Racked and Stacked Read online

  “That wasn’t my fault.” She swiped his coffee and drained it. “You picked the snoozefest movie about fishing.”

  “A River Runs Through It ain’t about fishing. If you woulda stayed awake you’d know that.” He pried the mug from her hand. “And get your own damn coffee.”

  Riss sighed. “The honeymoon period of you waiting on me hand and foot is officially over.”

  “Get up earlier if you want the full treatment, darlin’.”

  “What time did you roll out of bed?”

  “When the alarm went off at five a.m.”

  “Why?”

  He chuckled at her horrified expression. “To deal with the livestock.”

  “Oh. Right. I forget that’s part of the gig with you cowboy types who love country livin’.”

  “I’ll remind you I wasn’t raised on a ranch. If I could find a reliable hired hand to spread hay and shovel shit, I’d happily pass it off.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  Because I don’t have a spare nickel these days.

  “Because I’d take a rash of shit from Renner, Tobin, Hugh, Hank, Abe, Bran, Kyle and Fletch about bein’ a pussy. Easier to do it myself than make myself a target for the real country types who do love country livin’.”

  “Sucks to be you, dude. Anyway, I’m ready to go.”

  His gaze slid over her. Damn. She looked fine today with her hair down and those corkscrew curls just begging for a man to twine them around his fingers. She hadn’t bothered with makeup besides adding gloss to her lips. His perusal stopped at her neck. He didn’t care what clothes she had on because he couldn’t see past her smile. “Where am I takin’ you?”

  “Out of this house.”

  “How about Casper? We could grab lunch.”

  “Rawlins is closer.” She sidled up to him. “Or are you embarrassed to be seen with me in your hometown?”

  “No. Trust me . . . you look good enough to eat.” Dammit, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t say shit like that after their close call yesterday afternoon. “But I’m near guaranteed to run into one of my sisters if we’re in Rawlins. They have an uncanny ability to find me and, sweet cheeks, I don’t feel like—”

  “Explaining me.”

  He smiled. “I’ll start the truck.”

  The sun shone, giving the illusion of warmer temps than the mercury indicated. But it was a pretty morning. Even the snowdrifts had an extra sparkle in the sunlight.

  They didn’t speak, nor did Ike turn on the radio.

  When they were within five miles of Casper, he said, “What’s your favorite restaurant?”

  “I usually eat at one of the truck stops.”

  “Not today. I’ve got a place in mind if you trust my judgment.”

  “You’ve been cooking for me all week so it’s only fair that you pick the place and I pay.”

  He shook his head. “I pick. I pay.”

  “Fine. If those are the rules then I’ll pick.”

  “Don’t matter. I’ll still pay.”

  “Ike.”

  “Larissa. You can’t win, so give up.”

  She laughed. “And you claim I’m stubborn.”

  Ike chose Reuben’s Diner. Couldn’t go wrong with comfort food and cozy private booths.

  After placing their orders, he caught Riss studying him. “What?”

  “How many dates have you brought here?”

  “A few. Why?”

  She shrugged. “Just curious if you had a routine laid out. Dine at Reuben’s. Catch a movie at the C-plex. Then rock the rocker panels getting down to funky-monkey business in the truck.”

  Christ. “Do you lie in bed at night and think this kinda stuff up?”

  “Sometimes. So, tell me if I’m right.”

  “I’m thrilled to say . . . you’re wrong.”

  “Shoot.” She smirked. “Bein’ wrong happens so rarely that you’ll wanna write it on the calendar to mark the occasion.”

  He laughed. He never would’ve thought being with her would be so easy.

  “What’s your favorite thing to do in Casper?”

  “There’ve been some great concerts at the Events Center.”

  “I can’t do concerts. They crank the music so loud that my eyeballs pulse. FYI: Pulsing eyeballs? Not fun.” She swirled her soda with a straw. “I’d rather go to the symphony. Too bad you missed Jade’s debut. Her solo was amazing.”

  “No offense, but you don’t seem like the type to dig classical music.”

  “My dad loved it. I used to tag along when he worked in the garage on the weekend. He amassed a ton of info on classical music, especially for a mechanic with grease-stained hands.”

  He didn’t detect embarrassment that her father had been blue collar, which was a refreshing change from other women he’d hooked up with who were trying to outrun their pasts. “Class and culture don’t have economic boundaries.”

  “Class doesn’t, but culture absolutely does. He didn’t have cash to pay someone to ‘culture’ him so he learned about music on his own.” She looked up at him. “Which in some ways was better because it meant so much to him.”

  “You’re so damn smart.”

  Riss gave him a cheesy wink. “Not bad for a chick with just a high school diploma and a Commercial Driver’s License. So what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Did you go to college or trade school?”

  He shook his head. “School of Hard Knocks. Right after high school I needed to work to support my sisters.”

  “Was there life insurance?”

  “Yeah, but by the time I paid off the medical bills there wasn’t anything left.”

  Riss threaded her fingers through his. “It’s weird how we came from similar situations, but reversed birth order.”

  “Kindred spirits. That explains why we’ve always gotten along so well.”

  She laughed. “Smart-ass.”

  Their meals arrived.

  After they’d eaten and had returned to the truck, Riss yawned. “Where to now?”

  “Home. You’ll be asleep five minutes after we’re on the highway.”

  “No, I won’t. I promise to stay awake, but you’ve gotta talk to me.”

  Ike sent her a sideways glance. “As long as we don’t talk about JSC. At all.”

  “Fine, roomie. Let’s see how similar our histories really are.”

  “Nope, nice try. But you haven’t been lewd and crude for a couple of days, and I’m your captive audience, so I’m betting your questions will all be sex related, and I don’t need to drive with a hard-on for the next hour.”

  “Just talking about sex will get you hard?”

  Just talking about sex with you will get me hard. Because then I’ll imagine how hot the sex would be with you. What sounds you’d make with my mouth sucking your tits and my fingers fucking you.

  “Ike?”

  “Gimme a sec, I’m coming up with a question.”

  Riss started humming the Jeopardy! theme song.

  “Got it.”

  “Hit me.”

  “Favorite sport to play when you were a kid.”

  “Like, group sport? Probably kickball. There wasn’t money for club soccer or hockey or volleyball.” She looked at him. “Your turn.”

  “Football. I didn’t do extracurricular either since cash was tight. In high school I joined rodeo club so I didn’t have to pay to watch my friends compete.”

  “Smart.” She tapped the console. “My turn. Who was your first big crush?”

  “Like someone famous?”

  “Sure.”

  He blurted out, “Anna Nicole Smith.”

  “Because . . . ?”

  “Curvy body and those tits. Man.” He looked at her. “Now you. Who were you
crushing on?”

  “Spice Girls. I wore out one CD entirely. I so wanted to be part of their posse. As far as guy crushes? Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

  “Why him?”

  “It was the first time I understood that people weren’t all good or all evil. That you could be both and there’d be times in your life when one would overtake the other.” She smirked. “Plus, I like blond guys.”

  Was she yanking his chain? He couldn’t tell.

  “Your turn, blondie,” she said with a laugh.

  Definitely yanking his chain. “How did you become a truck driver?”

  “By chance. Casper High School had a test program my senior year with Sage Truck Driving School. Kind of an overview course of the different requirements for a Commercial Driver’s License. No girls were on the list, which was bullshit, so I signed up. Anyway, after the course ended and I’d done well—better than any of my male classmates—they offered me an admission slot for the summer. I took it and haven’t looked back. The only downside was bein’ so young when I graduated. I had to take a lot of shit jobs—not just shitty driving jobs—to make a living. But it taught me self-reliance.”

  “So, I noticed when we picked your stuff up that you’ve added a dump truck to your fleet.”

  “Fleet. Hah. Hard to justify keeping any of the trailers since I don’t own a semitruck. I tried the owner-operator route and it didn’t work for me, nearly sent me into bankruptcy. I’m better off driving for someone else like Tito and Desert Plains. I own the bull hauler and the cargo van outright. The other trailers I co-own with Lonnie and Lloyd—including the dump truck. I found it at an auction and it needed an overhaul, which chases most bidders away. But I’ve got an ace in the hole with Lonnie and Lloyd both bein’ mechanics, so we went halvsies on it. We’ll probably put it up for sale this spring when construction is in full swing again.”

  “Riss, darlin’, if you don’t own a semitruck outright, then how did you plan to haul bulls for JSC?” It bothered him that she’d led them to believe she was fully equipped to work with them.

  “The few times JSC hired me I rented the semi from Tito and hooked up my bull hauler. If there’d been any indication you’d need a full-time driver, I probably would’ve considered buying a semi. As it is now . . . I—we—make more money renting out the trailers to other drivers for short hauls.”

  When she rested her head against the window and remained silent for several long moments, Ike jostled her leg. “Hey. No sleeping.”

  “Then talk to me.”

  “Ask me a question.”

  “What’s the most fun thing you ever learned how to do that you didn’t get paid for?”

  “That was random.”

  She shrugged. “It’s on the same lines of how I got interested in driving. I didn’t get paid to take that course in high school. In fact, I had to quit my waitressing job for six weeks because all of the training was after school and on weekends.”

  Ike didn’t have a long list of employers and part-time jobs. He’d had little free time in the years he’d raised his sisters to learn new skills. He knew enough about basic mechanics to get by, but he wasn’t interested in any skill that required a garage full of specialized tools. It wasn’t that he didn’t like getting his hands dirty—he dealt with livestock nearly every day and he’d spent numerous weekends fixing fence with his rancher buddies—he just wasn’t interested in building shit from scratch.

  Until he’d worked with Holt on his house. Something about the scent of fresh-sawn lumber, the rapid beat of hammers on wood and metal, the sense of accomplishment for his contribution, no matter how small, had given him a different perspective. And one he hadn’t thought of in a long damn time.

  “Ike?”

  “Sorry. Helping Holt build my house was fun. I wasn’t setting roof trusses or framing out windows or pouring concrete, but I saw it all done. It helped too that Holt didn’t treat me like an idiot who oughta know the basics.”

  Riss reached for his hand. “Everyone needs a friend like that.”

  “Or better yet, we should try to be that type of friend.” Ike felt her staring at him. “What?”

  “Sometimes you say things that remind me you’re more than a hot-bodied cowboy charmer with a ridiculous smile and super awesome hair.”

  He granted her a ridiculous smile. “Why, thank you, sweet cheeks.”

  His cell phone rang through his navigation system. The screen read: LEA.

  He released Riss’s hand and poked the ANSWER CALL icon. “Hello?”

  “Ike, omigod, I’m so glad I caught you! Everything is a disaster and I don’t know what to do. First it was one thing and now it’s like the universe is conspiring against me.”

  “Lea, slow down and tell me what’s goin’ on.”

  “The shower isn’t draining. Water is running out the base and I’ve used all my towels to try and soak it up.”

  “You didn’t notice the drain was plugged when you were standing ankle deep in water?” Lea took notoriously long, hot showers.

  Riss snickered.

  “Well, I guess I did. I was thinking about my test next week and time got away from me.”

  “When was the last time you used drain cleaner?”

  Silence. Then, “Drain cleaner? Ike . . . I don’t know what that is.”

  “You pour it in to dissolve hair clogs.”

  “Eww! I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “You’ll have to buy some. Just ask the clerk at the store.”

  “But . . . I don’t have time to go to the store. That’s what I was trying to tell you! I have a project due, no food in my apartment, a clogged shower—and I think my neighbor’s cat might be dead on my balcony.”

  He’d laugh, but Lea would start crying and then he’d have to deal with that too.

  “Can you please come over and help me?”

  For a moment, he wondered what fiercely independent Riss was thinking about his very dependent youngest sister.

  “Please?” Lea pleaded.

  “I’m in my truck drivin’ between Casper and Muddy Gap. So it’ll be at least an hour before I can get there.”

  “That’s perfect. Thank you so much! You’re the best brother ever! Love you!” The call ended.

  He sighed. “Sorry. I’ll have to drop you off first because . . . well, you heard.”

  “Yeah.” She stared out the passenger’s window. “Do your sisters need your help with stuff like this very often?”

  “Lea more than Jen or Kay. But when things go to hell in their lives, or at least they believe that it has, I’m first on the call list.”

  “What would Lea have done if you’d said no?”

  Ike’s hand tightened on the steering wheel.

  “You never say no to them, do you?” Riss answered for him.

  “Not usually.”

  “What do they do when you’re out of town?”

  “Wait until I get back,” he joked.

  Ten minutes passed in silence.

  Ike was grateful that Riss had fallen asleep. Now he wouldn’t have to try and explain why he gave so much time and attention to his sisters. Nor would he have to admit to her—and to himself—how little they reciprocated. Lea hadn’t asked him about Riss, when he knew damn well Jen had spread the news to her and Kay after her visit.

  Then again, he wouldn’t know how to describe his relationship with Riss to them when he didn’t understand it himself. It seemed to change every damn day.

  An owl-eyed Riss sent him a questioning gaze when he parked his truck in the driveway. “You’ll be all right on your own for a few hours?”

  “I’ll probably sleep some more.” She yawned. “Getting out of the house was great, thank you. But I hate how tired I am.”

  Ike helped her out of the truck and into his front e
ntryway. As he unbuttoned her coat and unwound her scarf he said, “Text me if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  But he knew she wouldn’t. “I’ll be back before supper.”

  “No worries. Do what you need to. It’s not like I’m goin’ anywhere.”

  She shuffled off to her bedroom.

  * * *

  The next day, Riss was determined to make up for lost time in sorting out the JSC paperwork, since Ike hadn’t returned until nearly nine the previous evening.

  Guilt still gnawed at him because she’d fed herself and crawled in bed.

  Some great caretaker he made.

  So he’d slapped on a happy face when she suggested tackling the boxes of files.

  The woman was a one-armed bulldog, pawing through papers with a single-minded concentration that made Ike feel like a slacker.

  Face it: you are a slacker. The more she digs, the more obvious it’ll become.

  “Ike, is there a master list?”

  “Uh. No.”

  Riss shuffled through a pile of papers. “Here’s a list.” She scanned the words with her pen. “There are a lot of smaller, one-day events that don’t have a check mark. What does that mean?”

  “That neither of us had contact with the event coordinators in the past year.”

  Her gaze trapped his. “But this list is duplicated someplace else with the details of follow-up contact?”

  “Nope. That’s the only list with the info. No need to duplicate it when it’s blank.”

  “It shouldn’t be blank. There should be notes on who was the main contact. If there was a secondary contact. The dates you called to discuss next year’s schedule. If there wasn’t a convo with a real live person, that should be noted. As should the date of the second attempt of contact. And the third . . . and so on.”

  “In makin’ the calls, sometimes the phone number wasn’t current and neither was the contact person. I’d reckon about half the names and numbers on that list fall into that category.”

  “If you’d kept accurate records, you’d have that exact information.”

  Ike kept his laid-back posture and granted her an easy smile. “Salesmen are notorious for their bad record keeping, darlin’. Say I’m on the road at an event. When I’m chatting with Barbara, the event coordinator, my focus is on selling our services to her. Face time is crucial. I need to make an impression so when I follow up with Barbara, she remembers me.”