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

  I opened the door. “Hungry?” She was perched on the edge of the bed, but the bed was made. “Didn’t you sleep under the covers?”

  “I, uh . . . it’s your bed.” She lifted her hands like she’d have to decontaminate herself.

  “I wash the sheets after every three women.” When a flush added some much-needed color to her cheeks, I pushed it even further. “And I jack off in the shower to keep the cleanup to a minimum.”

  “Dawson,” she snapped, but her lips twitched. When was the last time I’d seen her smile? When we used to play together as kids, she was always grinning. There was last night in the pickup, after she’d made the highly accurate joke about Buck. Her smile had chased away the pain in her eyes and her face had glowed in the dash lights. With her hat smashed on her head, she looked like one of the guys, joked around like them, but her smile didn’t make me feel like I was with just one of the guys.

  “Look, not that I have to explain myself, but I don’t bring women here unless it’s serious, and I haven’t had a serious relationship in a long time.” The last time was in college, and McKenzie hadn’t wanted a thing to do with ranching. Thus, the reason I was single. Women might want a cowboy, but they didn’t want the cowboy life. “I shower before I go to bed, so the sheets should be minimally disgusting, but I’ll change them later today.”

  She pushed a bright lock of hair behind her ear. “My leg was throbbing, so I had to prop it. It was easier to do on top of the comforter.” Her tone hinted at an apology but that was the closest she’d come. She didn’t owe me an apology either. I should’ve taken the time to change the sheets.

  “Weren’t you cold?”

  She shrugged.

  I’d get her more blankets. I lifted my chin. “Get back in. I brought breakfast.”

  “I thought I smelled . . .” She stared at the food, then at me. “Did you cook?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like to. Come on, get comfortable.”

  She grabbed all the extra pillows and sat back. I set the tray over her and she stared at the food but didn’t touch it. “That’s a lot of food.”

  “I like to eat.”

  Her gaze stroked up and down my body, as hot as a brand. Her hair was finger combed at best and she never wore a lick of makeup, but she’d always been sexy as hell. Being in my bed made that observation a lot more uncomfortable.

  I spun away before I did something stupid like check out the creamy flesh of her legs. “Yell if you need anything. After you eat, I can change the bedding and find some clothes for you.”

  “You don’t have to do all this.”

  I stopped at the door and looked over my shoulder. Her stark features were stricken and she hadn’t taken her eyes off the food.

  The woman didn’t like to accept help, that was clear. Only this time I wasn’t offended. “You’re doing me a favor. If I didn’t have a ranch to run, I would’ve gone to culinary school. I like to cook, but cooking for a party of one isn’t always feasible.”

  She nodded, but didn’t relax. Her gaze went to the window. The blinds were drawn. She couldn’t see the blowing snow. “My chores . . .”

  “What needs to be done?”

  “No, you can’t—”

  “I think we’ve established that I’m helping you and I don’t expect you to suck me off or whatever Buck thought you should do. Tell me what you need done and I’ll get it done, it’s as simple as that.”

  She dropped her gaze back to the tray of food that was cooling off. “I can’t repay you,” she said in a ragged whisper.

  I let out a long breath. For a person who’d never accepted help in her life, this had to be uncomfortable. I thought of ways she could repay me—all nonsexual. She didn’t have money. I didn’t have to peek into her bank account to know that. She had her own ranch to run, so that left out working for me when she was healed. I didn’t need money or help, but there was something that had rubbed me raw for years.

  “How about you just answer one question.”

  She lifted her guarded gaze. “All right. What?”

  “Why didn’t you come to the funeral?”

  I’d looked for her. She’d been my closest friend, and Mama had loved her. So damn much. Not only had Bristol been a no-show, but that’d been the end of our friendship. I lost Mama to a crazed meth head looking for money for a fix. When he couldn’t find what he needed, he’d beat Mama to death. I’d lost her. Then I’d lost my best friend.

  Her chin quivered and a horrible realization dawned in my ignorant damn head. The way she’d quit talking to us after the funeral. How untouchable she’d seemed since. The way she’d stared at her place after she got out of the hospital. Her home had been a prison and Danny the warden.

  I’d resented her all this time. Blamed her for turning her back on Mama, on me, when I’d needed her. She’d been a kid. I’d been ten when Mama had died. Bristol had been almost two years younger than me.

  “I wanted to,” she whispered. “I wasn’t allowed to.”

  I nodded, the grim confirmation humbling me to my bones. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known.” I’d known what her dad was like. The trouble was, I’d assumed that was what she was like as well. But she’d been an eight-year-old girl without any power or control.

  “I miss her,” she said softly, with such yearning that she must’ve been wanting to say that for years.

  “I miss her too. I’m making meatballs for supper tonight.” I left the room before I did something stupid like break down in front of the strongest woman I’d ever met.

  Chapter 3

  Bristol

  His scent surrounded me and the problem was that I didn’t want to get away from it. For the last week, I’d slept in his bed, cleaned up in his bathroom with his products, and worn his clothing. I would be the envy of the county if anyone knew I was here. Maybe the town did, depending on how confidential Emma had kept things.

  I’d also eaten his food. If I had to stay here much longer, I’d need to get fitted for a new cast and I’d have to keep his pajama pants. I could say without a doubt that I’d never eaten so well in my life.

  Dawson wasn’t lying about loving to cook. The first three days of the storm, he’d made cheese-stuffed meatballs and spaghetti, then braised pork chops with risotto, and a roast that was so tender it had practically melted in my mouth. I hadn’t thought meat could do that. We’d been eating leftovers since.

  The storm cleanup was done and warmer temperatures were melting the worst of it. Dawson gave me updates on my place. He’d moved snow in my driveway and around the barn. Bucket was still on his property, same with Daisy, and the cow too, but she hadn’t calved yet. He’d had his guys checking on my cows and taking care of the calves.

  I hated how much I needed their help, but this wasn’t just about me. There were a lot of creatures depending on me, and Dawson and his crew were keeping them all alive. Several would’ve died these last few days had I been left on my own.

  I peered into the mirror. My hollow cheeks had filled out. From rest or food? This winter had been brutal for me. I’d kept the generator by the RV running as much as possible, but with poor insulation, it’d been a cold winter indoors too. I rarely ventured to Pop’s trailer for a shower. Using it to go to the bathroom was almost more than I could take. Half the time, that was why I went to Marshall’s. A clean bathroom and heat.

  I glanced at my phone. Marshall had messaged. I’d told him to leave me alone, that I’d broken my leg and didn’t need his BS while healing. His messages were now filled with concern, but compared to what Dawson had been doing for me, they seemed like weak platitudes.

  Besides, Marshall’s bathroom had nothing on the master bath in this place. Dawson’s bathroom had both a shower and a bathtub. A deep and long bathtub fit for a King. They were all tall men. Had the bathtub been Gentry’s idea or Sarah’s when they’d built the house?

  Dawson’s question had shocked me, but I’d been glad to a
nswer. Grateful to clear the air after so many years. Of course I would’ve gone had I been allowed. The Kings should’ve known that. And Dawson did now. Finally. It’d taken long enough, but the realization had dawned like a summer sunrise in his eyes before I’d answered. I couldn’t explain why that was so important.

  Grabbing my crutches, I hobbled out of the bathroom. My feet were in his white athletic socks, his sweats were tied around my hips, and his shirt hung off my shoulders. He was gone most of the day, like I would be if I could move freely. For now, I could go from the bed to the living room, where he had a TV. He had streaming services and I didn’t bother to tamp down my excitement.

  I reached the couch and stared at the pile of blankets and pillows piled on the end cushion. Was he sleeping out here? Why? There were four bedrooms upstairs, one for each of the King brothers.

  Was he afraid I’d fall? Or need something? Didn’t he trust me not to run off with the silver?

  I’d have to ask. It’d probably sound accusatory and he’d say something sarcastic in return and we’d return to our old ways. Then he’d kick me out.

  I’d soak up Netflix until then.

  I plopped down and propped my leg on pillows. The pain was more manageable. I took the acetaminophen Dawson had left me and that was it. My wounds were scabbed over but Dawson swore that a little blood on his sweats didn’t bother him.

  I couldn’t picture him in sweats and a T-shirt. He’d been using the upstairs bathroom, only grabbing what he needed and rewashing it so he wouldn’t disturb me. Dawson was shockingly considerate.

  That he was thoughtful wasn’t a shock. That he was doing all this for me was.

  It made hating the Kings harder than it already was.

  I relaxed into the cushions and flipped on the TV. So. Many. Choices. I skipped the TV shows. I wouldn’t be holed up with Dawson long enough to binge whole series.

  Could I get a movie in before he got home?

  I found a wannabe Hallmark romance about a normal girl falling for a prince and clicked. Just the unrealistic plot I needed.

  A door opened in the back of the house and Dawson’s voice drifted down the hall. “No. Sorry. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

  After a few minutes, he appeared. His hair was pressed down from his hat and his cheeks were reddened from the chill in the air.

  He stopped when he saw me. “I think your dog thinks I kidnapped you.”

  “You kind of did, and she’s used to being inside with me.” We kept each other warm at night, and sometimes during the day.

  Dawson looked at me for a moment, then backed down the hallway. I’d paused the show, wondering what I’d said wrong, when the clack of claws on the floor preceded a bounding dog.

  A laugh burst out of me and I held my arms out. Daisy landed on my chest, licking my face and wagging her tail.

  “I missed you too,” I muttered. I ignored Dawson as he stared at my reunion with Daisy. I was giggling like a little kid from Daisy’s exuberance. “But I’m not sure Dawson wants you on the couch.”

  He snapped his mouth shut. “As long as you clean up the fur. But my bed is off-limits.”

  I laughed and hugged Daisy. She’d been my companion for the last couple of years, and until now, I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her. Knowing Dawson was spoiling her hadn’t been good enough.

  Dawson strolled into the living room and sat on the other side of the couch. Daisy settled on the cushion between us. “What’s on?” he asked. I was about to tell him it was nothing he’d like when he said, “Oh, I’ve seen this one.”

  My eyes widened.

  “What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I needed something wholesome after Tiger King.”

  “Never seen it.”

  “How morbidly fascinated-slash-depressed about the human race do you want to be tonight?”

  I laid my head back. “I’m good with a campy romance, where the leads fall in love before they even kiss.” I pushed play and ran my hands through Daisy’s fur. “How are you done for the night?”

  “Kiernan wants a day off next week so he offered to work later tonight and tomorrow.”

  “You’ve got a couple of good guys.” Our conversation was light, safe, and I should stop right there. “The guys Pop hired rarely were. If they were decent people, then they got sick of Pop’s shit and left pretty fast.”

  Dawson ran his thumb across his lower lip. “I can’t forgive him for hiring the guy that killed Mama.”

  His words made me flinch. I didn’t bother telling my side. Minds were already made up.

  Instead of answering, I stared at the girl on the TV screen. She had flawless bronze skin, long dark locks, and a smile that would be visible from space. She giggled nervously at something the prince said.

  “When did his drinking get bad?”

  I never talked to anyone about Pop’s drinking, other than to tell bar owners to cut him off. Otherwise, people told me all their opinions about Pop and his drinking. Normally I wouldn’t answer, but the tone of Dawson’s question was neutral. “It was always bad. But alcoholics can go in spurts. He’d try to clean up, try to get on top of it, but he never got professional help. The idea of showing up at an AA meeting where people knew him was terrifying.”

  “He could’ve gone out of town.”

  “That much effort, more than dropping in on a quick meeting in town? It would’ve meant admitting he had a problem.” I ran my lower lip between my teeth. It was freeing to talk about Pop, and I couldn’t believe I was telling Dawson, yet I couldn’t help but feel that he needed to hear it the most. Him and his brothers. The ones Pop had hurt the most. “Then he got sick and the bills piled up higher. What do you do when the thing that hurts you the most is the only thing that makes you feel better?”

  I kept my attention on the show, but Dawson’s gaze burned into me. I was exposed. Raw. Telling Pop’s secrets was safer than divulging my own. Like confessing that I was terrified every day that my life would swallow me whole and spit me out—and there’d be no one to find me.

  “That’s deep, Cartwright.”

  I scowled and flung a throw pillow at him.

  He chuckled and plucked it out of the air. “All kidding aside, that sucks. About your dad. For all his faults, I know he really had a thing for Mama.”

  Pop had clung to the scorned-lover role like he was on a life raft going over a waterfall. He’d never dated Sarah King. Before he’d ever gotten the nerve to ask out the girl he’d grown up with but whose parents his had fallen out with, Gentry King had swooped in. She’d gotten pregnant and the rest was King’s Creek’s proud history.

  Had it not been for those damn mineral rights, Pop probably would’ve asked Sarah out and who knew what life would be like? My mom might’ve met a man who loved and respected her. Instead, she’d been removed from my life as thoroughly as a ruptured appendix.

  “Well,” I said, not wanting to let the lighter tone of our conversation die, “your dad had to do something while waiting a couple decades for his new wife to be born, so . . .”

  “Bristol Cartwright, did you just diss my dad and his much-younger wife?”

  I chuckled. Gentry’s wife had been nothing but nice to me. All the King wives were awesome to me, but then none of them were from around here. “How is Kendall?” I kept my voice light, like I wasn’t invested in the answer. But it wasn’t often someone was nice to me for no reason.

  “It’s weird. She’s like a sister, but she’s my stepmom.”

  “You have a lot of sisters now.”

  His lopsided smile was adorable and my belly flipped. Must be hunger pangs. I wasn’t the type to get all girly over a guy. “They’re great.”

  Every single one of them was probably legitimately great. They’d all talked to me at one point or another and none of them had been rude or dismissive. They had to know about me, but they still smiled and said hi when I saw them around.

  “The house is sure quiet when they’re not here. It’s weird af
ter all these years.”

  “All these years?” I said wryly. “You’re not even twenty-nine.”

  “Three months and twenty-three days.”

  “You have a countdown?”

  His jaw jumped. “Yep.”

  Whatever. Age was just a number. I’d felt like I was forty since I was fourteen. We watched the show. Had I said something wrong?

  My phone buzzed. Since it wasn’t Dawson telling me a cow was in trouble, I ignored it. I had no one who wanted to get ahold of me.

  Dawson didn’t ignore it. “Did you tell Marshall to shove it?”

  The same humiliation I’d felt in the hospital flared up. He’d already seen the messages, but I almost spilled the rest of the details. “If you want to know about my dating life, tell me about yours.”

  He blew out a breath and ruffled his hair with a hand. The effect made a few chunks stand out. Sexy and adorable. Staying here might be more dangerous than I’d thought. A handsome Dawson who swaggered through town like he was an untouchable bachelor was one thing. This Dawson, the one who watched sappy movies, let my dog inside, and joked around, could hurt me more.

  What was I thinking? He wouldn’t fall for someone like me. I’d seen the girls he dated. I’d gone to school with them. They were the cheerleaders, the valedictorians, the nurses who helped bitchy patients. The women on the town council who actually contributed to society.

  I was broke as hell and he’d dug me out of a ditch. Okay, it’d been a pasture, but close enough.

  “My dating life isn’t nearly as exciting as people assume.” I didn’t think he’d say more, but he continued. “I dated who everyone thought I should in high school, but I wasn’t into the same things they were.” His devilish smile flushed searing heat through my body until I squirmed. It should be impossible to get turned on with a broken leg. “But I was still a guy and wanted to experience guy stuff, right?”

  “And you’re not anymore?”

  He ran a hand through his hair again. Different parts stuck up. “Oh, I’m a man.” His voice dropped and he eyeballed me. “But not many women can handle this.”