Teague's fault his folks had been the town drunk and the village floozy.

“He looks like he's doing really well.”

“You saw him already?”

“At the Rexall.” Jodi got up and examined some belts on a nearby rack so her mother wouldn't see her face flushing. “I ran into him yesterday, right after I got to town.” She unhooked a belt from a display rack. It looked like an obsessive/compulsive BeDazzler had attacked an innocent piece of leather with pink and blue rhinestones. “He was dressed really nice.”

“You can dehorn the devil and dress him in feathers, but he's still no angel.” Her mom pulled another shirt from the box. “That boy can't hide who he is. He can't even raise civilized livestock. Why anyone would raise bucking horses on purpose is beyond me.”

“It's for the rodeo, Mom. And besides, it's not just Teague's clothes that have changed. He has a really nice house, too.”

Her mother widened her eyes. “You went to his
house
?”

“Just—just to drop off Troy.” Jodi turned her attention back to the belt, but her hands were shaking so much she dropped it. Bending to pick it up, she returned it to the rack. “Teague's an old friend, Mom. I was just visiting.”

“Jodi, listen.” Her mom put the shirt down and rested her elbows on the counter. “You know I love you, and I want what's best for you.”

Jodi nodded reluctantly. In all her plans to reconcile with her mother, she'd conjured up memories of the fun things they'd done together over the years—shopping, baking cookies, even a birthday trip to Vegas when she'd turned sixteen. She'd conveniently forgotten the inevitable downside of their relationship—the lectures. They were picking up right where they'd left off.

It's only because she cares,
she told herself.

“If you want to do one thing for me, stay away from Teague.” Her mother held up a hand to stop Jodi's protests. “I know he can't help who his parents are, but you have to remember one thing: his father wasn't just a drunk, he was a wife-beater. And that kind of thing runs in families.”

“Not all the time.”

“Most of the time. Look at your friend Cissy.”

“What does that have to do with Teague?” Jodi said. “And you would have loved it if I'd dated Cal.”

“No, I wouldn't have. Did you know Cal's mother?”

Jodi thought back to high school football games. “I must have met her, but I don't really remember.”

“That's because she was the mousiest, scaredest woman you ever wanted to meet. Cal takes after his dad. Ask Cissy. She'll tell you.”

“But Teague wouldn't…”

“Did you ever think Cal would?”

Jodi reluctantly shook her head. “Not really. He always seemed so—together. So in control of everything.” She thought a moment. “Cissy said things didn't go so well for him after high school. I guess when things got out of control…”

Her mother nodded. “And Teague always has been one to settle things with his fists. He's been in trouble over and over.” She reached out and put a hand on Jodi's arm. “I know you've always liked him, honey. But use your head first and your heart second. Just
think
.”

Jodi sighed. “I guess you have a point. But Mom, you worry too much.”

“Oh, I know,” her mother said. “Besides, he's found some greener pastures, anyway. Everyone says that Skelton girl's fallen for him.”

“Really?” Jodi narrowed her eyes. Teague hadn't mentioned any Skelton girl. In fact, he'd said he didn't have a girlfriend. “The what girl?”

“Skelton. Her father's some financier or something from back East, bought up a bunch of land north of town.” She patted Jodi's shoulder. “I hear they're a serious item, so I guess you're safe. I'm sorry, hon. I just worry. But I know you've got more sense than to fall for a Treadwell.”

“Sure,” Jodi muttered. “Right.”

She regretted her tone when her mother turned quickly and gave her a questioning look.

“No, really, Mom. I'll stay away from him.”

She was too late. Her mother reached across the counter and took both her hands.

“Promise me,” she said, staring earnestly into Jodi's eyes. “Promise me you won't get involved with him.”

Jodi started to protest, then slumped against the counter. She'd come back to Purvis to make things right with her mother. Ever since realizing how unfair she'd been to the one person who loved her unconditionally, she felt uncomfortably off-balance. She had to make it right.

And besides, her mother had a point. How much evidence did she need to see that Teague was trouble? His father was an abuser, and he himself had a history of solving his troubles by fighting, to the point where he'd gone to prison for it. Well, to juvie, anyway. And when she'd seen how nervous Troy was about returning home, what had her first thought been?

That Teague might be abusing him.

Even she'd thought it was possible.

Then there was their own personal history. He'd treated her like crap all those years ago. So what had she done? She'd fooled herself into forgiving him, then hopped back into bed with him the first chance she got.

At least she'd had the sense to walk away this time without saying anything stupid. She'd evened the score. They were one and one.

And that was where it needed to end.

“Okay, Mom,” she said. She drew an enormous imaginary “X” on her chest with one finger. “I promise. Cross my heart.”

***

An hour later, Jodi opened the door to the feed store, savoring the familiar creak of the hinges and the homey scent of grain, leather, and hay.

“Hey, Boss.” She'd worked for Bucky Maines all through high school, and she could never bring herself to call him Bucky, or even Mr. Maines. He was Boss to her, and always would be.

“Jodi!” Bucky rested his forearms on the top of the register and gave her a broad grin. “Pretty as ever.”

“You're the first to say so. You should have heard Darla Black when she saw me. She thought I was sick or something.” Jodi sighed. “Guess everybody expected me to stay a rodeo queen.”

“Pshaw.” Bucky flailed a hand in the air dismissively. “I never could understand why you wanted to cover yourself up with all that glitter and stuff. That's for ugly girls. You're pretty just the way you are.”

“Well, thanks, Boss.” Jodi was surprised to feel an ache tightening her throat. This was the welcome she'd wanted. She'd told herself Darla's words didn't hurt, but they did. Jodi might have grown up to be a swan, but she'd spent enough of her tweens as an awkward ugly duckling to be sensitive about her appearance.

“Darla just likes to gossip, though,” Bucky said. “She don't mean any harm.”

Jodi was surprised to see Bucky flush bright red before he turned to fool with some papers on the other side of the counter. He was a big man, with a walrus mustache and a cue-ball dome under his felt Resistol, and he'd been single as long as Jodi could remember. He'd always been fatherly at best with women—awkward at worst. But evidently, he was carrying a torch for Darla Black.

Lord, what a pair they'd make. The walrus and the widow.

When he turned back around, his face had dimmed down to pink. “Everybody's glad to see you, though. Never doubt that. The whole town's waiting to see what you make of yourself.”