5
SABRINA
Dusty Creek
It had only been a few months since Hank’s funeral, the reading of the will, and the whole Ronnie-and-Clayton drama. But it was like I was seeing Dusty Creek for the first time. Had it always been this brown, I wondered? And small?
I drove my silver Mercedes through the main drag and parked in front of The Bar. The least original name for a bar that had ever existed. Still, it was the only one in town and it was the fastest way to spread the news of my return.
It was also a good way to let people know that, if any strangers came to town looking for me, I needed to know about it.
I had almost managed to convince myself that the stalker from LA who’d sent me all those threatening emails wasn’t the same person I had seen on the jogging trail in Dallas.
Almost.
If this person was planning on following me to Dusty Creek, there was no way a stranger in this small town would go unnoticed.
I did a quick check in the rearview mirror and refreshed my lip gloss. I got out of the car and made my way inside. Long narrow space, dim lighting, the smell of fried everything, and a long line of people sitting at the bar watching the big-screen TV.
The bartender was someone I didn’t recognize. Not that I came here all that often when I was in town. But I could see the place had changed from the time when Hank would bring us here to eat every once in a while, once he’d deemed we were old enough.
He’d called it bonding time with his girls. We called it sitting at a table with Hank watching him eat fried shit and drink whiskey until eventually he was too drunk to drive home. Fortunately, Ronnie had her license by then.
Yeah. Good times.
I made my way through the place, not oblivious to those who were checking me out. It was Dusty Creek, after all. Most of the customers sitting at the long bar were men and not used to someone dressed like I was walking into their space. Especially alone. It would take a few seconds for them to realize who I was.
“Sabrina King. You home?” I saw the older man sitting on a stool. I’d known Walt growing up. He’d been Hank’s foreman for years until he retired.
“Hey, Walt. Yes, for now.”
“Good. There should be a King at The King’s Land.”
“Glad you think so, Walt. And thank your son again for all the help with the horses, with Oscar and Trudy being out of town.”
“Making good money,” Walt said. “He don’t mind it.”
I continued until I found an open stool at the end of the bar. Once seated I looked over my shoulder to stare back at the men who were openly watching me. It was best to get this part out of the way.
“Gentlemen.”
I got a few mumbles. A few hellos. Everyone in this town knew the King family. Didn’t mean they all liked us. What with us owning all the land and having all the money, I suppose.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked. Then he held up his hand. “I can tell you right now I don’t have any goddamn champagne.”
“A fan of the show, I see.” I was guessing that’s why he suspected I might order champagne.
“No.”
Clearly not someone who enjoyed idle chitchat. “Okay. White wine? Any kind you have will be fine.”
He nodded and went to grab a wineglass. I fiddled with my ponytail and hooked the heels of my expensive shoes on a rung of the stool.
“Hey there, li’l girl,” the first man up said. “Aren’t you that reality TV something-or-other princess?”
I turned on my stool to face him. I didn’t know him by name but he looked familiar. Everyone in Dusty Creek looked familiar. Maybe he worked on one of the cattle ranches in the area.
“I am.” I smiled. “Would you like a picture?”
