King's Country (Oil Kings Book 4) Page 6

  “No!” Bristol said like I’d spouted off scandalous info. “Kate is as straitlaced as they get.”

  “I think there’s a wild child hidden in there. There’s gotta be, or that’s a sad marriage.”

  “But it’s the mighty Aiden King. He was like a god at school.”

  I nudged her. “Are you saying my brother’s hot?”

  She rolled her eyes at me. They were dry now and that’d been my goal. She’d had enough sadness. “All of you know damn well how good-looking you are.”

  I leaned back on an elbow and faced her. “No, this is all new to me. Tell me more.”

  She shoved me over but I tickled her side.

  She burst out laughing and scooted away.

  “Bristol Jane Cartwright. Are you ticklish?”

  She pushed loose strands of hair out of her face. “You remember my middle name, Dawson Preston King?”

  “How the hell do you remember mine?”

  “Your mama said it enough when I was around.”

  To keep the conversation from getting melancholy again, I circled around. “You’re avoiding the question. You’re ticklish.”

  “Am not.”

  I reached my hand out and she slapped it away. Oh, this was some good information to have. “What’s wrong? I thought you weren’t ticklish.”

  Her mouth formed a mutinous line.

  “So you are?” I tried again and she slapped it away again.

  “Stop it.” She laughed.

  I caught her hand and tugged her toward me. She rolled into me, catching herself on my chest. She was next to me, her torso over me, and those pink lips close to mine.

  My gaze stroked over her face. “I like how you talk to me.”

  A pretty line formed between her brows. “How do I talk to you?”

  “You tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “You nag me until I do.”

  “I’m charming like that.”

  She grinned and I was caught in her beauty. The stress of surviving each day was gone and she was free to do things like smile and laugh.

  I cupped her cheek, her warm skin as soft as I’d dreamed. “Bristol.”

  “Dawson?” She sounded as hesitant as I felt.

  Her hand splayed over my chest, then her fingers tightened in my shirt. She was hindered in her movement with the cast or I’d have her draped over me.

  I recalled our conversations over the last four weeks. People treated her like shit. The guys she’d been with had wanted nothing but sex, and Marshall sounded like a controlling asshole in his messages. Bristol was my guest. I didn’t want her to think she was nothing more to me than a quick fuck. I wanted . . . I wanted to know if this chemistry between us was more than an old friendship or Bristol thinking she owed me for helping her out.

  Uncertainty lit her bright eyes. I never wanted to see them full of shadows again. I wasn’t kissing her, and thanks to the way she’d been raised, I’d bet half my ranch that she thought it was because something was wrong with her.

  Before I could think of a suave way to tell her that I wanted her more than anything, but I wanted to take it slow so she knew I was serious, she pushed back. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes didn’t flash with desire. She was angry.

  “Don’t tickle me.”

  “Not until you give me permission,” I agreed.

  Anger fled from her eyes and she huffed. “You think highly of yourself, King.”

  “It’s called confidence. You’ll ask me to do it a lot.” I rolled up and captured her chin with my thumb and fingers, unable to stop from stroking her skin. “Don’t doubt that I want to do more than tickle you, but I have to prove I’m not like the guys you dated before. And I’m not like fucking Marshall whatever his last name is.”

  As if on cue, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. “Moe.”

  “What?”

  “Marshall’s last name is Moe. He’s a lawyer.”

  “He’s a douche.” Her lips twitched, but I pressed. “Seriously. Whether you decide to give me a chance or not, you deserve better.”

  If I expected a thankful smile and her gratitude, I should’ve known better. “What the hell, Dawson? Care to impart more worldly wisdom on poor ol’ me?” She snatched her phone up and looked directly at me when she answered. “Yeah?”

  Hurt slammed into me. I wanted to do the right thing. I wanted to treat her like she’d never been treated before—and she answered that asshole’s call?

  I rose and stormed into the kitchen as her tone softened and turned defensive. Fucking Marshall. Instead of weaving together the first threads of a relationship, I’d pushed her right to him.

  Chapter 4

  Bristol

  Dawson hadn’t done more than update me on my ranch for the last week. And I’d spent my time in his room, syphoning free Wi-Fi and streaming shows. One more week and I’d get this cast off. Then I could go home.

  Bile rose in my throat as I thought about home and what it’d be like to sleep in the RV for another month or two while my leg finished healing. I didn’t mind the RV. It was small, but clean.

  The trailer was so far from clean it should be in another zip code.

  My stomach heaved as I thought about walking into that place again. As Pop had deteriorated, so had his living conditions until he’d quit taking the garbage out, washing dishes, or cleaning up after himself. One sink plugged and he quit using it. The washing machine broke? Then he didn’t need clean clothing.

  I’d done what I could. Snuck garbage out when he was passed out and couldn’t yell at me to quit picking up after him like he was a child. Researched how to unclog sinks and fix washing machines. I’d kept a lot of appliances in the trailer limping along and I’d been militant about keeping the bathroom clean and clog-free, even if it meant wiping up another human’s excrement.

  I shuddered.

  The mess had been hard to deal with. The smell lingered in my memories. A simple thought conjured human funk in my nasal passages. After I used the bathroom or showered, the stench lingered the rest of the day. I washed my clothing in town when I could gather enough quarters for a load or two.

  So yeah. I’d be going back to that. After living in grandeur, I’d go back to the sewer I came from.

  You deserve better.

  It should be refreshing that someone else in this town thought so, but it was humiliating. Treating me with kid gloves, like he knew better than me. Both of us had been stuck in this little town and wallowed in the same dating pool. Life was different with money.

  He could afford “better.” He was given more because his last name was King. It was hard to get “better” without a damn cent and Cartwright for a last name.

  My phone rang. Marshall. Again. Answering had bolstered him. He called more than he had before. And I ignored him just as much as I had before.

  He’d been so apologetic, telling me he had no idea I’d been hurt when he’d been messaging or he would’ve rushed right over.

  He was a lawyer. My mind stuck on that. He had his own house, a good job, and he’d gone to college and law school. A guy like that had dated me.

  Dawson King had almost kissed me.

  You deserve better.

  Marshall was better than anyone I’d ever dated. But he didn’t watch silly movies with me at night. I didn’t have to ask him to know he’d hate a dog in the house. His cooking was okay. Tastier than mine, but nothing like the heaven on a plate Dawson whipped up.

  Fucking cheese-stuffed meatballs.

  I hobbled out. One more week on crutches. Then I could go home. Didn’t mean I knew what I would do as far as feeding cattle and repairing equipment went. I’d have to work cattle in two months. With what help?

  Pop’s usual method for hiring someone was to pick up some dude hitching a ride off the side of the road in Miles City. He’d find the rest in the bar, and if they didn’t stab him on the way to King’s Creek, then they must be trustworthy.

  If the help was decent, they went
running after a day or two of work. Pop had two broken-down RVs for them to stay in. I’d be in the cabin by the time we worked cattle. But when the help figured out that they might not get paid for damn hard work, they’d be gone and I couldn’t blame them.

  I went outside to the porch and sat in the swing. Would Emilia Boyd come interrogate me again? Was she that terrified that her precious grandson would fall for a dirty girl like me? Couldn’t contaminate the bloodlines with a Cartwright.

  Whatever. She was a liar and a cheat. Her husband had been too. I’d believed my grandparents on that. Just like I believed they’d screwed over Gentry’s parents to get the land the trailer sat on.

  Had it been the same during their day? Emilia and DB and Gentry’s parents living the good life while my grandparents could barely afford a roof over their head?

  An engine caught my attention. Tucker and Kiernan were working in the shop farthest from the house. Probably getting the equipment ready to plant corn for silage. Someday I’d get to that point. I planted and harvested some of my own corn, but one bad weather event and I was screwed. But someday I’d get to the point where I wouldn’t have to buy crap feed that might make the cows sick.

  One season at a time. It was almost summer. The cattle would be put out in the far pastures—except the one with the ravine. They’d graze and I’d reroute the fence.

  Ugh. That would be grueling work on shitty land. But it had to be done. The unused oil wells took up too much good grazing land as it was.

  The pickup pulled in. Dawson. I frowned as a familiar car drove in behind him.

  My heart rate kicked up. Marshall?

  I would stand, but I didn’t want him to see me hobble down the steps. But I also didn’t want him getting close to the house. I didn’t know why.

  No, I knew. Dawson’s house had become my sanctuary. My fantasy. I could forget what was waiting for me on the other side of the fence line. Being around Marshall popped that fantasy, reminding me that I was lower on the social ladder than everyone I came across.

  Dawson parked in front of the house. He slammed his door as he got out and caught my eye as he strode around the bed of the pickup. His chestnut eyes had a hard glint, but the force behind them wasn’t directed at me.

  Marshall got out, his face screwed up as he studied the house. I held my breath when his gaze landed on me.

  Unlike Dawson’s hard acceptance, Marshall’s eyes contained repressed rage.

  “Bristol, what the hell?” He held his arms out as he came around his shiny car. He’d be pissed the dirt roads had made his Lexus all dusty. “I was at your place and I ran into him.” He jerked his thumb toward Dawson and disdain dripped off the “him.”

  “What are you doing here, Marshall?” Not just in King’s Creek, but at my house? And now at Dawson’s?

  He gave me an Are you dumb? look. “I was worried about you and I rushed over as soon as I finished the Crenshaw deposition.”

  He hadn’t rushed over. I hadn’t expected him to, but damn . . . I really was a low priority. He’d been bragging about getting the Crenshaw case when I’d met him months ago. It wasn’t urgent. “I told you I was fine. I’ve been fine for weeks.”

  “You weren’t answering my calls and you ignored most of my messages or I would’ve come earlier.”

  So basically, it was my fault I got injured and he couldn’t move beyond his phone to check on me? I’d almost had enough, but I couldn’t resist challenging his reasoning. He was a lawyer after all, with a deposition that came before me. “And you waited until you heard my voice before you spared time to come to King’s Creek?”

  “After the way you shut me out after your accident? I thought you’d slam the door in my face.” Stomping up the stairs, he loosened his tie and stopped in front of me. “You didn’t tell me that you were staying with your neighbor. I thought you hated him.”

  “Hard to hate a guy who pulled me out of a frozen pasture, brought my horse and my dog back, and then took me to the hospital.”

  “Fuck the horse and dog,” Marshall snapped and I flinched. “He shouldn’t have wasted time before getting you to a hospital.” He loomed closer. “Have you been with him the whole five weeks?”

  Bootsteps hit the stairs. Dawson had remained quiet, but he was getting closer, and I was grateful. After Marshall’s messages, I was a little raw. He would’ve left Bucket and Daisy.

  I kind of thought he would’ve left me too.

  I folded my arms across my chest. I’d ignored Marshall long enough. I’d held out a smidgeon of optimism that maybe he was the better I’d hoped for. On paper, he was a catch. In person, he was a controlling asshole, and staying with him would make me as miserable as I’d been the last few years. “I don’t see how it’s your business.”

  “Bristol, you are my business.”

  “I thought I was too ungrateful, selfish, and redneck for you to waste another moment on. How did you put it? ‘Only an insensitive, uncaring ingrate would make my parents drive up from Miles City twice.’ ”

  His face burned red. “I was justifiably upset—and I didn’t know you were hurt. Come on, let’s go.”

  He was bending to grab my arm when I jerked my elbow out of his way. “Don’t touch me.”

  “What the—” He looked over his shoulder to where Dawson stood a few feet away. Marshall whipped his head back toward me. “Are you fucking him? Is that why?”

  “Yes, Marshall. All night and day,” I said sarcastically. “We’ve done it right here on the porch, in the bed of his truck, and in every room of his house. Which is none. Of your. Business.”

  “You’ve been fucking him all along?” He shook his head. “I should’ve known.”

  My brows shot up. “All of a sudden my character is in question? I never raised my voice to you. I never swore at you. I never belittled you in public. Did I cheat on you? Go fuck yourself, Marshall. And wear something nice when you do it. I’d hate for your parents to be embarrassed.”

  Marshall drew back. He tightened his tie, one of his douche power moves, and his mouth curled into a sneer. “You’re nothing but worthless trash—”

  “All right.” Dawson stepped forward, angling himself between me and my ex. “Get the hell off my property.”

  “Listen, you piece of—”

  Dawson yanked his phone out. “Look, man. I get that you’re a lawyer. It’s the only reason I haven’t hit you. Dicks like you would sue over a bruised ego. But what I’ll do is call the cops and report a man harassing an injured woman on my property. I’m sure Bristol can show them all your messages when they get here.”

  Marshall backed up a step. He sniffed and adjusted his tie again. Then he spun and pounded to his car like a tantrum-throwing child.

  Before he got into his car, he yelled, “You were a waste of time, Bristol!” Then he got in and kicked up gravel with a tight three-point turn and sped away. In a moment, nothing but a dust cloud suggested he’d been here.

  I sucked in a breath. I’d been called a lot of names. The ones from Marshall’s messages were the most inventive—they almost didn’t feel like insults, certainly not the ones I’d grown up with. But being a waste of time? That hit home.

  I grabbed my crutches and stood. Dawson edged closer like he was dying to help but knew I’d rip his arm off and beat him with it if he did. My pride had taken enough of a pounding.

  In the house, I didn’t quit until I got to the bedroom.

  “Bristol.” Dawson’s voice was soft behind me, like an early warning that I wouldn’t care for what he had to say.

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Yeah, so, Marshall was pounding on your door when I found him. I think he might’ve busted the latch.”

  I sagged onto my crutches. How much more today?

  “I can go out there with you,” he said. “I know how you are about the trailer, but we can check it over when we go over there. Get it done with so you know what you’re going back to. Not that you have to go back, since you might be in a
walking cast for a while.”

  His voice eased the vise around my chest. “Dawson Preston King, are you rambling?”

  “Maybe. I don’t want you to tell me to put something nice on and go fuck myself.”

  I snorted while choking on a laugh. “He probably does that anyway.”

  “A reminder’s always good.” The air between us grew heavy. “I can always go check the door.”

  Ah, hell. If the door had been busted open, Dawson would see the mess. My pride was already flayed open. Might as well expose it to the elements.

  Dawson might’ve thought about kissing me, but after he saw—and smelled—for himself what my life was like, it’d confirm that he was the one that deserved better.

  Dawson

  God, the smell.

  I forced back a gag. Running a ranch, I came across many smells that were unpleasant. Rancid. Rotting, even. But this was a stench that disturbed me on a visceral level. This wasn’t from a bloated cow’s carcass. This was from a person’s home.

  Bristol hung behind me at the bottom of the stairs, her arms hugged around herself. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to come back.

  “I, um, stay in the RV.” She was trying to sound strong, but her vulnerability was as clear as the blue sky above us. “I have to use the bathroom in here. That should be clean, but I’m sure being closed up for five weeks made, um . . . made the smell worse.”

  “No wonder you’ve been living at the cabin.” I couldn’t go inside. I’d only pushed on the door to the trailer to make sure it was broken and it had swung open, hitting my nose with everything that’d been marinating while Bristol had been at my place.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Tucker saw the wood pile and garden.” I put my back to the trailer. More fresh air facing this way. “I was going to mention it, but I figured it was you with the garden and the fenced area for Bucket.”

  “I should’ve cleaned it all after Pop died.”

  It’d only been a couple of months since he’d died. How was she doing? I was used to pretending Danny Cartwright didn’t exist, but he’d been her father. She’d lost her dad.