King's Treasure (Oil Kings Book 3) by Marie Johnston (great novels .TXT) 📗

any hint that he thought I was only with Xander for the money.

“Actually, only my family calls me Sapphire.”

His grin turned sly. “Do you like them?”

“Most days.”

“Sapphire it is, seeing as how we’re family now. Come on in. The bedroom is the same as you left it.” That last remark was aimed at Xander.

He leaned down to my ear. “It’s a full bed at least.”

I giggled and Dawson looked back at us, his brow quirking. “How was the flight?”

“Long.”

“And grueling in the jet, right,” Dawson said wryly as he bolted up the steps of the porch. He held the front door open for us. “Xander said that you don’t eat much meat, so I went to the farmer’s market and scored some butternut squash and a spaghetti squash. I had to fight Mrs. Pemberly for the eggs the McKinley girl was selling, but I got a couple dozen.”

“Mrs. Pemberly still hates you for losing every library book you ever checked out.”

Dawson’s grin was unrepentant. “She’s the only lady I haven’t won over yet.”

“The only?”

Dawson lost his grin. “I said lady. Bristol Cartwright doesn’t count.”

I played the name through my mind. Xander saw my confusion and clarified, “The neighbor.”

“The still-broke neighbor cuz you tolerate Xander.” Dawson chortled and led us into a kitchen that was set off from the rest of the main floor by an island and breakfast bar. The open layout inside the house showed off the woodwork and the rustic railing running along the stairs and the second-floor landing. “What’s your poison? Coffee? Lemonade? Beer?”

“Water,” I croaked. I missed drinking water willy-nilly. Xander had mentioned that he’d never take drinking water for granted after his travels, and I understood why now.

“Mountain spring water, coming right up.” He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it at the faucet.

I wasn’t expecting anything more than water, but damn. Cold fluid wicked down my throat without the oily residue that bottled water always seemed to leave behind. “It’s good.”

“Rural water at its finest. I’ve tasted some that has a plastic chaser, but not King’s Creek water.” Dawson’s smile was so proud, and realization dawned. King’s Creek.

“Is the town named after your family?”

Xander put his hand on my back. “Yes, but both our mom’s side and our dad’s side have been here forever. The land is from Dad’s side and the oil is from Mama’s.”

I drained my glass and set it on the granite countertop. This cabin was so unlike the ones I’d spent my last few months cleaning.

I sagged at the reminder of how far we’d traveled in a short amount of time.

Xander steered me toward the stairs. “We’re going to have to catch up to mountain time.”

“Take all the time you need,” said Dawson. “The others are coming later so we’ll work cattle this weekend.”

Xander didn’t reply as he led me upstairs and carried our bags.

“I slept on the plane, but I’m exhausted.” I shot him a regretful look. “I’m afraid I might replay my first night in Kosovo.” I’d fallen asleep so hard he could barely fit himself into the bed and then I’d slept fifteen hours.

“It’s not a problem. You get used to the jet lag and having to adjust in new and unusual places.”

How much did I want to get used to it? What kind of career would I have, traveling that much?

Xander stopped at a door midway down the hall, set down the suitcases, and opened it up. His childhood bedroom. Our place for the next . . . I didn’t know how long we’d be here, or where we were going next.

This was his life, the way my husband lived. It was the way I was now living. And I’d learned enough about myself during the last six months to know that while I enjoyed traveling, and I appreciated having the ability to go where I wanted, I wanted a place to call my own. And I was afraid to have that talk with Xander.

Xander

The rolling gait of Fool’s Gold under me was its own therapy. As a teen, I’d taken off on him for hours, sometimes the whole day, after fights with Dad. Today, Dawson was with me, and he hadn’t stopped talking. No wonder I always took off alone.

“Beck and Eva are flying down on Friday. It’s just them. Her brother’s been down a few times. Good guy—I almost talked him into a job.”

“Doesn’t he develop apps or video games?”

“Yeah, but it can be pretty sedentary. He takes to this stuff like a fish in the stock pond.”

“Do you need the extra help?”

Dawson lifted a shoulder. “I’m thinking about bringing a third person on. There’s always more work to do.”

I nodded and kept riding. I’d gotten up early enough to help Dawson with chores. Savvy had still been sleeping when we’d gotten back for breakfast, so Dawson and I had saddled up the horses. Riding through our land loosened the tension that had built the closer the plane got to King’s Creek.

Dawson squinted in the sun and adjusted his cowboy hat. “What about you? What are you doing for work?” At my side-eye, his grin was unrepentant. “Might as well practice your answer. You know everyone’s going to ask.”

“Everyone” being my other two brothers and Dad. “Odd jobs here and there while I take some pictures.”

“Where’s your camera?”

“In my room where it won’t get dropped in some pasture.”

Dawson tsked. “Didn’t realize it was a sensitive subject.”

“It’s not.”

“What odd jobs then?” The wry note in Dawson’s voice was enough to set my teeth on edge. He thought my photography was a sensitive subject and maybe it was, but only because no one understood it or what it meant to me.

“I just got done helping a buddy expand his outdoor business—hiking and camping and stuff. Savvy helped clean cabins and I helped build a couple more. Then we both did guided tours.”

“How are things . . . with the wife?”

“You mean are we going to stay married for a year so the bastard next door doesn’t get the