King's Country (Oil Kings Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  King's Country

  Oil Kings Book 4

  Marie Johnston

  LE Publishing

  Copyright © 2021 by Marie Johnston

  Editing by Razor Sharp Editing

  Proofing by MBE, Judy’s Proofreading, and Deaton Author Services

  Cover Art by Secret Identity Graphics

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.

  Created with Vellum

  I’ve been the wicked witch of King’s Creek since I was eight years old, from my angry red hair down to my ball-busting boots. With a mean drunk for a daddy who left nothing but insults and unpaid bills in his wake, was there ever any other fate? Now his passing has left me one bad turn from losing my land to the neighbors my family’s been feuding with for generations.

  So of course it’s Dawson King who comes to my rescue in the middle of a snowstorm. But I don’t care how good he looks in a pair of Wranglers, or how much he spoils my horse, or how great of a cook he is. The Kings already have everything—money, looks, and charm. Dawson’s not getting my heart too.

  I’m living my dream, I admit it. I took over the family ranch from my dad and grew it into the envy of Montana. I have the best views, the best employees, and the respect of the entire town. The only thing I don’t have is someone to share my dream with. So when my neighbor breaks her leg and nearly freezes to death, I all but kidnap her back to my place to recover.

  We grew up less than a mile apart, but we couldn’t be in more different places now. Bristol’s had nothing but pride for so long, it’s hard to get close to her—and I want to get very close.

  I don’t care if the whole town loves me, I’m only interested in earning the love of one woman. But for a guy who’s got the world at his feet, Bristol’s heart might be out of my reach.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  Also by Marie Johnston

  Chapter 1

  Bristol

  Bitter wind cut around the collar of my old Carhartt jacket, sending shivers racing down my body. My teeth chattered, but I tucked my chin into my jacket and encouraged Bucket forward. My bay’s full name was ShitBucket, thanks to Pop, but I’d shortened it.

  God. Pop. What would life have been like if he’d been able to crawl out of the bottle? What did it say about me that part of me was relieved I didn’t have to endure his need for control and the daily tongue-lashings anymore?

  I blinked back tears and squinted into the wind. Bucket’s hooves crunched through old snow into the dried, brittle grass underneath. Daisy, my rescue dog, trotted next to us, her tongue lolling out. The pound had thought she was a mix of Australian shepherd and rottweiler, but I’d only cared that she wanted to herd cattle and, more importantly, that she had been free. That she’d turned out to be a damn fine dog was one of the few good things that had happened to me.

  Bucket was another. And I was risking them both in this weather, but the four-wheeler wouldn’t start. Again.

  Another gust of wind bit into my skin. It was bringing an early March storm. I couldn’t remember which month was in like a lion, out like a lamb. March? April? Hell, in Montana, it could also be May. But this month had been all lion and I’d had two heifers calve early. One had lost her young.

  Stress clenched my jaw. What the hell was I going to do?

  I’d been asking myself that for as long as I could remember, but with Pop’s death had come open books to the actual state of the ranch.

  It was worse than I’d thought. I couldn’t believe we hadn’t lost everything already. The only reason we hadn’t was because Pop had been so hard to deal with, it’d been easier for businesses to ignore him. They wouldn’t feel the same way about me.

  Well . . . maybe a little. But since I didn’t touch alcohol, I also wasn’t fueled by liquid courage that stole all the fucks I had to give about what people said to me.

  I had that going for me and it happened to be my biggest weakness right now. The mailbox was already full of notices. We owed for feed, we owed for equipment, and we were overdrawn. Not we. Me. Pop had put everything under Cartwright Cattle and now that he was gone, it had fallen to me, debt and all.

  Our cattle weren’t healthy. They routinely got injured because Pop had been too stubborn to move fencing to block bad areas the cows were drawn to, which only led to them getting stuck in mud, breaking a leg, or calving in the toughest spot for a human to reach.

  I was missing one now. Dammit, Pop. He’d let the bull in the cow pasture too damn early. I’d talked him into spring calving. We didn’t have enough bodies or resources to keep calves healthy in the cold months, and what we lost in income for lighter calves in the fall, we’d make up for in lower feeding costs and less wear and tear on bodies. Mostly my body, out feeding and tracking down calving cows in bitter temperatures. We could turn calves out to pasture sooner after they were born, saving manpower and feed. April, even early May, would’ve been better to aim for. Sure, sometimes nature had other ideas, but for the most part, cows were less likely to give birth out in the middle of nowhere before impending storms.

  Pop had been resistant and last year, after a spat between us, he’d turned out the bull too early. He’d probably thought he’d be around to deal with the fallout—even though he would’ve been in a drunken stupor. But he’d died, and it was only me now.

  My phone vibrated against my chest. I should ignore it. It wasn’t like anyone was calling to offer their sympathies for Pop being gone. The only other person who mourned his death was the owner of the liquor store and he’d been a selfish bastard who had fueled Pop’s addiction no matter how often I’d asked him to turn Pop away.

  I yanked off a thin glove and pulled my phone out. It was the one luxury I’d managed to squirrel money away for. It wasn’t fancy, but it was smart and I could pay ahead for the data I used. Sometimes I had enough to splurge for a movie, but Pop had sniffed out extra cash more often than not.

  Marshall’s name flashed across the screen. I groaned. Dammit. I was late, and since I hadn’t found the wandering cow, I likely wasn’t going to make our date.

  “Hey,” I answered, turning my head to minimize wind interference. Bucket was sauntering slowly enough I didn’t have to watch where he was going.

  “Goddammit, Bristol, where the hell are you?” His tone wasn’t as irate as Pop’s usually had been, but familiar anxiety twined its way around my insides.

  “Marshall, sorry. There’s a problem on the ranch.”

  “There’s always a problem on the ranch.” He paused for a beat but I had nothing to interject. He was right. “You aren’t even on your way to town, are you?”

  I swallowed. If he was pissed already . . . “One of the cows I planned to get in before the storm is missing.” I’d missed the last meet-the-parents meal and Marshall could be persistent.

  “For fuck’s sake, are you telling me that you
can’t make another dinner with my parents? We’ve already canceled once.”

  “You’ve already canceled once.” My jaw set as humiliation chased away some of the cold. I’d shown up to dinner at Hogan’s, the local steakhouse, in my best jeans and the nicest shirt I owned. Marshall had blanched and asked if that was what I was wearing. Then he’d called his parents and said that I had the stomach flu.

  “Bristol . . . we talked about this. We might not be from King’s Creek, but even my parents know your dad’s reputation. You can’t show up to a nice dinner in your work clothes looking like you don’t give a damn.”

  I ground my jaw together. Those were my best clothes. My only set of nice clothes.

  “They’re already put out, having to drive an hour to get here when the weather sucks.” He blew out a gusty sigh. “When are you gonna arrive?”

  “I don’t know.” I glanced around the bleak landscape. A few flakes fluttered in the wind. Shit. I had to find her.

  “Are you telling me that you’re putting a cow before your boyfriend?”

  If you were a good boyfriend, you wouldn’t have to ask. I brushed that thought away as fast as it formed. Marshall was a good man. Unlike a lot of the men in King’s Creek, he thought I was worth more than a quick fuck and a brag that they’d bagged the prickly Bristol Cartwright. I’d learned the hard way that dating in my hometown was only a trial in failure.

  “Marshall, if she calves and one or both die, that’s a lot of money.” And more lives added to my conscience. These animals were either raised for food or to breed more animals for food, so having them suffer and die for nothing was a waste on so many levels. It hurt my heart more than I cared to admit.

  “Bristol.” There was the patronizing tone that I’d worked hard to ignore the last couple months of the six months we’d been dating. “This was an important night for me.”

  “And this is an important job to me.” I bit my tongue before telling him that if he cared about me at all, if he’d been listening to me at all, he’d know how critical this was. Too many people already made comments about how I was just like Pa.

  “It’s your job. These are my parents and they drove an hour to meet you—again. If you don’t get here in the next half hour, I can’t do this.”

  It wasn’t like I could invite them to my place, tell them to make themselves at home, kick back, and I’d be in shortly. My home wasn’t presentable, which hadn’t been an issue. Marshall hadn’t expressed interest in seeing my place, or staying the night. He’d always invited me over to his house in Miles City. I’d spent good money on gas to get there when the funds should’ve gone back to the ranch—or to buy a new set of clothing that would’ve passed the parent test.

  Which brought up another issue. I still didn’t have any nicer clothing than before. Putting Pop to rest had emptied my bank account, and since no sympathy cards had flooded the mailbox, much less any filled with money, I was on a tighter budget than normal.

  These cows and their calves were my future. Without them, I didn’t have a ranch or a way to bring in money. With them, I could slowly build the ranch up to be self-sustainable. I could grow it until it sustained me. What I couldn’t do was throw my livelihood away over one man’s hissy fit.

  Marshall would have to understand. He’d see my side. He’d support me.

  Right?

  “Marshall—”

  “Fuck, Bristol. Are you kidding me? You’re choosing a cow over me?”

  “I—”

  “No, if you can’t tell me that you’re on your way here right now, then I’m done. Done, Bristol.”

  I blinked against the onslaught of his anger, against the urge to shrink into my coat, turn Bucket around, race to the RV I was living in, and hide.

  “Bristol?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. The grind of Bucket’s hooves on the ground centered me. This was the right decision. “I . . . can’t.”

  “All right, then.” He bit out the words and ended the call.

  I stared at the phone and bit my lip, momentarily considering turning Bucket around and racing home.

  Then what? I’d show up and he’d be pissed that I was wearing cowboy boots and had hat hair? Then I could be publicly shamed once again.

  “Shit.” Nothing was happening until I found my cow. The task took my mind off the unexpected breakup.

  It shouldn’t have been unexpected. I hadn’t even thought of Marshall when I’d saddled Bucket and headed out. Selfish like Pop. Wasn’t that what people said?

  Daisy whined next to me.

  “Follow the fence,” I said as if the dog could understand me. Daisy might. She was a smart creature. “There must’ve been a hole she escaped through. Let’s find it.”

  The phone buzzed. I glanced down and scowled at the screen.

  I can’t believe you.

  He’d dumped me. He’d gotten the last word. Why the message?

  Bucket started up an incline that normally wouldn’t give him problems, but the crunch of snow under his hooves filled me with anxiety. He shouldn’t be out in this. I needed to make a decision between the cow and my horse, and the cow wouldn’t win. I couldn’t do this job without Bucket. He was a good ranch horse.

  My phone buzzed again. Another message or just the reminder buzz?

  After this hill, the rest of the terrain wouldn’t be that bad. I’d moved all the cattle out of the pasture with the nasty ravine before Pop had died and before winter had set in. Pop had been too sick to get out of the house to know what I’d done. He’d refused every other time and my asshole neighbor Dawson had gladly called to berate me about the poor cows that had found their way into the ravine and hadn’t survived the trip.

  He might’ve texted that message, but I knew Dawson well enough to infer the tone.

  If he knew that I’d lost a cow ready to give birth, he’d have more choice words to give me. The guy had no inkling what it’d been like to ranch with Pop and I doubted he cared. He only cared that I was a Cartwright, and apparently that was enough to earn his hate.

  The phone kept buzzing, but Bucket was close to the crest, his powerful body bunching and heaving to keep from slipping down the incline. I should stuff the phone back into my pocket and hold on with both hands. I should turn him back around and find a safer way down. My search for the cow was done.

  And yet, my heart ached. Gritting my teeth, I clutched the phone in one hand and the reins in the other. “Come on, boy, you can do it.”

  Daisy ran ahead and danced in a circle like she was cheering Bucket on.

  Montana winters were brutal, but the last few years, there’d been stretches where temperatures reached nearly forty degrees. All it did was melt the top layers of snow and make it hard to get through the pasture on horseback. I should’ve thought of that before I risked cutting up Bucket’s legs.

  “Almost there.”

  Bucket’s sides heaved. If I had oats to spare, I’d rain them down on him when we got back. He deserved spoiling and I couldn’t do it nearly enough.

  My fingers were stiff and the phone vibrated again, falling out of my hands.

  I gasped and scrambled for it at the same time Bucket lunged over a particularly bad spot. He landed and bounced me in the saddle. I yelped, startling him just as he was primed for another lunge. He heaved and landed off-kilter by a section of fence that was loose. Barbed wire sprawled onto the land bordering mine.

  Already thrown out of his calm, Bucket spun, tossing me from my seat. I was an experienced rider, and had it not been for Marshall and that damn phone, I would’ve been ready. But I went airborne and tried to right myself before landing in a mess of barbed wire. Agony exploded through my right leg and the rest of my body slammed into the unforgiving ground.

  Crying out, I rolled and pinpricks of pain stabbed through my legs. I gasped in breaths and forced myself to focus through the blaze of pain.

  What the fuck had happened?

  My brain registered it before I recognized it.
r />   I’d broken my leg.

  Son of a bitch. I blinked and carefully raised my upper body, my breath coming in panicked pants as fire engulfed my lower body. I’d landed on the line of barbed wire that was supposed to be attached to the top of the fence posts. My jeans had taken the brunt of their angry stabs, but each move drove the barbs deeper.

  Shaking, I looked at my leg. My vision was blurry. I didn’t know if the tears were from the pain or the cold, but I sniffled and forced myself to concentrate.

  How did I get out of this?

  “Bucket?”

  A soft nicker met my ears. He hadn’t run off. But he was on the other side of the fence. Maybe I could crawl to him and drag myself onto his back.

  The wind howled and more flakes danced in the air, zipping by me like they had better things to do. Daisy ran around me, whining and sniffing my face.

  “I’m all right, girl.” The wind stole my words. I wasn’t all right. I was in the middle of nowhere, tangled in barbed wire, with a broken leg and a storm on the way.

  The cow wasn’t the only one in trouble.

  Dawson

  I stomped into the house and let the warmth of my favorite place in the world swallow me up.

  “Shit weather’s on its way,” I said to no one. The house was empty. Should I bring one of the barn cats inside?

  I shook my head, answering my own question. There was no reason not to—other than my brothers giving me eternal crap for spoiling cats.

  I couldn’t help it if they liked me so much.

  I tossed my jacket on a hook. The mudroom off the garage wasn’t nearly as full of winter weather gear now that Xander and Savvy had left. Once the weather wasn’t so far below zero, they’d taken off to find their own piece of paradise and do a little traveling.