Racked and Stacked Page 13

  Riss scribbled on the list and then snapped it in his face. “It took me literally two seconds to jot that down. Two seconds. With my left hand.”

  “What’d you write?”

  “Barbara, first contact and the date. You could also put in personal info, like if she is a ranch woman or a rodeo queen or if she goes everywhere with a three-legged dog.”

  “Them kinda details?” He tapped his temple. “It’s all up here. So it sounds natural and not like I memorized stats from a master list.” In a robotic tone he said, “‘Barbara Duncan, of the Skyview Rodeo Committee. How are you today? How is your dog Fido? Could we discuss the benefits of hiring Jackson Stock Contracting.’”

  Riss didn’t even crack a smile. “All right, Mr. It’s All Up Here”—she tapped her temple—“what can you tell me about . . .” She snatched another list off the pile. “Marietta Eichenberg?”

  “You gonna at least give me a hint on which event she runs?”

  “Sure. Sun Valley.”

  Sun Valley? Where the hell was that? Ike’s mind went completely blank. Then his stomach roiled—just like it had in high school when faced with a pop quiz. And also like in high school, he flashed an aw-shucks smile that kept him out of teacher trouble. “Afraid you stumped me on that one, darlin’.”

  “Okay. How about . . . D. J. Jeffers? Man? Woman? Heads up the Madison County Fair?”

  “You sure you’re lookin’ at the right list?” He leaned forward, resting his forearms above his knees, like he could somehow cheat and see the right answer.

  “There are a couple of check marks by the names at the bottom, so that indicates you handled this list.”

  “Read me one of the names with a check mark.”

  Riss looked at him. “I did. D. J. Jeffers has a check beside it.”

  “Nothin’ else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Dammit, how did this list slip through?”

  “Ike. That’s one of three incomplete lists. How many more are in there”—she pointed to the stack of papers in front of her—“and in there?”—and then to the four boxes on the floor.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t have a fuckin’ clue.”

  “When was the last time you pulled information from these boxes?”

  “Late fall, before I had to switch gears and start shipping cattle.”

  Her expression read: You’ve been slacking on this for over two months?

  “Then all the prewedding stuff—”

  “Kept you too busy to attend to your business? Because I remember you admitting that your part in the wedding party was to show up in a suit and hold the rings.”

  “Fine. I suck at this record-keeping stuff. You happy now?”

  Riss’s gaze turned laser sharp. “Why would I be happy? Your disorganization cost me money. JSC only managed to score four events last year.”

  “Six,” he corrected. “We had to use another bull hauler for two events since you were unavailable.”

  Ike expected her to snap back, but she didn’t say a word.

  She let the paper in her hand float down to the table . . . like a mike drop. Then she rose from her chair. “My head is spinning. I’m gonna lie down for a bit.”

  “Do you need—”

  “No. I’m good.” She stopped halfway across the living room before she turned around. “You need to organize those papers if we hope to get anywhere with them.”

  He smiled. “I’m on it.” The second she was gone, he pressed his forehead to the table and groaned.

  Organize them? He thought that was what they were doing. Together.

  If he had an idea how to do it himself, he would’ve already done it.

  In the brokering business, he’d paid a secretary to keep his client files organized and up to date. All he had to do to access information was click on the program and the color-coordinated spreadsheet appeared like magic.

  Yeah, you were spoiled.

  Over the years Ike had gone to great pains to hide the truth he wasn’t book smart. In high school he’d struggled to carry a low C average. He hated to read; he hated to write. Even now he spent very little time on the computer. Facebook and social media didn’t interest him. If he wanted to sit in front of a screen for hours on end, he’d turn on the damn TV.

  People who geeked out over gadgets and technology? He didn’t get it—literally; he didn’t understand half of what they yammered on about. Ike considered himself lucky that he hadn’t needed technical knowledge to start working at Stocksellers all those years ago. He had a diploma, a knack for selling things, a mentor and three sisters to support. That was all he needed to succeed.

  When technology first started creeping into the brokering world, Ike made a good show of embracing it. Then the company began losing clients due to live-stream sales. The personal connection between the stock growers and the brokers didn’t matter as much as the bottom line.

  He’d barely been a decade into funding his retirement when Stocksellers “refocused” their business plan. At thirty-seven years old he’d been released from the only real job he’d ever had.

  It embarrassed him.

  It confused him.

  It depressed the hell out of him.

  Not that anyone—his sisters or his friends—had caught on. They still saw the laid-back guy, the charming salesman, the always-there big brother, the buddy his friends could count on to share a beer with or lend them a hand, and not the unemployed loser.

  Ike hid his emotions so well that some days he believed he was okay.

  Then there were the other days. The dark ones.

  No one knew he suffered from severe insomnia. No one figured out his weight loss was from anxiety. No one knew some days he’d get up and aimlessly drive hundreds of miles.

  Speaking of hundreds of miles . . . He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and called Hugh.

  But by the second ring, he felt like a pussy asking for advice on how to alphabetize shit.

  “Ike. Hey. What’s up?”

  “Not much. Freezin’ my nuts off. How about you?”

  “Smoggy here today.”

  “Now that the weather talk is outta the way, I have a question. I’m reorganizing the paperwork Renner gave us from previous rodeo events. Not sure if I oughta file them alphabetically by the event name, or by state with subfolders.”

  “Why would you refile them by state? There are only about ten states that we dealt with. Chronological order of the events, separated by year, is how we did it.”

  He forced a chuckle. “Guess I don’t need to reinvent the wheel, huh?”

  “Nope. That said, at this point all my event information down here is potential. When an event becomes actual, then I’ll have to create another spreadsheet.”

  “That’s a smart idea,” he said, without understanding a lick of what Hugh had just said.

  “Why are you digging through that old paperwork again? Didn’t you comb through all of the boxes last year?”

  Ike had made it through one box and hadn’t found anything useful or interesting, so it seemed a waste of time to paw through even older paperwork. “Since Riss is staying here we’re backtracking in hopes of discovering some jewel of info we might’ve missed.”

  A pause. “If you run into questions about a specific event, e-mail me a copy of the contact and I’ll see if it jogs my memory.”

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  “How’re things goin’ with Riss? She’s been there a week now?”

  “She improves every day. We’ll see how much improvement when she goes to the doctor next week.”

  “You’re even taking her to doctor’s appointments?”

  His retort—Who else would do it?—stayed unspoken. Ike knew all she’d have to do was pick up the phone and half a dozen people would
be there to help her out.

  “This is her first checkup since surgery.”

  “I wish her well. Bet you’ll be glad when she can go home.”

  Actually no. Turns out I like having her here.

  “Speaking of . . . Harlow just walked in so I gotta go.”

  “Later.”

  Ike skirted the boxes and snagged a beer from the fridge.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riss’s phone rang at eight thirty. She fumbled for it, casting a bleary eye at the caller ID. Why the hell was Jade calling her so damn early?

  “Hello?”

  “Morning! You up and around?”

  “Uh, no. Call me back in an hour.”

  “Don’t hang up. Drop your cock and grab your socks. I’m on my way to pick you up.”

  Riss released a sleepy groan. Of course that phrase would come back to bite her in the ass. How many times had she barked that same expression at Jade? She stifled a yawn. “Why are you coming here?”

  “Ike asked me to.”

  “When?”

  “Just now, after I finished prep work at the Split Rock. He and my handsome hubby are rounding up some cattle that got spooked by coyotes and he asked me to bring . . . ah . . . something to him.”

  “Something,” Riss repeated, pushing herself upright. “Like what? I can’t imagine Ike would keep anything here that he couldn’t borrow from the tack room at the Split Rock.”

  “Are you always so cranky this early in the morning?”

  “Yes.”

  Jade laughed. “Too bad. The truth is, Ike is sending me to pick you up.”

  She froze. “He is? Why?”

  “He said you have cabin fever. I’ll be there in ten minutes, using Ike’s garage door opener, so don’t shoot me or anything,” Jade warned her.

  “Lucky for you, I’m a lousy shot with my left hand.”

  “See you in a few.” Jade hung up.

  Riss shuffled into the bathroom and managed to complete her routine before she heard Jade’s cheerful voice outside her bedroom door.

  “Knock, knock.”

  “Come in.”

  As soon as Jade cleared the doorway, Riss said, “You’re just in time to help me choose an ensemble for today. Should I go with the Chanel sweater set? Or the Prada pantsuit?” She paused. “Oh right. It’ll be polyester floral shirt number three and yoga pants. Again.”

  “Which is why Ike told me to grab this.” She held up a dark gray fleece jacket. “It should keep you warm.”

  Riss unhooked the sling and pulled her baggy T-shirt over her head, leaving her topless.

  Modest Jade blushed when faced with Riss’s bare breasts. “Does Ike help you get dressed and undressed every day?”

  I wish. Riss’s thoughts rewound to the first couple of days she’d stayed here and Ike’s unintentional eroticism when he helped her and how she’d declined his help because his touch had been too much to handle. “Nope. I’m fairly self-sufficient now. With the exception of bras. I’m skipping them.” Of course, her struggle to get just a simple shirt on made a complete liar out of her and Jade had to step in and help.

  Riss eyed the fleece zip-up. “I’ll roast in that if I’m wearing a coat.”

  “Not where we’ll be.”

  “Which is where exactly?”

  “Outside. It’s a balmy ten degrees, the sun is shining and fresh air will do you good,” Jade chirped with entirely too much enthusiasm. “Now hold out your cast so I can slip this jacket on.”

  Ike’s scent surrounded Riss—the starchy aroma of laundry detergent and the cool crispness of the outdoors. Man. That was one of her favorite things about Ike’s daily demand of hugs: being enveloped in his scent. And his heat. Feeling that hard body against hers and knowing physical contact was something he only needed from her . . . made her feel a little smug.

  “Did you just sigh?” Jade asked.

  Rather than confessing the truth, Riss went on the offensive. “Maybe. I don’t get why you’re forcing me out of the house.”

  “For precisely that attitude. The Riss I know and love isn’t content sitting still. You’re always out doing something. ‘Homebody’ is the last term I’d use to describe you and yet here you stand, acting agoraphobic. If you truly don’t want to go, I won’t force you. But I thought it’d be fun to hang out for a few hours.”

  Riss sighed again. “I hate when you use logic on me.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “Let’s get the rest of your outerwear on and hit the trail.”

  * * *

  Riss could admit it was a gorgeous day outside.

  The sun shone. The air was crisp. The snow sparkled and crunched under her boots.

  She’d always loved cold weather—it was sort of a requirement of living in Wyoming. But there was something humbling about surviving blizzards and facing icy winds and frozen ground for months on end. Sometimes she believed living in harsh conditions made her appreciate the fleeting months of summer more than people who lived in places with mild temps year-round. But the truth was, she wouldn’t trade her snow boots, sweaters, gloves and jackets for shorts and tank tops. Give her a winter day like today, and all seemed right with the world.

  “This time I know what that sigh meant,” Jade said.

  Riss glanced over at her as they trudged through the partially broken crust of snow that marked the path between the main barn and the closest corral. “You heard that? Even through those ridiculous earmuffs?”

  The tops of Jade’s tiger earmuffs bobbed as she nodded. “You’re happy to be outside.”

  “I am. Thank you for bringing me.” Riss stopped, tilted her face to the sky and basked. “It’s so quiet out here.”

  “Until we run into the guys yelling at the cows and each other.”

  “But even with that, there’s a sense of peace. The cold weather just magnifies that feeling of isolation.” She refocused on the landscape. Drifts of snow weren’t only pure white. As hard as the wind blew, the red dirt was bound to leave its mark, so the mounds varied from ivory swirled with streaks of tan to the murky gray hue of cement. The lack of trees, structures and anything resembling civilization reinforced the sensation that not much had changed in a millennium or longer, besides a few fences and roads. How old were the root structures in the tall grasses popping up through the snowbanks? How many cycles of seasons had the skeletal sagebrush bushes survived?

  Few besides hard-core Wyomingites would see the beauty here. Tourists—hell, even most residents—preferred the “prettier” places in the Equality State, like Yellowstone National Park, Jackson Hole, the Tetons and the Bighorns. But Riss loved the vast emptiness of the topography between Rawlins and Casper. In sections she could see across the horizon: red dirt, blue sky, clusters of gray scrub oaks and sun-bleached grasses waving in the always-present wind. Then the road would wend through a canyon, and she’d find herself surrounded by granite-striped rock walls that absorbed the sunlight and gave off a sinister vibe. But eventually the walls crumbled, creating plateaus where the horizon-sky was once again visible.

  So she admired Renner Jackson for thumbing his nose at convention and building the Split Rock Ranch and Resort amid this odd slice of heaven.

  “Sorry. I could blather on about earth, wind, sky all day. Blame it on my Native roots.”

  “Is it stupid that I forget you’re part Native American?” Jade asked.

  “Nope. Some people don’t believe I have any Indian in me at all. It’s weird how genetics work. Lonnie and Louie have dark hair and brown eyes, while me’n Lloyd have green eyes. The origin of my red hair is a mystery.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see if any of my Asian and Spanish features get passed on to kiddos that Tobin and I might have.” She grinned. “Speaking of hot baby-daddies . . . there’s my man.”

  Riss turned to see four men on
horseback headed across the field.

  Her stomach did a slow roll. Lord. Was there anything sexier than a cowboy, all duded up in hat, boots, chaps and shearling coat as he sat atop a magnificent horse that kicked up puffs of snow with every hoofbeat?

  Yep. Four cowboys decked out like that and headed her way.

  But she only had eyes for one cowboy in particular.

  The lone blond.

  The one laughing and gesturing with his gloved free hand.

  The one who looked as comfortable atop a horse as the men beside him, despite the fact he hadn’t been ranch-raised like all the rest of them had been.

  The one whose broad shoulders straightened a little when he caught sight of her.

  She sighed.

  “I know, right?” Jade said beside her. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to the fact that not only is Tobin mine, but he’s the real western deal. He embodies the modern-day cowboy whether he’s out checking cattle on the range or he’s checking genetics in the lab in Casper.”

  “I’ve run into my share of wannabes, Jade. You don’t gotta explain the appeal to me.” And no doubt Ike was the real deal too. It’d been several months since she’d seen him in this cowboy role . . . and damn. How had she blocked out how much it suited him?

  Because Ike Palmer in jeans, boots and a black hat, sitting astride a horse, with a bundle of rope casually hanging off his saddle, was powerful enough to make any woman drop to her knees.

  In the snow.

  Her heart beat a little harder as the men approached.

  “Ladies,” Renner Jackson said first as the posse stopped just shy of the fence. “Gorgeous day.”

  “It sure is,” Riss said.

  “How’s your arm?”

  “Still broken. But I’ve been getting excellent care.” She sent Ike a grin.

  “Glad to hear it.” Renner wheeled around and addressed Ike. “Thanks for your help today since I know you’ve got other responsibilities.”