King's Country (Oil Kings Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  Big Dick blinked and swiveled his gaze back at Dawson. “Everything okay?”

  “Just fine, Richard,” Dawson answered calmly. “Did you get the special?”

  “Of course. King beef is the only palatable meat in this town.”

  I bristled at the pointed jab, but Dawson just cocked his head. “There are a lot of fine ranchers in town.”

  Big Dick slapped him on the back. “And they work for you, am I right?” He guffawed and wandered away.

  Dawson’s apologetic gaze landed on me but I waved it off. “That was tame compared to his last conversation with Pop.”

  “It wasn’t right.” His brow furrowed but I only wanted this conversation to be done.

  “Look, I get it. I know the price I get per head is half what you get. For good reason. But I have plans. It’s going to take time, but I know what I’m doing.”

  “That’s what pisses me off.”

  “What?”

  Dawson shot a glare toward the exit but Big Dick was gone. “They can’t see that you know as much about the business as I do.”

  I knew as much about ranching. Thanks to Pop, I didn’t know as much about the business. “Didn’t you go to college for it?”

  “Farm and ranch management, yeah.”

  “Then I don’t know as much as you. It’s okay, Dawson. I don’t need Big Dick to tell me I can do a good job. His validation is shit.”

  Dawson’s mouth quirked. “Part of his issue might be your dad’s unfortunate, but completely predictable twist on his name.”

  Skylar’s arrival with plates of food ended the discussion. She set my plate down without a word but aimed her proud smile at Dawson. “Shepp said he’ll dish out the biggest piece of tiramisu for you.”

  Dawson glanced at me, then to her. “For us.”

  Skylar still didn’t look at me. “Absolutely. Can I get you anything else?”

  He was the one to check with me, but I shook my head and cut into the meat. If Skylar wanted to chitchat with him, that was fine. I was hungry.

  She left and Dawson watched me a moment before picking up his utensils. “How’s the food?”

  “Delicious,” I said around a savory garlic explosion in my mouth. The butterhorn roll was as big as my head and I debated the minimum number of bites considered civilized.

  He finally dug in and we didn’t talk until the meal was finished. Skylar checked in with Dawson once and returned with dishes of tiramisu. True to her word, Dawson’s piece was twice the size of mine.

  His fork thumped the tabletop and he muttered, “Seriously?”

  I swiped an edge of my dessert with my spoon and tasted it. “I’m not really a coffee-flavor person. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Dammit, I forgot you didn’t drink it.” He made a cup of coffee every morning. I’d turned that down too, but if I was up early enough, I started the coffee maker for him.

  “I like the smell but never got a taste for it.” I tapped the top of the dessert with my fork. “The flavor’s not too strong. It’s fine.” I’d eat the whole thing because that was what I’d been raised to do.

  Dawson had one bite left when Skylar came back with the tab. My heart stuttered when she set a slip by me and one by Dawson.

  Crap. I was always ready to pay my way. I didn’t take for granted that my date would one, pay, and two, not expect favors if he did. I’d been complacent with Dawson. Filet might be the special, but chicken or pasta was always cheaper.

  “Skylar, seriously?” Dawson snapped. Skylar’s hand went to her chest. I think she was more shocked than I was at his tone. “I’m trying to have a nice night out with Bristol, but between you and Big Dick Lang, she’s been nothing but ignored and insulted, and honestly, I expected better when I thought of coming here.”

  Skylar blinked. “I-I . . .” She stiffened. “I can’t take responsibility for what Mr. Lang might’ve said or done, but I . . .” Her gaze flitted to me, then over my shoulder. Repressed anger and embarrassment mingled in her blue irises. I bit the inside of my lip. Should I laugh or slide under the table? “I apologize. Your meal’s on the house.” She said the words like it pained her.

  I was not getting a pity meal. “No—”

  “No, absolutely not,” Dawson said. “I’m paying. Please don’t comp us anything.”

  “Dawson.” Skylar’s shoulders sagged and she finally met my gaze fully. Had she figured out I was a real person instead of an apparition she hoped would go away? “I’m sorry, Bristol. It’s just that the last time you were in here, you were—”

  “Treated like shit and gave you attitude right back?” I said flatly.

  “I didn’t treat you like”—she lowered her voice—“shit. But you can’t expect exemplary service when you insult the food and don’t tip.”

  A flush wicked up my neck and heated my cheeks. “If I paid, I tipped.”

  “Your dates never did.”

  “So you’re holding that against her?” Dawson cut in.

  I talked over him. “And I never insulted your food.”

  “Bland and tasteless. When you were here with Foreman—”

  “That was years ago.” The calculation flew through my brain. It’d been summer and I’d still been dabbling in the dating pool in town. Foreman was the reason I now drove to meet a lot of my dates. “Six, to be specific.” I didn’t know why I kept talking. I didn’t like defending my actions. “But hey, when it looked like my chicken had walked across the floor by itself to get on my plate, I should’ve just smiled?”

  I wedged my crutches out and scooted to the edge of the seat.

  Dawson slid the keys across to me. “I’ll be right out, Bristol.”

  “Take your time,” I said and thumped away as quickly as possible. The diners around us watched me the entire way.

  Dawson

  The ride home was quiet. I’d been half afraid Skylar had pissed Bristol off so much that she’d drive home without me.

  I pulled up in front of my house. The porch lights lit up the yard, welcoming us home, along with Daisy and her wagging tail as she rushed to the front door, waiting to be let in. I parked in front of the porch and killed the engine. “I can make some popcorn and we can find a movie.”

  Bristol paused with her hand on the handle, confusion screwing up her face. “Aren’t you mad?”

  “About what happened? Hell, yeah.” Her expression turned stricken and I grabbed her hand. “Do you know how much I wish I could rewind the night and take you to Billings instead?”

  She shook her head. “You’re not upset with me?”

  “With you? No, Bristol.” How could she think that? Because I’d come out of the restaurant after paying for my meal and listening to Skylar’s profuse apologies. I reached into my wallet. “Sorry I didn’t give this to you right away.”

  She stayed close to the door, watching me hand over the gift card, her gaze wary, like I held a live viper. “What’s this?”

  “Skylar feels horrible about everything that happened and how she misunderstood it all.” I held it out but she didn’t accept it. “It’s a fifty-dollar gift card.”

  “I don’t feel like—”

  “It’s not pity, Bristol. It’s good business. At least three other tables heard you tell her that they ignored you when it looked like your chicken mopped the floor before it got on your plate.”

  Her lips twitched before anger pursed them again. “It was like they dropped it by the door to get the most dust bunnies.”

  I believed it. Fuck, after the last two hours, I believed everything Bristol said about how the town treated her. She didn’t put up with it or the bullshit flung her way, and that made it worse for her.

  “I promise to serve only popcorn that’s fallen no farther than the counter. Do you like extra butter?”

  “A little cayenne pepper.”

  I grinned. “I’ll keep your batch separate. I don’t like my food to fight back.”

  She chuckled as she got out and I could’ve pumped my
fist in the air. She’d had an epically shitty day, followed by a night that was supposed to have cheered her up but had demeaned her instead. But I could still make her laugh and end tonight on a good note.

  My smile died when I realized I still held on to the gift card. Stubborn, proud woman.

  I jogged after her. The stairs hardly slowed her down. Inside, she sat on the couch and clicked through the movies.

  As I made popcorn, she asked, “What do you feel like?”

  “Comedy.” Hands down. We both needed a laugh after today.

  By the time I had made the popcorn and buttered and seasoned it while she peppered me with questions on what I’d already watched, we’d settled on Deadpool. I insisted she needed to see it even if I had three times already—once with each brother.

  I took my post at the end of the couch. Daisy sprawled between us, alongside Bristol’s cast-encased leg, which was propped on pillows. I kicked my boots off, tossed my feet over the coffee table, and watched the show.

  Movies used to be a way to pass the time. I enjoyed them, but whenever I watched them, I wished for more.

  I wasn’t wishing tonight. I wanted Bristol to laugh and she did in all the right spots. But when the show was done, her eyes were closed. Her lashes, a shade or two darker than her hair, swept over her cheeks.

  I eased up and collected our popcorn and cans of mineral water, hoping she’d wake up. No luck. Daisy did though and wandered to the giant doggie bed I’d bought the day after I’d let her in the house.

  My next decision tore at me. Move her? Wake her up? Or cover her and let her sleep there?

  I could take one of the bedrooms upstairs. I could sleep in my own bed again for the first time in five weeks.

  I didn’t want to do either of those. But picking up a sleeping Bristol was like poking a hibernating bear. She could go from REM to slapping me in two seconds.

  She blinked her eyes open and caught me standing by the coffee table, watching her. The corner of her mouth pulled down and she half sat up.

  “You fell asleep during the credits.” As if that explained why I was looming over her while she slept. Like a creeper.

  “Damn. That was a good movie too.” She grabbed her crutches and rose. When she headed to her room, I followed.

  “I’ll get the door.” Another lame reason for my actions.

  She hopped to the bed without turning the light on. Residual light from the living room spilled in, highlighting the neatly made bed and the old T-shirt of mine she slept in that was folded on the nightstand.

  I leaned against the doorjamb. When she looked over her shoulder, I said, “I don’t want to leave.”

  It was the God’s honest truth. I’d spent a lot of the day with her and leaving her side right now was too soon.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  Her words propelled me across the room before they’d registered in my brain. I slid my hands around her waist and kissed just below her ear. She tilted her head to make room for more. I kissed along the length of her graceful neck and she turned her face until our lips met. An awkward angle for our first kiss, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  A soft touch of the lips wasn’t enough. I spun her in my grasp, supporting her on her good foot, and deepened our kiss. My tongue licked along hers, tasting the spicy popcorn she’d had, and a soft whimper escaped her. Another sound I was motivated to get out of her as often as I could.

  I untucked her shirt and swept my hands up her back. Her soft skin under my touch was more than I could’ve asked for. She wasn’t giving me this chance lightly and I’d make sure she didn’t regret it.

  Without breaking us apart, I hugged her to me and lifted her to the bed. Swallowing her startled squeak, I laid her back and spread myself over her, taking the kiss slow.

  She dug her hands through my hair and adjusted under me until we were perfectly aligned. Her body cradled mine. I didn’t mean to, but I rocked my hips into her, seeking some relief for the hard throbbing against the fly of my pants.

  There were so many things I wanted to do to this woman. So many ways I wanted to make her feel good. Did I kiss my way down her body and lick her until her thighs clamped around my head and her cries echoed off the walls? Did I strip off her pants and pray the condom in my wallet wasn’t expired? Did I do both?

  What I really wanted was to hold her while she came. I wanted to keep tasting her. I wanted to be the reason for her pleasure.

  I shifted to the side to make room for the hand that wasn’t propping me up to roam along her satiny torso and cup a round breast. She was lean, but her tits were a fucking perfect handful. She arched into me as I thumbed her nipple.

  I’d taste those later. I’d taste every part of her. But tonight, I just wanted to hold her.

  Our clothing would stay in place, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t come. Hard.

  I feathered my fingertips down her belly, loving the shiver that shook her body. I’d told her she’d want me to tickle her.

  At her waist, I flicked open the jeans she’d managed to get over her cast. They made her legs look impossibly long. A fantasy I hadn’t known I had. When it came to Bristol, I seemed to be a whatever body part she’ll share with me guy.

  One of her hands was still in my hair and the other fisted on my shoulder as I worked my fingers under her pants and underwear. She widened her legs to give me more access and I took it, stroking a fingertip over her clit.

  She bucked against me, her wet heat coating my hand.

  This woman.

  Just like the kiss, I took my time, but I made it count. I matched the stroke of my finger with my tongue, my body blanketing hers.

  She had to break the kiss as she gasped. Perfect. I wicked my finger through her folds and entered her with one smooth move. Her needy groan was pure heaven. That was all I needed. Between the rocking of her body and the rhythmic thrust of my hand, she flew toward the precipice.

  “That’s it,” I whispered. “I want to hold you while you fall apart.” You’re safe with me. Instinctively, I knew saying that would stop everything and she might shut me out. But I could show her.

  She clung to me as she broke apart. Her cry rang off the walls and was so damn satisfying. I kept my hand in place until she drifted down from her peak, then removed it and kissed the corner of her mouth down to the crook of her neck. I nuzzled into her hair while she caught her breath.

  “Of course you’re good at that too,” she whispered, her voice dreamy.

  I chuckled, my breath wafting over her neck, earning me another shiver. I held her tighter. “You thought I wouldn’t be?”

  “No. You’ve been good at everything.”

  “You are too.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You ride like you were born on a horse. And don’t think I haven’t seen you ripping around in that old pickup of your dad’s down by the river.”

  She laughed. “I might’ve gone muddin’ for fun once or twice.”

  “Knew it. But you didn’t get stuck.”

  She rolled to her side, her grin still in place. “I didn’t. Not once. It’s all in how you handle it.” Heat filled her gaze and her hand slid from my shoulder down to my chest.

  I curled my hand around hers. “I got what I wanted tonight.” I soothed the flash of hurt in her eyes with a kiss. “This isn’t quid pro quo. I’ve been wanting to hold you for so long. I’m fine. Just like this.”

  “You’re fine?” She couldn’t sound like she believed me less.

  “I have a lot of plans for us, Bristol. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a guy and you’re my sexy neighbor.”

  “I didn’t see a King calling me that.”

  “You’re hot as fuck. I’ll prove it as often as you want me to. But tonight, I’d like to stay here, like this.”

  “We’re still dressed.”

  I leaned up and pulled back the covers. She wiggled around until she was under them. I stood and waited. She had to be sure.

  She
pulled back the other side and my smile grew wide. Yes.

  By the time I shut the light off in the living room and got back to the side of the bed, she’d tugged off her shirt and put my old one on and wriggled out of her pants. “There. That’s better.” She eyed my chest. “Feel free to do the same.”

  “Aw, honey, if I start taking stuff off, I don’t know if I’ll quit.” I dropped my pants. My shirt hung over the worst of my obnoxious erection.

  I slid between the cool sheets until I was close enough to wrap her in my arms. “Night, Bristol.”

  “Night, Dawson.”

  Her warm body, combined with my soft bed, was the perfect sleep aid. I wasn’t sure which one of us fell asleep first, but I knew that sleeping alone after this was going to suck.

  Chapter 6

  Bristol

  The roll of the walking boot wasn’t as bad with my boots on. I left the exam room and found Dawson where I’d left him in the waiting room. He’d refused to leave me at the clinic, but I hadn’t let him into the room with me. I’d done enough research to know what my casted leg would be like.

  I needed a bath and a razor.

  Dawson grinned when he saw the black walking boot and took my crutches from me like the gentleman he was. The retired rancher he’d been talking to stared at us. Denny Yellow Bird had known my grandparents but had given Pop a wide berth. I’d never talked to him, but I’d seen him around.

  “You must be Bristol,” Denny said, his face wrinkling with his grin. “You look just like your grandmother.” He winked. “But a little taller.”

  My laugh surprised me. “Just a bit.” Grandma had needed to sit on a pillow to drive her Cadillac.

  “Glad to see the younger generation has more sense than their parents and grandparents.” A nurse came out and called his name. He shuffled away with a little wave.

  I kept my head down as I limped out. Dawson chattered about how Denny’s ranch was doing under his son and that his granddaughter might take over but that she had to finish school first.