Emma said wryly, then her expression sobered. “Look, when I was in high school, I broke my leg. It makes doing the essentials tough. You know what I mean.” She patted my leg. “I’ve gotta get in and help the doc.”
“She can stay with me,” I blurted. I’d seen Bristol’s house. The trailer she’d grown up in. It’d been in rough shape when I was a kid. I’d be surprised if it survived this storm.
Emma gawked at me. “Seriously?”
“She’s a pain in the ass, but I don’t hate her, Emma.”
“The King–Cartwright feud stops for a broken leg? I’m glad there’s limits.”
I shrugged. The words it isn’t my feud dangled on the tip of my tongue.
Chapter 2
Bristol
“No. Absolutely not.” I stared at the nurse who was clearly infatuated with the frustrating man waiting to take me home—to his home—in the waiting room. Emma had informed me of his offer like I’d won the King’s Creek lottery. You get one night under the Kings’ roof with the great Dawson King!
“How about I let him in and you two can hash it out?”
The doctor had come and gone, barely sparing me a glance. He’d done no more than he had to, putting the cast on and sloughing the rest of the work onto Emma. When Pop had died, he’d left a lifetime of unpaid medical bills behind. Ones he’d never planned on paying. Pop’s rough voice rattled in my mind. They can’t refuse treatment. Assholes.
Dr. Jangula probably assumed I was the same. Unfortunately, I had no clue how I was going to pay.
My jeans had been sliced and diced and I had on nothing more than paper shorts from the lab-slash-X-ray department. My pale legs were covered with a warm blanket Emma had brought in. She’d had the young aide grab two more when she’d seen how badly I was shivering.
“Why’s he still here?” I snarled. Now that my leg was secured against unwanted movement, the pain wasn’t as bad. I was only nauseated and not outright gagging. My legs were covered with bandages, and the small cuts and abrasions burned like tiny brands, but at least that pain was diffuse and not concentrated in one spot.
My fingers and toes weren’t as numb as when Dawson had found me. I’d narrowly escaped frostbite and wasn’t shivering thanks to the warmed blankets Emma had brought. Dr. Jangula’s bedside manner sucked, but I was patched up and had gotten a tetanus shot. There was nothing left to do.
Emma’s gaze softened. “Dawson’s a good guy.”
Ugh, I didn’t need this. Dawson was the golden boy and I was the town’s very own wicked witch. The one whose mom hadn’t bothered to stick around long after birth. “I don’t need him.”
Emma pursed her lips and she eased onto the edge of the bed. “Bristol, do you have anyone else to call?”
“I lost my phone in the fall.” My empty excuse fell dead between us. She knew I was full of shit, and I didn’t care to have one of Dawson’s lovers witness my low point.
I’d run into Emma and Dawson on a date. She’d been dressed exactly how Marshall wished I would’ve dressed the night I was supposed to meet his parents: silky leggings and a glittery shirt that was flattering and elegant, her ankle boots only pulling the look together. Emma was everything I wasn’t. She was smart, had a successful job, and would make the parents of whomever she settled with proud.
I was not envious of the girls Dawson dated. There were too many to count.
“Is there a friend you can call?”
My cheeks burned, the warmest they’d been all day. I didn’t bother to shake my head and confirm her assumption that I had no friends. The whole town knew I was a loner.
“Boyfriend?” she asked softly.
“None of your business,” I mumbled, the conversation with Marshall pinballing through my brain.
“Well, Dawson’s willing to help. I say you hear him out. Can I bring him in?”
“No.” At her steady gaze, I sighed. “Fine. Then I can tell him to leave.”
She nodded and left. I combed my fingers through my hair. It was a tangled mess. I was a tangled mess. I had on a worn Montana State sweatshirt I’d gotten from a thrift store in Miles City. Marshall had scoffed at secondhand stores, so I’d only stopped there before going to his place.
Dawson swaggered through the door, his expression guarded, like he expected me to attack. He had on a black stocking hat with the King’s Ranch