Cowboy Fever by Joanne Kennedy Page B

out on his right cheekbone, dangerously close to his eye. “I was picking up the roll and the end of the wire bounced up and bit me.” Troy swiped a gloved hand across the cut and looked down at the blood staining the leather. “I need a Band-Aid.”
    â€œLet me see,” Teague said. “You might need stitches.”
    Troy’s eyes widened, then filled.
    â€œOh, for God’s sake,” Jodi said from behind them. “He doesn’t need stitches. It’s just a little cut. Come on, Troy. Let’s get it cleaned up.” She took Troy’s hand and led him back toward the house. Luna trotted in anxious circles around them, her eyes never leaving Troy’s face.
    â€œBut…” Teague had to practically jog to keep up with her.
    â€œBut nothing.” Jodi turned and gave him a furious look. “It’s nothing to worry about, okay? Right?”
    â€œOh. Right.” Teague gave himself a mental slap. She was right. He was only making things worse. He always panicked when Troy got hurt, and then the kid got upset.
    The man, not the kid, he reminded himself. He needed to stop thinking about Troy like he was a child. He was twenty-eight years old.
    But truth be told, Teague didn’t know how to deal with Troy except as a child. When he’d been a teenager, there’d been days he hated his brother—his older brother—for needing so much care and attention. He’d gotten frustrated, and on a few occasions, he’d said some things he wasn’t proud of. It was only later, when he understood that Troy’s mind had finished growing up while Teague’s kept going, that he learned to love his brother without resenting him.
    He thought of Troy as a child because Troy was a child in so many ways. A child in a man’s body. But Troy was beginning to have a man’s needs, too—the need to assert himself, to take care of himself, to feel independent and useful. No doubt he had other needs too, but so far those hadn’t been a problem—because Teague kept Troy close. He watched him. He made sure he didn’t get into trouble.
    Now Jodi was threatening that setup by encouraging Troy to be more independent—and look where it had gotten them. His first day on the job, and already Troy was hurt.
    â€œLet me see.” Jodi settled Troy on a stool next to the sink and pressed a paper towel to the wound. “It’s not deep or anything. Just a scratch.”
    â€œJust a scratch,” Troy echoed. He rocked slightly on the stool, comforting himself.
    Jodi headed for the bathroom for first aid supplies while Teague rested a hip against the counter, watching his brother and feeling helpless. Luna shoved her nose into his hand and let out a worried whine. Great. Even the dog knew he fretted too much over Troy.
    â€œDoes it hurt?” he finally asked.
    â€œNope. Not much.”
    â€œThis might,” Jodi said. She upended a plastic bottle of peroxide onto a clean paper towel and dabbed at the wound.
    â€œIt doesn’t hurt,” Troy said stoutly.
    â€œGood.” She patted the cut dry, then put a dab of antibiotic ointment on a Sesame Street Band-Aid and pressed it onto Troy’s cheek. “You got Oscar the Grouch,” she said.
    â€œCool.” Troy giggled. “Like Teague. Teague’s a grouch.”
    Jodi smiled. “Yeah, he kind of is, isn’t he?” She punched Teague gently on the arm. “But it’s just because he worries about you.”
    Troy rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said. “I know. He worries too much.”
    ***
    A half-hour later, Teague watched Troy head back to his fence-stringing, his eyes protected by safety goggles, Luna trotting at his heels. He’d started to roll his sleeves up as he went back to work, probably in imitation of Teague, but Jodi had insisted he keep his arms covered too.
    â€œThanks,” Teague said as his brother set off across