King's Country (Oil Kings Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  Dawson probably would’ve paid the extra. But I would’ve said what Taya had, just not as sweetly or diplomatically.

  “Thanks, guys.” My phone buzzed. The number was local, but not one I recognized. “Excuse me.”

  I rose and stepped closer to the door. “Hello?”

  “Bristol? This is Richard Lang.”

  I continued walking right out the door. Emma had told me to stand up for myself, but that didn’t mean I wanted witnesses. The pinochle guys were probably an anchor in the town gossip hotline. The door squeaked as I exited. I didn’t know if Richard realized that I was on the move, or if he thought my silence meant I didn’t want to talk to him. I wasn’t sure myself.

  “It’s, um, it’s been brought to my attention that now that you’re the sole owner of Cartwright Cattle, you might want to meet and discuss your options.”

  “Do I have options?” My question sounded as incredulous as I felt.

  “There are several programs available for those in various forms of agriculture. I can give you information on farm loans, even housing assistance due to how rural King’s Creek is. You might even qualify for a first-time rancher loan since your name is on Cartwright Cattle now.”

  That wasn’t what I’d meant. I could walk into any bank or loan office and I’d be pounced on, a starved bunny in need of a carrot. Only that carrot would come with a ton of interest and I’d be so overloaded in payments that I’d have to take out another loan to live on.

  Just because no one had wanted to do business with Pop didn’t mean I hadn’t done my research. Reading articles online didn’t suck up a lot of data, and in my RV, Pop hadn’t known what I was researching. All my plans for the ranch were in my head, but they were there.

  “I can meet with you this week,” he pressed.

  “I’ll give you a call back if I’m interested.”

  “Uh . . . okay?”

  Big Dick Lang wasn’t used to waiting and that wasn’t my problem.

  I disconnected and called Dawson. When he answered, I jumped right in. “Big Dick called wanting to meet with me.”

  “Really?” Wind blew across the line. I pictured him leaning against one of the fence posts he and Tucker were pounding in around the murder pit.

  “Did you tell him to?” Would I be mad if he had? Big Dick was the only surviving bank in town. The last one had closed its doors when I was in high school. Miles City and Billings were too close and online was easier than another errand to run.

  “No. But we had words.”

  “About me?”

  “About how unfair he was. He thought—fuck—he thought you’d fail and I’d buy you out.” Rage swept up. Not at Dawson, but at the thought that everyone was waiting for me to fail—and that without Dawson’s help, they would’ve gotten their wish. “What’d he want to talk with you about?”

  “Loan programs.”

  “I told him he should think about his business ethics. That’s all.” He paused. “You gonna meet with him?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “You can at least get the information, and take it somewhere else.”

  “Dawson King, that’s downright scandalous.”

  He chuckled. “Big Dick doesn’t deserve one cent of interest he’d make off you. But it’s nice to think he’s actually going to do his job. You have time to make him think he has to work for it.”

  Why had Big Dick called me and not one of his loan officers? Had Dawson rattled him that badly? I might have to find out. Have Big Dick scramble to work for me for once. “He wants to meet this week.”

  “Everyone will be on vacation next week for the Fourth.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet him.”

  “Let me know when. We can grab a sandwich in town afterward.”

  “Will do.” I hung up and called Big Dick back. I patted myself on the back for calling him Richard when he answered. “Friday at eleven sound good?”

  Friday was the best option because Big Dick probably took off every Friday of the summer.

  “I . . . Yeah. No, it should be fine.”

  “See you then.” I hung up and ducked into the coffee shop.

  I soaked up the cool air as I crossed to the table. Emma and Taya were shooting me curious looks. I got to tell them the bank president was actually going to treat me like a real person—and I wasn’t going to let him get away with anything less.

  Dawson

  Another message buzzed on my phone. Are you ignoring your grams?

  Grams had been relentless today. She’d tried calling, and I hadn’t legitimately ignored her. The baling tractor needed a new radiator hose and I’d been elbow-deep in replacing it. But I hadn’t called her back.

  Then the messages had started. She didn’t say anything other than We need to talk.

  I knew Grams’s form of talking, and it wouldn’t turn out any better than when I’d met her for supper.

  I wiped grease off my hands and was thinking about what I wanted for lunch when my phone buzzed again. Have you told her yet?

  Grams’s threat ran through my mind. Time was running out. Would she tell Bristol? Would Grams throw me onto the train tracks and think that would help? That if she screwed things up with Bristol for me, I’d shrug and marry some stranger just to keep the cash?

  That was what my brothers had done, so yeah, that was what she thought. Ignoring her would only antagonize her.

  Ignoring my protesting belly, I called her back.

  “Dawson.” Warmth infused her voice as if the arranged-marriage date hadn’t happened. “How’s it going?”

  “You tell me.”

  She chuckled. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No,” I sighed. “Can we skip the pretense? I know why you’re calling.”

  “It’s an important issue.”

  “I’m not talking about this with you, Grams.”

  “But have you talked to her?”

  “I will.”

  “When?”

  I rolled my neck, tiring of our back-and-forth already. It wouldn’t be for much longer. “I’m sorry, but it’s none of your business.”

  “Be an adult about this, Dawson. Ignoring the problem isn’t going to make it go away. It’s almost like you want me to deal with it.”

  Was that how she justified her meddling? “I’ve gotta go, Grams. Hundred million or not, this cow-calf operation doesn’t run itself.” I hung up without waiting for her response.

  “Goddammit!” I took a wrench from the work bench and flung it across the shop. The clang soothed my frayed nerves and I spun around with my hands on my hips.

  Bristol had just stepped through the door and hustled back out.

  “Hey.” I jogged toward her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She lingered outside the door, her arms crossed and her eyes tense. “No, it’s fine. Sorry I didn’t send a message first.”

  “It’s fine. You can pop in anytime.”

  She nodded. A sheepish expression crossed her face and she dropped her arms and crossed them again like she didn’t know what to do with her extremities. The moment when Marshall had yelled at her on my porch ran through my mind. She’d flinched. She’d done the same thing once when I’d raised my voice.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said quietly.

  She flattened her lips and scowled. “I’m not scared.”

  “Brings back memories?”

  She let out a long breath and wandered to an old pallet I hadn’t broken down for the fire pit yet. She sank onto a corner, bending her long legs and resting her arms over her knees. “Pop never hit me. No matter how drunk he was. But he’d rage. Rant and throw things, like people do when they’re pissed. But in true Pop fashion, it’d grow out of control. I’d find him working in the shop, ask him how his day was, and he’d spin on me, hollering about whoever had done him wrong.” She fell quiet and stared across the yard to the red shop at the end of the long loop through the property. “Then when he got so sick to
ward the end, I almost missed those outbursts. I think that’s half the reason why I jump.”

  “You think you should hate them, that they should bring up bad memories.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted. “They do that too. I used to dread his fits. I’d just stay out of the way and regret whatever question I had approached him about. And when he got so weak he couldn’t throw a wrench more than two feet, I realized that the end was near.”

  I lowered myself next to her, careful to balance on the pallet to keep from tipping her off. “I don’t usually throw my tools, but I can whenever you want me to.”

  She smirked and nudged me with her elbow. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t miss cleaning up the mess and fixing whatever he broke during his tantrums.”

  “Good. As a rule, I don’t like to make more work for myself.”

  She rewarded me with a quick smile. “So how did that wrench do you wrong?”

  “Oh, uh . . .” Now was the time. I could tell her everything. I could explain what Mama had done and the bind it’d put us all in. And how flat would that explanation land between us?

  Oh, I’m sorry your family had so much money that they didn’t want me to have any.

  Big ol’ chicken, right here. I couldn’t bring myself to ruin a beautiful June day in Montana. Goldilocks weather. Not too hot, not too cold. The bugs were out but hadn’t grown to obnoxious levels. Green pastures surrounded the buildings. Bursts of yellow sweet clover brightened the countryside.

  Today was too beautiful to waste on family drama. “Grams thinks I’m ignoring her.”

  “And you’re still seeing me.”

  “That’s all she needs.” My chest burned from the pressure of staying quiet. I’d have to tell her. Soon.

  But not today.

  I stood and held my hand out. “My stomach’s going to mutiny if I don’t get some lunch. Hungry?” I pulled her up but held on to her warm hand.

  “I owe you a meal.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing.”

  “No, let’s go to the diner on Main. My treat.”

  The local diner wasn’t an expensive meal, but I hated wasting her hard-earned cash on food for me. I had a fridge and freezer full of food. But if she stayed with me, and if she forgave me when I finally came clean about the trust, she could buy the whole damn restaurant.

  Chapter 14

  Bristol

  I sat in my pickup and rubbed my clammy palms on my jeans. It was time to meet with Richard Lang about the options for my ranch. My business. I had to run it like a business, and as Dawson said, like it or not, I needed to know what my options were with regard to financing and agriculture programs.

  Pop hadn’t been good at this stuff and he’d played it off like he was a lone wolf that didn’t need any help. He’d also bitten the hand that had tried to feed him. I’d learned nothing from Pop other than what not to do.

  But I’d learned one more thing on my own these last several weeks. My land was good, my cattle would bounce back, and I could do more with my life than just try to survive one season at a time. Once the ranch was in the black, I could grow, and I could give back to the world. Maybe not to the people who’d shunned me my whole life, but I could be in a position to aid those who felt helpless to help themselves.

  So that was why I was here. I wasn’t going to antagonize the only people in town that could help me. They didn’t want to work with me, but the last few weeks of dressing a new way and showing my face in a town I’d lived in my whole life shouldn’t be for nothing. This was me. I wasn’t Pop, and I wasn’t the Bristol Cartwright they’d all stereotyped me as. I decided who I was.

  Pep talk over, I gave my palms one more swipe and got out. The heat of the sun kissed my face. Dawson was going to meet me at the deli two blocks from the bank after the appointment. I’d parked closer to the restaurant than the bank. It was a beautiful day and these sandals kept me cooler than heavy boots.

  I passed the vehicles parked along the curb, not looking at any too close. I was nervous enough without wondering who I knew that would bear witness to this show. I was willing to do business with Big Dick Lang, but if he insisted on being an asshole, then I could burn an afternoon and go to Billings.

  I wasn’t powerless. Dawson had ingrained that into my head. The bank had the money, but they also needed clients like me to make money. Inhaling a steadying breath, I opened the glass door to the bank. A wall of frigid ozone-laced air smacked me in the face. Goose bumps spread over my body. In my boots and work shirt, I wouldn’t have been fazed.

  An older woman smiled at me over a tall desk at the entry. “May I help you?”

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Lang.” I’d called the man Big Dick my whole life. Mr. Lang left a sour taste on my tongue. Depending on how today went, I might never call him that again.

  She smiled. “You can go on back. They’re waiting for you.”

  They? My heart sped up. I could face Big Dick. I was ready for him. Who else would be in there?

  If Dawson had snuck in on this meeting, I’d be irritated. His support was everything to me, but I didn’t need to be coddled through town. I’d lived here my whole life just like him. If people treated me like shit, then—

  I approached an office with glass walls. Big Dick sat behind a desk. His black suit coat gaped open to reveal the buttons straining to hold the panels of his shirt together. He looked up and spotted me. Lifting his chin, he slanted a glance across his desk.

  As I neared, I slowed like I was walking through fresh concrete.

  Emilia Boyd was the other person in the office. Had she come to testify against me? Was she the opposite of a good reference? Did I even need references for some of these programs?

  Big Dick rose, opened the door, and stuck his hand out. “Thanks for coming, Bristol. Have a seat.”

  I ignored the hand and went to the chair by Emilia that was angled so we’d be a happy little threesome in the office. I remained standing. I didn’t plan on talking about my ranch’s business around her. “What’s this about?”

  He shut the door and scooted around his desk to sit in his ergonomic throne. “Please, have a seat.”

  “No.”

  His bushy brows rose and guilt laced his expression. He shot a disapproving look toward Emilia and attempted a friendly smile.

  I didn’t like him, but if he hadn’t wanted Emilia here either, then she’d browbeaten him into it. Her accounts probably fueled his winter vacations to Cancun and his summer golf trips with his buddies.

  He rubbed his temple. “Well, uh, Ms. Boyd asked me for a favor.”

  I planted my hands on my hips, wishing I’d worn boots and dusty blue jeans after all. I was out of my element in too many ways. “Am I here to talk business or not?”

  “Of a sort,” Emilia replied.

  “My business isn’t yours.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  I hated that she’d hooked me. But my animosity was greater than my curiosity. “Nope.” I turned for the door.

  “Dawson can’t marry you. Or he won’t. I’m not sure yet which one he’ll choose.”

  “My business with Dawson is also not yours.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re going to cost our family a lot of money if you keep seeing my grandson.”

  Walk away, Bristol. But I asked, “How?”

  She waved to the empty chair but I only arched a brow. This situation was spiraling out of control faster than a panicked herd of cattle, and refusing to sit in that damn chair was my only power move.

  Emilia looked down on me. From her chair. “Fine. When DB and I sold some shares of the company, we gifted it to Sarah. For the boys.” There had to be some advantage for her and DB if they’d gifted the money. Either that, or Emilia’s only soft spot had been Sarah. “She made it into a trust, for each boy. For when they turned twenty-nine.”

  She waited for me to understand. “Yes, I get it. Dawson’s birthday is in two weeks.”

&
nbsp; “Mmm. But if he doesn’t marry by then, he’ll lose it. One hundred million dollars, Bristol.”

  I scoffed. What an absurd amount of money. Was she embellishing? Who had that amount of money?

  She tilted her head, still looking down on me while she was sitting. “Has he proposed?”

  I didn’t answer, but gave her a you know he hasn’t look.

  “Right. If he doesn’t marry, that money goes to you.”

  I chuffed out a laugh again. This lady was unbelievable. Should I warn Dawson that they might have to worry about her mental health?

  Unease curled through my belly. What if it was the truth? What did that mean? “Okay, so he’s not marrying me so I’ll get the money.”

  “Wouldn’t he have told you if he wanted you to have the trust?”

  “I don’t know.” And I didn’t know. Hurt wedged a toehold into my heart. He hadn’t mentioned a thing about this trust. Emilia’s gaze was steady, her expression determined. She wasn’t fucking lying. She wasn’t showing signs of dementia. We were in the middle of a bank. With the bank president watching our exchange. Emilia wouldn’t lie in front of him. She’d planned this.

  The one thing I knew for certain about Emilia Boyd? She was motivated by money. And her family was in danger of losing money. To me.

  And Dawson hadn’t said a thing. I swallowed hard and tried to stop shock from spinning my thoughts out of control.

  “Do you realize,” she said in a light tone, “that all of his brothers married days before their birthdays in order to keep the money from you?”

  I opened my mouth to say something smart, something that would make it seem like I wasn’t buying what she was selling, but I couldn’t. The King brothers were all about a year apart. And for the last three years, each of the three older brothers had gotten married. If I asked Dawson when their birthdays were versus their anniversaries, what would he tell me?