Dawson
“I can’t believe you showed your smug face here.”
I tucked a hand into the pocket of my black jeans. My good ones, the pair that I wore to church and get-togethers where dirt on my boots wasn’t allowed. I shouldn’t have worn them here.
Danny Cartwright didn’t deserve my best, even at his funeral. Technically, this was a viewing or a memorial, not a funeral. He’d died and was being laid to rest within days. I’d almost missed the announcement.
I faced Bristol so she could see that I wasn’t smug. I was relieved, dammit. Danny Cartwright had been a raging alcoholic who’d made rash, uneducated decisions that had gotten people hurt and made his cattle sick.
Bristol’s pale-green eyes flashed. No one had eyes like her. I didn’t have to travel around the world like my globe-trotting brother to know. She looked at me like she was calling my bullshit each time—and she probably was. Polite and demure were not qualities given to her by her piece-of-shit father. God knew her mother hadn’t stuck around long enough to impart anything but grief.
Bristol was brash, insensitive, and blunt as fuck. She was a thorn in my side and now she controlled her ranch and land—and might prove more ruthless than her dad.
“Paying my respects, Bristol Jane.”
Another spark of fire in those rare gems. She hated when I added her middle name. I used to do it as a kid. Mama used to call her that and I’d continued to do it afterward. Once I realized it irritated her, I never let up.
Bristol put her hands on her trim hips. She wasn’t dressed up any more than I was. Well-worn blue jeans that hugged her athletic figure and a black long-sleeved shirt. The girl was burying her father, you’d think she’d wear a dress—but no. I’d never seen Bristol in a dress. Never. But maybe trousers and a nice blouse? Did she even own those? Or did she think her father wasn’t even worth a dry cleaning bill?
She lifted her pointed chin. “You didn’t respect Pop and you don’t respect me. So you can go.”
She shifted, and her cowboy boots, the same ones I was sure she’d worn this morning for chores, scraped against the wood floor of the funeral home. Her gaze darted around the empty space. I doubted anyone else was going to arrive. No one had liked Danny. The only person who’d given him their unfailing loyalty—or loyalty of any kind—was his daughter and I couldn’t figure out why. Blood ties? Pride? Or was she just like him? She could be mean as hell.
“People pay respects, Bristol Jane, even if they didn’t get along.”
She tilted her head, her orange hair swaying. “Is that what you call our family feud? Your grandparents stole our mineral rights because they ‘didn’t get along’? Your family calls the police on mine because we ‘didn’t get along’? You come to a funeral home like it’s a petting zoo because we ‘didn’t get along’?”
“I don’t know. Is that why you didn’t come to my mom’s funeral?”
She reared her head back like I’d slapped her and I’d never raised a hand to a woman in my life. Even my heifers got spoiled. “I was eight, asshole.”
“Swearing in church is never recommended.”
She looked at me like I couldn’t figure out how to chew bubble gum and walk at the same time. “It’s a funeral home.”
So it was. “When’s the funeral?” Fighting with Bristol used to be something I looked forward to, like a hobby I rarely got to engage in, but lately it was tiring. I only had a couple of months before I had to secure the trust so she didn’t get it and then I could forget she’d ever existed.
I could forget that we used to meet where her land bumped up against mine and crawl through the hills like explorers in new territory. I could forget that I’d helped her name their new dog and I’d held her hand when she’d cried after her dad had run that dog over on one of his many drunken trips home from the bar. I could forget how long I’d looked for her at Mom’s funeral and how she’d never shown.
“There isn’t a funeral.” Bitterness laced her voice and she clenched her jaw. “I didn’t even want this—Pop. He didn’t want this.”
That surprised me. I’d ask more, but she wouldn’t tell me anyway.
I glanced around. The coffin lid was closed and I wasn’t surprised, and yet I was. Danny had looked more and more haggard every time I’d seen him. Yellowish skin without an ounce of fat, bags under his eyes, more missing teeth each time, breath reeking of stale booze, and a body long overdue for a meeting with a bar of soap. His clothes hadn’t been in much better shape.
Bristol was right and I’d never tell her. I’d come partly to make sure the boogeyman was dead. I could blame curiosity too. I had wondered how Bristol was taking her dad’s death. The obituary hadn’t said how he’d died, but we all knew. A liver could only take so much. Any living thing around Danny Cartwright could only take so much.
Bristol glared at me, her arms not quite crossed, but more hugging herself.
A tendril of concern snaked through my gut. Was she doing okay?
I shook my head and she narrowed her eyes, her lips lifting in a half sneer. Mean as always. What the fuck was I still doing here?
“I’ll see you around then.” I tipped my head, stuffed my cowboy hat on my head, and walked outside without looking back. I didn’t have to in order to feel the lick of her hot gaze between my shoulder blades, likely wishing she had her rifle sighted on that spot instead.
The bitter wind kicked around my body, picking up loose snow. Each footstep sent up a flurry. This winter had been a hard one and it didn’t look like it was stopping anytime soon.
I shivered and tucked my face into my Carhartt coat. Mama had always joked that she hoped the snow was melted by my birthday.
My summer birthday. My twenty-ninth birthday.
I didn’t have much time. Bristol would get every cent of my trust if I didn’t marry by then. Mama had told me that Bristol was like a daughter to her and if she could ever find a way to raise her instead of Danny, she would. But after she’d died, after the way Bristol had acted, like my mother had never existed?
I wouldn’t let her get a damn cent.
________
Will Dawson be more determined to keep the money or win Bristol? Find out in King’s Country.
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