Racked and Stacked Read online

  “I hear ya. Now tip your head back and close your eyes.”

  Riss shivered. Her arm ached from holding it up without support.

  “Shit. Sorry. I forgot Ike gave me a board here for you to rest that on.” She slid a two-by-four from the tub’s edge to the wall. “Try that.”

  “Much better. Thank you.”

  Aunt B clucked her tongue and muttered as she shampooed. Rinsing was the worst. She filled up a gallon-sized ice cream pail and poured it over Riss’s head. Again and again.

  “That’s probably good.”

  “Tellin’ me how to do my job?”

  “No. By all means, continue torturing me.”

  “You’re the one torturing this hair. Lord, girl, do you need conditioner.”

  “It doesn’t seem to tame these frizzy damn curls, which I inherited from my mother’s genetics, not my dad’s.”

  “As I’m aware. But you did inherit your dad’s tendency to skirt the truth, so I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

  “What did I do now?”

  “Put me in a bind with my Mud Lilies pals.”

  Riss bristled. “How so?”

  “You convinced them during that wedding game that there’s nothin’ romantic goin’ on between you and Ike. Then a few weeks later, you’re livin’ in his house? Sounds like there’s something goin’ on and them ladies are gonna grill me for details.”

  “You can handle it.”

  Bernice released a husky laugh. “You don’t give an inch, do you, girl? I’m askin’ if you pulled one over on them, because Louie said Ike laid a tonsil-scratching kiss on you today and claimed you two are a couple.”

  “Louie has a big mouth.” Riss slowly cranked her head around and looked her aunt in the eye. “My brother just called you outta the blue to gossip about me?”

  “You’d hate that, wouldn’t you, sugar?” She gently turned Riss’s head back to where it’d been. “But I actually called him to check on you.”

  “Oh.”

  “So what is the deal with Ike?”

  “I don’t know.” Riss filled Bernice in—not that there was much to tell.

  Bernice said, “This does seem a little screwy that he’d show up and spirit you away, even takin’ into account your truce. But I’d much rather have you here under his supervision than have you dealin’ with what your brothers consider care.” She paused. “That said, if this doesn’t work out with Ike, my door is open to you, Riss.”

  Since when?

  “Now hold still. I know you’re cold, but I need to do your comb-out where I can see and not tear into your stitches.”

  “Thank you. I feel a million times better.”

  Aunt Bernice hugged her from behind. “Then I did something right with you for a change.”

  This day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

  After helping her out of the tub and drying her off like she was a child, Bernice wrapped a long bath sheet around her. “I brought you some tops. They’re not your style, but the arms are stretchy enough to fit over your cast.”

  “Thanks, Aunt B. That’s super thoughtful. This is all so unexpected . . .”

  Sadness passed through Bernice’s blue eyes. “That’s the sad thing, sugar. We’re family. It shouldn’t be unexpected, it should be given without thought. My damn pride . . .” She shook her head. “This ain’t about me, it’s about you, and we’ll save that for another time.”

  “Okay.”

  Bernice attempted to smooth out Riss’s curls. “You’ll probably wanna wash your hair in three days. Text me to set up a time. Meanwhile, I brought dry shampoo for you to use between washings.”

  Bewildered by her aunt’s positive attention, Riss just stared at her.

  “Get a move on, girl. Pick something to wear. You can’t be parading around nekkid. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

  There was her brusque, bossy aunt. “You better not have tried to pawn off the ugly-ass shirt that looks like electric vomit onto me, Aunt B.”

  “I love that damn shirt, smart-ass.” A loud crack echoed when Bernice snapped a towel behind her. “Your arm’s broken, not your feet. Move it. I ain’t got all night.”

  After Bernice bailed, Ike tried to interest Riss in dinner.

  “No offense, but I don’t feel like eating. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

  “This is not a negotiation. You need fuel to heal and you’re not supposed to take painkillers on an empty stomach, so you are eating.”

  “Already getting off on bossing me around, aren’t you?”

  “Yep. Get used to it.” Ike’s eyes softened. “Seriously, Riss. You’ll sleep better with food in your belly. So sit tight and I’ll make you a peanut butter sandwich.”

  “With jelly—grape jelly. And the crusts cut off.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  Riss could barely keep her eyes open. She managed to eat half the sandwich and drink a glass of milk. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired.”

  “It’s been a stressful day.”

  “It’s been a stressful week,” she countered with a yawn.

  “Come on, let’s get you tucked in.”

  In the guest bedroom, Ike had folded back the bedding on the queen-sized bed.

  Riss slipped between the flannel sheets and sighed. “This is heaven. It’s quiet. It smells nice. It’s warm. Wake me up in two months.”

  He rearranged the placement of the pillows three times. Even through her exhaustion she recognized he was stalling.

  “Ike. Quit fussin’ like an old lady. I’m fine.”

  “It’s been a while since I had anyone to fuss over.”

  “I’m sure your girlfriends appreciated that. I, however, do not.”

  He tugged the blanket higher. “Never bothered with girlfriends. I’m talkin’ about my sisters. The youngest in particular. She loved bein’ babied. Still does.”

  Riss scowled. “I hated that. I still hate it because my brothers treat me like I’m twelve.”

  “Then I’ll refrain from givin’ you a good-night noogie.”

  Then Ike did the oddest thing: he placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. “I’ll check on you later.”

  “I promise to be more sentient tomorrow and we’ll talk about that work thing.”

  Chapter Eight

  But they didn’t talk the next day.

  Or the day after that.

  Or even the day after that.

  Riss slept.

  Ike brought her food in bed after she’d fallen asleep during dinner and almost slipped off the chair.

  So while she easily drifted off into slumber, Ike remained restless.

  Pacing. Waiting . . . for what? He didn’t know.

  He’d also fielded phone calls from her family and friends.

  Her oldest brother, Lonnie, hadn’t shown up like Louie had warned him. Instead he received a terse text, addressed to him on Riss’s phone:

  LT: WATCH URSELF WITH RISS, CAUSE WE R WATCHING U.

  LT: SHE GETS HURT, U GET HURT

  All caps might’ve been overkill. At least he hadn’t added a bunch of threatening emojis.

  Jade called every day.

  So did Bernice.

  So did Hugh and Harlow.

  So did some guy named Tito who claimed he worked with Riss.

  By phone call number seven, Ike wasn’t real friendly to the dude named Ron who also claimed a workplace connection.

  But the truth was . . . Ike had no idea what Riss did on a day-to-day basis. He knew at one point she’d worked as a lube jockey. She’d mentioned that her past work history included selling farm equipment, slinging drinks, cleaning cars, stocking groceries. But the loads and runs she’d talked about recently? She could’ve been delivering rocks, furniture or elephants, for all he knew.


  Didn’t it make him a self-involved jackass that he hadn’t bothered to ask her about it?

  Has she asked you how you spend your days?

  No. Thank god for that.

  Jade had been busy, rallying Riss’s friends in a show of support.

  Garnet sent a sling decorated in rhinestones.

  Miz Maybelle and Tilda sent flowers.

  Pearl and Vivien sent DVDs.

  Susan and Sherry from Buckeye Joe’s dropped off a bottle of Gentleman Jack, Kentucky’s finest whiskey. He hadn’t known that Riss even liked whiskey. There was a lot he didn’t know about her.

  Even the gals from Riss’s book club sent cards.

  No doubt the woman was well liked.

  The weirdest thing that had happened so far was that Ike’s buddies’ wives—Lainie Lawson, Tierney Jackson, Harper Turner, Janie Lawson, Tanna Fletcher and Celia Gilchrist—checked on Riss via phone calls, as if he and Riss were a couple. Which he assured them they were not.

  So he didn’t try to guess which one of Riss’s friends had sent another delivery when his doorbell rang midafternoon.

  It shocked him to open the door and see his sister on his porch.

  “Jen? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Kay or Lea or the kids?”

  “No, everyone is fine.”

  “Then . . . why are you here?”

  “Can’t a girl just swing by and say howdy to her big brother?”

  “Swing by? It’s eighty miles round trip. And you’ve done that twice in ten years, both times when you freaked out about bein’ pregnant.”

  “Rub it in. I’m sorry I’m a crappy sister.”

  Ike glanced at the clock. “Besides, isn’t this when you pick the kids up from school?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Always micromanaging me.”

  Someone needs to.

  “I’m here because no one has heard from you since Sunday morning. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves without your daily big brother check-in, so we worried you were sick.”

  “Jesus. I don’t call every day. As you can see, I’m fine.”

  Jen stamped the snow off her boots. “It’s bum-freezin’ cold out here. Move so I can come in.”

  “Uh, now is not a good time.”

  “Why? Did I interrupt a little afternoon delight?”

  While he didn’t appreciate her sarcasm—as if that wasn’t a real possibility—Ike didn’t take the bait. He just sighed and stepped aside.

  Once inside, Jen shed her boots, her coat, her scarf and her gloves—right where she stood—and stepped over the pile. She’d always been the messiest of his sisters and he forced himself not to pick up after her even now.

  Then she propped her hands on her hips and attempted to intimidate him.

  At five foot nothin’ and six years younger than him, it’d never worked, but that hadn’t stopped her from trying.

  “Seriously, Ike. What is goin’ on with you? You’re never out of the family loop for more than a day or this secretive.”

  “Drives you three crazies crazy, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes!”

  “Welcome to my world. What goes around comes around. If the three of you weren’t keepin’ secrets from me, you were tellin’ me lies.”

  “Hardly. You always busted us.” Her gaze homed in on Riss’s panda-themed purse on the counter. “Speaking of busted. That handbag is a little whimsical for you.”

  “Funny. It’s not mine.”

  “No shit. Whose is it?”

  “It ain’t a gift for any of you, so quit eyeballin’ it.”

  “As if.” She sniffed with derision. “I’m wondering who’d buy that hideous thing.”

  Truth time. “It belongs to Riss.”

  “Riss.” She blinked with uncertainty. “Riss. As in . . . Riss, the truck driver? Riss, the woman I’ve heard you bitch about? Riss, the shrew whose brother bad-mouthed you? Riss, the chick who threatened to castrate you at a branding last spring? That Riss?”

  “One and the same,” Riss said cheerfully as she entered the room. “But I believe you forgot to call me the foul-mouthed bane of your brother’s existence. That one used to be his favorite, huh, honey buns?”

  Jen’s mouth hung open.

  “Riss, this is my sister Jen. Jen, this is Riss, the feisty she-devil I’ve mentioned a time or two.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Riss pointed at her arm. “Excuse me for not bein’ up to my usual loutish, shrewish, devilish self. It’s hard to manage a forked tail and a cast.”

  “What happened to your arm?” Jen asked.

  “Oh, this little ol’ thing? I got tromped during my last bull ride. I held on for the full eight seconds, but all anyone remembers is that damn bull doin’ a two-step on my arm, not the ninety-two-point ride.”

  Ike groaned. “For the love of god, Riss, really?”

  “What?” She went goggle-eyed with phony innocence. “Does she have a weak stomach? Because I purposely left out the parts about the blood and mud and the sound of my own bones cracking.”

  “You must be feelin’ better if you’re back to tellin’ such a whopper of a lie.”

  “I prefer to call it creating an alternative reality, remember?”

  “Wait.” Jen’s gaze swung between them. “You didn’t get that injury from bull ridin’?”

  Riss sighed. “Nope. It’s not as exciting as that. It’s sort of embarrassing, which is why I stretched the truth a tad.”

  Stretched the truth. Ike snorted.

  “So what really happened?”

  “Sex injury. See, me and”—she sent Ike a coquettish look—“um . . . this guy were goin’ at it against the corral, and my foot slipped—”

  Jen held up her hand. “You win. It’s none of my business.”

  Wait for it . . . because Ike knew his sister wouldn’t leave it at that.

  “But I will ask why my brother’s supposed nemesis looks as if she just tumbled out of his bed.”

  Ike quelled Riss’s retort—most likely another lie—with a sharp look and addressed his snoopy sister. “Riss is stayin’ with me while she heals up.”

  “Staying with you . . . as in . . . sharing your house? Or sharing your bedroom?”

  “That, little sis, ain’t none of your business either.”

  Jen leveled a glare at Riss as if that’d scare her into talking.

  But Riss mimed zipping her lip and throwing away the key.

  Ike laughed. “Woman, you are such a pain in my ass.”

  “Oh, hush. I liven up your staid life, stud.”

  Yeah, she was definitely feeling better.

  “Omigod. It’s like I stepped into an alternate reality.” Jen hastily snatched up her outerwear. “One where you actually have a life, Ike.”

  “Thanks for that, Jen.” He didn’t look at Riss to see her reaction to his sister’s sad-but-true comment.

  “Kay and Lea won’t believe this.”

  “But you can’t wait to tell them, can you?”

  “Nope. Later days, dude.”

  Her phone was in her hand before she shut the door.

  “Some days I wonder where I went wrong with her.”

  “She seems normal to me, if a little gullible.” She snickered. “It’d be fun to put her and Louie in a room and see how much crap we could get them to believe.”

  “Pass.” Ike moved toward her. Her color looked good. Her eyes were clearer. She’d call him a pervert if she realized how closely he’d watched her the past two days. But the woman was a noisy sleeper. He’d be sitting in the living room and hear gasps, groans and even laughter drifting out of the guest bedroom, so naturally he’d race in to check on her. Her animation even in sleep fascinated him.

  “Before you ask . . . I feel much better. Although the last couple days
have been a blur.”

  “You mostly slept.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m a sucky houseguest, huh.”

  “A popular one. All your buddies have been callin’, askin’ to talk to you.”

  “Probably just making sure that you haven’t killed me yet.”

  “It’d shock the hell out of them to see us getting along, wouldn’t it?”

  “It’s easy to avoid conflict when one person sleeps all the time.”

  “True.” Ike couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

  “Stop staring at me. I look like hell. I haven’t had makeup on for days—”

  “You don’t need it. And you don’t look like hell. I hate it when you say that, so knock it off. You look fresh faced and feminine and rested.” Ike stopped there before he confessed he’d spent way too much time pondering her subtle natural beauty, and comparing it with the brash, tomboyish Riss he thought he knew.

  Riss seemed tongue-tied.

  “Now that you’re up and around, I’ll fix you an early supper.”

  “I should probably return some phone calls.”

  “Nope. Food first. March yourself into the kitchen.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Were you this bossy with your sisters?”

  “Way worse. Especially with the youngest because that girl questioned everything.”

  “Then she and I would probably get along like gangbusters.”

  “Wrong. You’d get annoyed with her dependency within two minutes.” He nudged her. “Food. Now.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Her stomach rumbled loud enough they both heard it.

  Ike merely pointed to the kitchen.

  “Fine. I’m goin’.”

  Chapter Nine

  Riss decided she could easily watch Ike cook all day.

  The smooth way he moved from counter to counter. The almost sensual way he used his hands when he chopped vegetables. Then how he washed and dried his hands with deliberate care as he listened to her speak.

  In her pain-filled haze, she hadn’t noticed specific things about Ike beyond that he was right there when she needed something. Given time to study him as he multitasked, she noticed his laid-back nature. From his casual clothing—a long-sleeved black T-shirt, faded gray sweatpants and a Jackson Stock Contracting ball cap he wore backward—to the relaxed set of his shoulders, to the scruff on his face. He smiled more, which made him look younger. He talked less, which meant she filled the dead air with chatter. But for all she knew, maybe that sexy little smile indicated he’d tuned her out.