King's Country (Oil Kings #4) - Marie Johnston Page 0,62
was in town in the middle of the afternoon.
I needed an oil filter for the pickup. I tossed my sunglasses on the seat next to me and slid out. The hardware store was in a new building on the opposite end of town from my place. Nelson Hammond, the town’s mayor, had built it a few years ago. The farm and ranch industry around King’s Creek, and the hour-plus drive to either Miles City or Billings, kept the store in the black.
Inside, I went directly for the filters—and stopped when I saw Emma. I rounded the end cap and stared at oil plugs in the next aisle. I didn’t need any, but I wouldn’t have to make nice with the nurse who used to date Dawson.
It wasn’t that I was jealous. It was that . . . I didn’t know how to act. She’d been kind to me. She’d seemed to care and it hadn’t been an act to impress Dawson. Did I just say hi? Did I nod? Or since we weren’t at her work, she could act differently and I’d realize she’d only been nice because it was her job.
I didn’t people well. I only knew how to be a Cartwright, and I didn’t want to default to that.
I peeked down the aisle to see if she’d moved on yet. A man curved around the other side just as Emma selected a box from the shelf.
“Whaddya need, Emma?”
My stomach dropped. Ugh. I knew that booming voice. Creeper Hammond. His real name was Crawford or something that was supposed to be cultured enough for the son of Nelson Hammond, whose father had also been mayor. But every female under the age of thirty called him Creeper. He’d embraced the nickname like it was Bruiser or Maverick.
Creeper strutted around town like he was a gimme for the next election his daddy didn’t run for. In high school, he’d tried to pin me against the lockers and feel me up when the hallway was empty. I’d shoved him away, late for class, then gotten detention because he’d told the teacher I’d punched him.
I had. I’d kneed him in the balls too.
So Creeper didn’t mess with me, but I’d heard enough murmurings over the years to know he hadn’t changed and he was body positive in the worst way. Several pictures of his privates floated around the internet and landed uninvited in women’s inboxes. When in doubt, whip it out had become his motto. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some date-rape experience under his belt that his daddy had swept under the rug.
“Uh, nothing,” Emma said cautiously. “I’m just getting some oil.”
Creeper’s voice dropped a few octaves. “You have a leak that needs to be plugged, Emma?”
I could’ve gagged. How could a grown man not hear how gross that sounded?
“No. I’m finding what I need. Thanks, Creeper.” Emma held strong, but that wasn’t going to be enough to get Creeper to leave her alone. It was coffee time. All the old ranchers that shopped here in the morning would be at the diner on Main Street. Everyone else would drop by during their lunch hour or after work. Creeper thought he had Emma to himself for a few minutes.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “Tell me what you need. I bet I’ve got it.”
“Actually, if you could just move over a few inches, I can find what I need and be on my way.”
“A few inches,” Creeper purred and a shudder raced down my spine. Ick. “Let me show you that I have more than a few—”
I charged around the end cap and strode down the aisle. Creeper saw me first and dropped his hand from his fly. His face lost a few shades of color before annoyance took over.
“Hey, Creeper.” I didn’t slow. Emma’s eyes grew wide. “Do you still have my footprint on your nuts?”
“Cartwright.” His mouth twisted like I’d shoved a lime between his thin lips. “Go on about your own business. We don’t need—”
“But you’re going to show your junk to Emma? I didn’t hear her ask for it. In fact, she asked you to back off.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not dropping trou in the middle of the store.”
Emma spoke up. “I heard that you like to flash, and I wish I could continue not believing it. Should we call you Flasher instead?”
Creeper flushed a blotchy red.
I cocked my head. “I agree. Creeper isn’t strong enough to describe how you shoved your hand up my shirt.”