King's Country (Oil Kings Book 4) Page 2

  The house was quiet once again.

  I set my gloves and hat on the bench and toed out of my boots. I was prepared to get snowed in. The guys who worked for me had wrapped everything up. Our calves had all dropped. I could relax through this storm for once. Tucker had put the cow we’d found wandering through the back forty in the barn. It was going to drop any day, but I could keep an eye on it so Tucker and Kiernan could hunker down at their homes.

  I shook my head again. I’d have to let the fucking Cartwrights know I had the cow in our pen and he’d—

  I let out a sigh. Danny was gone. I’d rarely dealt with him, and Bristol and I were more than happy to communicate through curt text messages. But I’d call her for this one.

  The haunting image of her from her dad’s memorial service snaked through my mind. Shoving away the guilt, I dialed her number, primed to give her a piece of my mind. The cow had dug into one of my bales and chomped away.

  After the fifth ring, I hung up and tried again. For all of Bristol’s prickly ways, not answering my calls wasn’t one of them. Her land bordered mine, and we had to deal with each other. We sucked it up, and I stayed as professional as my get your shit together tone would allow.

  No answer.

  I punched out a message. Found one of your heifers. I hit send.

  Dammit. It was about to storm. I tapped out another one. She’s safe in my barn.

  That was all I could do. It wasn’t like a Cartwright to let us do much for them. They’d accuse us of screwing them over anyway.

  I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge door. I had hamburger, roasts, steaks, vegetables, pasta in the cupboard, and potatoes on the counter, but cooking for one got old fast. While my brother and his wife had been here, I’d indulged way too often in my favorite hobby. There’d been three of us and I’d still had leftovers for me and the guys. I had to pare it down to just me riding out a storm. Maybe I’d just make some spaghetti.

  With meatballs. Mozzarella-stuffed meatballs.

  I was digging out a pound of hamburger when barking intruded on my recipe formulations. I shoved the food back in the fridge and straightened. Claws skittering up and down my porch filtered into the house. My old cattle dog had died a couple of years ago and I should’ve gotten around to replacing him, but I hadn’t.

  Going to the front window, I peered out. Bristol’s dog was going batshit on my porch, racing up and down the length, hopping at the windows and rising up to her hind legs at the door like she was going to barge in. “Daisy?”

  The dog must’ve heard me. She spun around and went crazy barking. Every few barks, she’d pause and gaze toward the pastures.

  Something was wrong.

  I ran to the mudroom and got back into everything I’d just gotten out of. As I jogged outside, my boots crunched against old snow and ice that hadn’t gotten a chance to melt yet in our cold March temperatures.

  Daisy raced around the house and stopped when she saw me. She turned one way, then whined and looked back at me.

  “What’s wrong?” As if she could tell me.

  I dug into my pocket and fished out my keys. This wasn’t the weather to take a horse out in. The guys and I maintained painstakingly manicured trails through the pastures so we could use wheeled vehicles, whether it was the Ranger or the pickup. I went for the little Ranger. It had a cab and was more versatile in the pastures than my pickup.

  Daisy didn’t wait for me. She ran off.

  “Dammit. Wait.” I sprinted for the Ranger, slipping and sliding, but made it without falling. I fired up the engine and hoped I could find the dog.

  She raced through the pastures, not waiting for me to stop and open gates, then stop on the other side and close them. I sped after her.

  I bumped and jumped over the pastures, pushing the speed of the small engine. After we crested one rolling hill, I spotted Bucket. My stomach bottomed out. He was saddled, but there was no rider. There was bad weather coming. Where the hell was Bristol?

  As the Ranger struggled up a particularly nasty hill, my gaze was on Bucket—was there any logical reason that Bristol wasn’t around?—when Daisy’s barking caught my attention. Bucket trotted away from the noise but I barely noticed.

  Bristol was on her side, her body curled in on itself.

  Fear drove adrenaline through my veins. I stopped as close as I could to Bristol. A section of fence had fallen, not a surprise with the shoddy work Danny Cartwright had done with his land. But somehow Bucket had bucked Bristol right into the mess of it. She hugged herself tight, her stocking hat tugged so far down it was hard to see her brilliant red hair.

  “Bristol?”

  I don’t know if she nodded or just shivered. I gingerly stepped over the fence. It was twisted around her legs. The headlights of my Ranger lit the rusty blood staining her jeans where the barbs had stabbed her.

  “M-m-my l-l-leg.”

  “Broken?” How’d a rider like her gotten thrown? It didn’t matter. My mind worked over everything I needed to do. “Which one?”

  She extracted one hand to tap on her right leg, then tucked it back into the warmth of her body. Sitting in a heap of metal on top of ice, injured, she had to be freezing. Freezing to death.

  “Wait here.” I went back to the Ranger. Bristol had to be in bad shape if she didn’t bite my head off asking about where else she could go. I searched the little toolbox for what I needed to free Bristol from the wire.

  I went to work. She stayed still as I cut around her. I cut as many points as I could, but I still had to remove it from her body.

  “Bristol, this is going to hurt.” The animosity we’d nurtured over the years was tabled. She needed help and I was the only one to give it.

  “D-doesn’t matter. D-d-do it.”

  Not many points were actually still stuck in her, but even I winced as I yanked them from her body.

  She drew in a shaky breath, but I wasn’t done.

  “I have to move you, and you’re lying on some wire. Can you sit up?”

  I knelt next to her, cold leeching through my jeans. How fucking cold was she? She struggled to a sitting position, trying her best to keep from jostling her right leg, but her already ashen face was bled of more color.

  She moved her arms to brace herself, one hand without a glove.

  “What the hell happened to your glove?” How could she go out in this weather so unprepared?

  She flinched and I immediately regretted the heat in my words. She’d been through a lot today and didn’t need my shit. “I w-w-was trying to warm up my hand before t-t-trying to get up again.”

  One glove was missing. Obviously she hadn’t meant to lose it. “Here.” I took mine off.

  She shook her head and squirmed to try to stand again.

  I kept my hand on her shoulder. “I can wrestle the gloves on you and waste more time.”

  “F-fine.” She put them on and I didn’t miss the beat of relief that passed over her face. “G-grab Bucket.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “G-get him.” Her jaw was rigid and she wouldn’t budge. I’d have to wrestle her if I didn’t get her horse first.

  “Don’t move while I grab him. And put this on.” I shrugged out of my coat and draped it around her shoulders. Her own jacket was way too thin for this wind.

  The wind batted against my shirt. It was frigid, but I was moving and we’d be in the Ranger soon enough.

  I jumped the fence and walked slowly toward Bucket. He watched me warily, but I was familiar enough. I always snuck him goodies when I was out on Gold Rush and riding past his pasture.

  Bucket allowed me to take the reins. As I aimed for the hole in the fence and hoped that Bucket was comfortable enough with the rumble of the engine to let me tie him to the Ranger and lead him back, I spotted a rectangular black object on top of the snow.

  She’d lost her phone. Bristol had been in more trouble than I’d thought. I picked it up and the screen sluggishly flashed on to show a series of message
s from “Marshall” berating her, and then my missed calls.

  Whoever Marshall was, I didn’t like him. I didn’t care how obstinate Bristol was, she didn’t deserve a series of text bubbles telling her she was trash.

  I secured Bucket and went back to Bristol with my hands tucked under my armpits. “I have to pick you up.”

  “I can stand.”

  “Bristol.”

  “I can stand.” Her green eyes flashed. There was only so much help she would accept. As stubborn as her daddy.

  “All right. Stand, then.” I put my hands under her armpits and lifted.

  A pain-filled cry echoed around us and she sagged, her right leg limp.

  “Shit.” I snugged her against me with my arm around her and half carried, half limped her to the Ranger. The only reason I didn’t swing her into my arms was so she could have some control over how her leg dangled. If I carried her, it’d get bumped around.

  Once I had her loaded, I patted the back platform and Daisy jumped on. I took off, going only as fast as Bucket would follow. He had no problem with the Ranger, probably because I was the treat guy. Eternity came and went with only Bristol’s ragged breathing. I wanted to pull up next to my pickup because she needed a hospital, but I knew she’d argue about Bucket.

  “I’ll put Bucket with the other horses, and then we’re going to the ER.”

  Indecision crossed her face, but she had to realize she didn’t have a choice. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “It’s what neighbors do.” I got out and untied Bucket. I shouldn’t have slipped that dig in, but for years I’d tried to extend an olive branch to her and she would slap it down on a good day. Most days, she’d send that branch back smoking from her whip-sharp words. She didn’t hold back on her opinions.

  Once Bucket was unsaddled and settled, safe enough for the storm, I started the pickup, flicked the heat to high, and pulled it close to the Ranger. I wasn’t going to worry about parking the Ranger in its spot by the shop, or even getting it inside the shop. Bristol needed medical attention now.

  She was already trying to get out of the Ranger on her own.

  “We should splint it,” I offered.

  “Let’s just go.”

  Damn woman. I rushed to her side. Her jeans were stiff with horse sweat and blood—blood that should’ve been in her white face.

  We didn’t say a word until we got to town. Her features were etched with concentration, and from the way she bent over her leg and held it off the vibrations of the floor, she was probably trying not to vomit from the agony.

  “I found one of your cows,” I said. We rolled past the buildings on the edge of town. The lumber yard, a dollar store, and a gas station. I turned onto the main road that’d take us to the small hospital that served King’s Creek.

  Bristol’s sharp inhale had me looking over. Hope shone in her eyes. “Is she all right?”

  “I put her in the barn.” She’d know that there was nothing like a storm to bring on labor. One of the top ten of Murphy’s Laws of Ranching.

  Relief made her body sag as much as it could when she was in so much pain and trying to keep her leg stable. “I was out looking for her.”

  “Wouldn’t have to if that section of fence had been fixed better last fall.”

  Her expression shuttered and she stared out the window. For the second time today, I regretted saying something to hurt her. I never tried to hurt her. I was usually just trying to make a point, but tonight that seemed like more of a dick move than usual.

  The clinic came into view and I drove to the ER entrance. It was a small five-bed hospital, with an extra room for the ER that I’d been in more than a few times when I’d been younger and doing stupid shit. I still had the scar from a broken arm I’d gotten diving off the top of the barn when the snow hadn’t been nearly deep enough to land in.

  “I’ll get a wheelchair.” I killed the engine and ran inside. One of the nurses behind the desk rose, her face brightening. We’d gone on a few dates until it was clear she wanted more than I did.

  “Dawson,” Emma said.

  She might be happy to see me, but I wasn’t happy to be here. “Hey, Emma. I’ve got Bristol—I think she broke her leg.”

  Emma blinked. “Bristol. Cartwright?” The whole town would be surprised a King and a Cartwright had ridden in the same vehicle.

  I didn’t answer, grabbing a wheelchair by the door and speeding out before I had unfolded it.

  The passenger door was open, but Bristol’s head was on the headrest, her eyes closed as she breathed through the pain.

  Emma was behind me. A younger man trailed her. “We’ve got her, Dawson, thanks.”

  I ignored the dismissal and helped Bristol get out, landing on her good leg and pivoting to sit in the chair. We all wheeled in while Bristol shrank lower in the chair, holding her leg like it was levitating on its own.

  “What happened?” Emma asked.

  “Slipped on ice,” Bristol rasped.

  I bit the inside of my cheek but didn’t say anything otherwise. A fall from a horse was different than slipping on ice, but with Bristol it was a matter of pride.

  I trailed them and was about to follow them to the room when Emma turned. “You can go now.” A smile played on her lips. “Your role of hero is done for the night.”

  My feet were rooted in place. The kid and Bristol disappeared behind a door and I craned my neck like I could see through wood. “I’m not leaving.” The words were out before I’d thought about them.

  Emma’s dark brows popped in surprise. Her silky hair was twined up in a messy bun and she wore a wide headband to secure the strays away from her face. She was attractive but any interest had died before we’d done anything that required removing clothing.

  “Okaaay. Are you two dating?”

  I scowled. “No. Why?”

  She cocked her head like she was trying to figure me out. “Then you can wait in the waiting room, but I can’t tell you anything without her approval.”

  Shrugging, I dropped into a chair. “She’ll need a ride home.”

  Emma stared at me for a second, then sat next to me. “She’s going to need more than a ride home.”

  “What?”

  Emma glanced to the door, then to the desk. The other lady that had been there was gone, maybe getting Bristol’s information. “She obviously broke her leg and the blood—”

  “That’s from barbed wire.”

  Emma’s sympathetic wince was quick. “I don’t know if she has anyone to help her”—the whole town knew she had no one—“but whether she’ll have to use a wheelchair or crutches, she’s going to need help.”

  “I’m shocked she didn’t insist on driving herself.” Her broken leg made it impossible.

  “I’m shocked she let you help her,” Emma said wryly, then her expression sobered. “Look, when I was in high school, I broke my leg. It makes doing the essentials tough. You know what I mean.” She patted my leg. “I’ve gotta get in and help the doc.”

  “She can stay with me,” I blurted. I’d seen Bristol’s house. The trailer she’d grown up in. It’d been in rough shape when I was a kid. I’d be surprised if it survived this storm.

  Emma gawked at me. “Seriously?”

  “She’s a pain in the ass, but I don’t hate her, Emma.”

  “The King–Cartwright feud stops for a broken leg? I’m glad there’s limits.”

  I shrugged. The words it isn’t my feud dangled on the tip of my tongue.

  Chapter 2

  Bristol

  “No. Absolutely not.” I stared at the nurse who was clearly infatuated with the frustrating man waiting to take me home—to his home—in the waiting room. Emma had informed me of his offer like I’d won the King’s Creek lottery. You get one night under the Kings’ roof with the great Dawson King!

  “How about I let him in and you two can hash it out?”

  The doctor had come and gone, barely sparing me a glance. He’d done no more than he had to, putti
ng the cast on and sloughing the rest of the work onto Emma. When Pop had died, he’d left a lifetime of unpaid medical bills behind. Ones he’d never planned on paying. Pop’s rough voice rattled in my mind. They can’t refuse treatment. Assholes.

  Dr. Jangula probably assumed I was the same. Unfortunately, I had no clue how I was going to pay.

  My jeans had been sliced and diced and I had on nothing more than paper shorts from the lab-slash-X-ray department. My pale legs were covered with a warm blanket Emma had brought in. She’d had the young aide grab two more when she’d seen how badly I was shivering.

  “Why’s he still here?” I snarled. Now that my leg was secured against unwanted movement, the pain wasn’t as bad. I was only nauseated and not outright gagging. My legs were covered with bandages, and the small cuts and abrasions burned like tiny brands, but at least that pain was diffuse and not concentrated in one spot.

  My fingers and toes weren’t as numb as when Dawson had found me. I’d narrowly escaped frostbite and wasn’t shivering thanks to the warmed blankets Emma had brought. Dr. Jangula’s bedside manner sucked, but I was patched up and had gotten a tetanus shot. There was nothing left to do.

  Emma’s gaze softened. “Dawson’s a good guy.”

  Ugh, I didn’t need this. Dawson was the golden boy and I was the town’s very own wicked witch. The one whose mom hadn’t bothered to stick around long after birth. “I don’t need him.”

  Emma pursed her lips and she eased onto the edge of the bed. “Bristol, do you have anyone else to call?”

  “I lost my phone in the fall.” My empty excuse fell dead between us. She knew I was full of shit, and I didn’t care to have one of Dawson’s lovers witness my low point.

  I’d run into Emma and Dawson on a date. She’d been dressed exactly how Marshall wished I would’ve dressed the night I was supposed to meet his parents: silky leggings and a glittery shirt that was flattering and elegant, her ankle boots only pulling the look together. Emma was everything I wasn’t. She was smart, had a successful job, and would make the parents of whomever she settled with proud.