Racked and Stacked

by Lorelei James

  “I will.” She swiped under her eyes. “Now let’s get this hair finished.”

  “Take your time.”

  “Still not ready to deal with Ike?”

  “I don’t know that he’s ready to deal with me.”

  * * *

  Riss ventured into the living room three hours after Bernice left.

  Ike was staring at the TV with the sound muted.

  “Hey.”

  He looked over at her. “Hey. You hungry?” He rose to his feet.

  “Don’t get up. It’s fine. I’ll just grab a piece of fruit.”

  “I’ll heat up some soup. Sit.”

  Riss didn’t want to make a big deal of this, but . . . would he even recognize his behavioral pattern?

  Ike stopped. Faced her. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. But you realized it before you got the pan out and started cooking.”

  “Sorry. Let’s try this again. Riss, darlin’, what could I fix you to eat?”

  “Nothin’. I’ll grab an apple.”

  “Would you like it sliced?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Are you sitting at the breakfast bar? Or taking it to your room?”

  “I’ll sit.”

  She watched him wash the apple and center it in the pie-shaped slicer, gently pushing down until the core separated and the apple was in eight slices. “What time are you planning to leave tomorrow?”

  “In the morning. Uncle Bob is taking me home.”

  Ike’s frustrated gaze zoomed to hers. “I said I’d take you.”

  “Which I appreciate. But Bob felt bad about not doin’ anything for me, so this will make him feel useful.”

  “If that’s the way you want it . . .”

  “It is.” She attempted a lighter tone. “So what’re your plans once the houseguest from hell is gone?”

  His hand movements were smooth and controlled as he arranged the apple slices. “I’ll head to the big stock show in Rapid City.” He smiled as he slid the plate to her. “Maybe I’ll make a few lists.”

  Riss smiled back. “I swear it helps to see things differently when it’s literally spelled out in black and white.”

  “I agree.” Ike snagged a notebook and a pen. “Let’s list all the things that went wrong today.”

  “Don’t be an ass-hat.”

  “I’m serious. We fucked up and I wanna know how to fix it.”

  “Why?” She snatched an apple chunk and bit into it. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “We can’t let things stay as they are between us. Surely you see that?”

  She chewed her apple and swallowed. It was unnerving that Ike’s gaze only left her mouth to dip down to sweep over her neck. As if he wanted to take a bite out of her.

  Yes, a big old bite. That sucking mouth seeking out all the shiver-inducing spots as his teeth scraped against her skin would be equal parts heaven and hell.

  “Riss? You gonna answer?”

  “Do you wanna make this list as a scorecard? To see who was more at fault today?”

  The guilty flush to his cheeks gave her the answer.

  She pointed at him with an apple slice. “Not the best use of a list. And I doubt you’re prepared for how one-sided—my side—it will be.”

  Ike leaned across the counter and neatly bit off half of the apple slice between her fingers. “Prove it.”

  Smarmy jerk. “Fine. Items one through ten: Ike making decisions for me without my consent and treating me like a child.”

  “You can’t have one example equal to ten items.”

  “Why not? I have at least ten separate examples.”

  He flashed his teeth. “Name them.”

  “Gladly. One: Riss, get up.

  “Two: Finish your breakfast.

  “Three: Go put your sling on.

  “Four: Stop dawdling; you’ll miss your appointment.

  “Five: Hold still.

  “Six: I am going to the doctor with you.

  “Seven: You’d better not be drinking.

  “Eight: I’m taking care of her.

  “Nine: Do. Not. Move. I’ll be right back.

  “Ten: Make her do it herself.”

  Ike blinked at her.

  She pointed at the open notebook. “I don’t see you writing any of that down.”

  “I’m tryin’ to mentally combat your list with my explanations, but every damn one of them sounds more like an excuse.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Christ, I’m so sorry for treating you like—”

  “One of your little sisters?”

  Ike scowled. “Ain’t a single sisterly thought comes to my mind when I look at you, Larissa. I thought that kiss today would’ve proven that beyond a doubt.”

  “All it proved is there’s chemistry between us. Whether it’s real or whether it’s a proximity thing . . . neither of us can answer that right now.”

  “Is that what your girl time with Jade was about?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze clashed with his. “These past two weeks have been confusing. Not to say they haven’t been good, but I’m leaving here with more questions than answers.”

  “About us?”

  “About everything. But yeah, whether there could be an ‘us’ is a biggie. I can’t be objective while I’m here, when you annoy the piss out of me one minute and the next all I can think about is kissing you again.”

  “Well, darlin’, we’re on the same page there.”

  “So . . . truce again?”

  “Again?” Ike walked around the end of the breakfast bar. “We’re on day ninety-three of the original truce. Nothin’ has happened so far to break it.”

  “You’ve kept track of how many days it’s been?”

  “Yep. Now c’mere and gimme a damn hug.”

  She laughed. “Gonna twist my arm if I say no?”

  “You won’t say no.” He pulled her against his body, those strong arms encircling her. “You like this.”

  “I do.” She rested her cheek on his chest. “Thanks for taking me in. I’ve no doubt the reason I’ve been cleared to stay by myself is because bein’ here allowed me to rest and heal much faster.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As with so many of their hugs, neither of them wanted to be the first one to let go.

  “Gonna miss you, sweet cheeks.”

  “Gonna miss you too, cowboy.”

  Riss didn’t look at him as she disentangled from his embrace and went to bed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Three weeks had passed since Ike had seen Riss.

  They’d texted a couple of times, not much beyond a quick check-in on his end to see how she was faring.

  It bothered him that she hadn’t asked what he’d been doing.

  At the end of January he’d attended the Black Hills Stock Show and Rodeo in Rapid City, South Dakota. During his brokering years it’d been an annual event for him. He’d made a lot of deals and contacts, so showing up and hanging out at the Stockman’s Bar seemed like old times.

  Except it wasn’t.

  His former clients were happy to talk about their families, their mutual acquaintances and the weather . . . but the cattle business? Not so much. And it hadn’t been just one or two clients that’d reacted that way. They all had. Like Ike had abandoned them.

  He hadn’t, but disclosing now that his position had been eliminated then would make him look desperate. And desperation was bad for business, especially in the sales game, where confidence equaled success.

  His mentor, Augie, always reminded him: selling yourself is the most important aspect of any sale.

  Ike had taken his mentor’s advice as gospel. That wisdom coupled with don’t disclose your personal problems had proved to be a winning
combination.

  Would things be different for him if he’d confessed that leaving Stocksellers hadn’t been voluntary?

  It certainly hadn’t helped that the Quad-State Livestock News had reported Ike’s departure from Stocksellers, Inc., in the same paragraph that listed him as one of the new owners of Jackson Stock Contracting—two changes in his life that had happened nearly four months apart.

  So it had been five very long days in South Dakota. And just to reinforce his feeling of futility, Ike had attended the rodeo all four nights. He’d crossed paths with the Sutton family several times over the years, so he’d scored a chute pass that allowed access to the pens, the competitors, behind the scenes.

  Sutton Rodeos, an offshoot of Sutton Cattle Company—a family-run business with one hundred–plus years raising livestock in South Dakota—was listed in the top ten stock contractors in the nation. Not only did they supply the rough stock for the ten-day Black Hills Stock Show and Rodeo, they were the promoters for the entire event.

  There was no way JSC could compete with that.

  According to the Sutton Rodeos brochure, they were contracted for fifty-six other rodeos—small and large—across the Dakotas, Nebraska, Minnesota and Iowa in the upcoming year.

  Again . . . there was no way JSC could compete with that.

  When he’d contacted Hugh to share the rundown on the two official meetings he’d managed to set up, Hugh’s main topic of conversation was Harlow’s ultrasound and how freaky-cool it’d been to hear the baby’s heartbeat.

  That was when Ike spiraled into depression.

  Not even a last-minute booking for a one-day rodeo in central Nebraska bolstered his spirits.

  He’d continued on as he always did, rising at the crack of dawn to feed stock. Checking in daily with his sisters. Watching hours of mindless TV. Sleeping entire days away.

  The paperwork he’d promised to organize sat on the dining room table untouched.

  He hadn’t gone to the store in weeks; he’d eaten all the frozen meals and canned goods on hand, but he had no clear memory of cooking for himself.

  He hadn’t hopped in his truck and taken a long drive to try and clear his head because no matter which direction he went, he felt as if he was on the road to nowhere.

  So he may as well just stay home, since he couldn’t outrun that feeling even sitting on his couch.

  He’d even been too melancholy to restock his whiskey and beer supply. The upside to that was he hadn’t been drinking until he passed out every night.

  On a whim, on an unusually warm February day, Ike decided to hell with texting; he’d just show up on Riss’s doorstep.

  Ike got an eyeful of her jeans-clad ass first thing as he parked next to her 4Runner.

  See, the day is already looking up.

  She scooted out of the back end of the vehicle, brandishing a dust cloth.

  He sauntered over, his grin immense. Sunlight reflected in her hair a fiery red. A smudge of dirt streaked her forehead. Concern flattened the lines of her mouth. She wore denim overalls, a University of Wyoming fleece jacket and purple ropers.

  “Riss, darlin’, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

  She snorted and some of her wariness faded. “Hey, Ike. You out and about spreading that cowboy charm to invalids on this sunshiny afternoon?”

  “You are the first and only stop for me today, hot stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I missed you. Hell, I even missed your vulgar vocab. Now c’mere and gimme a damn hug.”

  “Pretty cocky to assume I’d just run into your arms the moment you showed that handsome face.”

  He shrugged. “You can skip over here if you’d rather.”

  She laughed. “Ass-hat.” She walked toward him. “Fair warning that I probably reek.”

  “Don’t care.” Then Riss was in his arms and everything seemed better. Brighter. Clearer.

  All too soon she squirmed away. “You have time to come in for coffee?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Cool. Lemme just close this.” She stood on tiptoe to grab the handle of the hatchback.

  “Whoa. Let me help.”

  She jockeyed for position. “I got it.”

  “Are you even supposed to be doin’ this kinda stuff?”

  “Probably not.” Riss slammed the door and spun to face him. “You gonna lecture me before putting me in time out?”

  Low blow.

  Ike said nothing since apparently she was still pissed off.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled a long breath. “I’m sorry.” She exhaled. “Reflex with you.”

  “Wonder if there’ll come a time when a snippy, snappy smart-ass response ain’t the first thing that exits our mouths when we’re together?”

  “I’d say a cold day in hell, but I’m pretty sure that was here last week.” She started toward the house.

  Ike had only been inside her trailer once before and hadn’t bothered to look around. So he felt . . . well . . . blind for not noticing the vibrant colors everywhere. Rich reds, deep purples, dark greens, bright blues. It was as if he’d stepped into a sultan’s oasis.

  “Wow. This is awesome.”

  She grinned. “Thanks. I wanted to feel like the king of my castle when I came home . . . even if my castle is a trailer.”

  His gaze moved from the purple couch to the turquoise armchair. The fancy fabrics looked easily stainable. Maybe this space was just for show.

  “Have a seat.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll wrinkle it or rip it or spill coffee on it.”

  She pointed at the couch. “It’s crushed velvet. It’s durable and I’ve had it stainproofed. I wouldn’t have put any of this furniture in here if I couldn’t use it.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll get the coffee.”

  Ike waited to see if Riss removed her boots before he stepped on the plush rug.

  Nope. He was good to go.

  He sat in the corner of the couch next to a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf crammed with books. Everything in this space spoke of the owner. Vibrant, funky, well-ordered, warm and soft, but with unexpected edges.

  No wonder she’d been so eager to get home. And he was really glad he’d never asked her what she thought of his place.

  Riss handed him a mug that read: Dear Pumpkin Spice—Fuck You.

  He chuckled. “Tryin’ to tell me something?”

  “Nope. It was my white elephant gift from our book club Christmas party.”

  “Sounds like a fun book club.”

  “It is.”

  He tipped his head toward the bookshelf. “Have you read all of them books?”

  “Most of them.” She scowled at her cast. “I’ve had more time to read lately and I didn’t enjoy it as much as I imagined.”

  “What else have you been doin’?”

  “This and that.”

  The way Riss avoided his gaze when she sipped her coffee, he figured she’d been doing stuff she shouldn’t have been. So he let his gaze continue to roam around the room. “Does that thing actually add heat?”

  She turned to see where he was looking. “The fake fireplace? No, it’s just for show. I picked it up at an estate sale for next to nothin’. I refurbed it intending to sell it, but it turned out better than I thought, so I kept it. Plus, come on, a plastic log with a red lightbulb behind it to simulate fire is the best idea evah.”

  “That, it is.” He couldn’t remember ever feeling so awkward around Riss. It was as if being welcomed into her personal space he’d gotten an intimate peek into more than just her living room. “So is that a hobby of yours? Buying stuff at estate sales and selling it?”

  “I’m invited to some of them so there’s loading and delivery options on-site for people who buy big stuff like furniture and appliances. I
tend to go for the stuff that’s prepriced that won’t be auctioned off. That way I don’t fall in love with a piece and then it’s sold for out of my price range.”

  The oddest sense of sadness flowed over him. He hated that Riss had pined for things she couldn’t afford.

  “Tools are usually the best deals. Cheap to buy, fast turnaround to resell and make a quick buck.” She set her cup on the coffee table. “But you didn’t swing by to hear my estate sale philosophy. What’s goin’ on with you?”

  “Same old, same old. I drove up to the Black Hills for the stock show.”

  “Anything interesting happen?”

  And like she’d opened the overflow gates, everything poured out of him.

  Everything.

  For once Ike didn’t temper his tone. He didn’t mask his anger about the sharp downward spiral his livelihood had taken. He lamented the ugliness of a corporate bottom line. He admitted his fear and uncertainty about his future. He bitched about his sisters’ continued dependency. He placed blame—a reaction he usually avoided. After getting up to refill their coffee, he began to pace.

  As he paced, the hopeless feeling that’d been clawing at him for over a year to get out . . . finally did.

  When Ike eventually ran out of steam, his throat was dry from talking, but his shoulders weren’t bunched up around his ears. The tension in his neck and back and jaw had lessened. And now that the things he’d been afraid to admit were out of that dark space inside him, his words pushed out into the ether, no longer weighing him down, he felt . . . free.

  He stopped in the middle of Riss’s kitchen, threw his head back and laughed. Then he shouted, “Goddamn, that felt good! Like fucking fantastic! Like I’ve been cleansed.”

  That was when he realized Riss hadn’t said a single word during his catharsis.

  Or was it a metamorphosis?

  He should’ve paid more attention in school.

  Regardless, he was damn near giddy with relief.

  His gaze sought Riss’s and he expected to see happiness, pride, maybe even excitement on her face that he’d had this breakthrough, but she was staring intently into her cup.

  Shit. Maybe he’d pissed her off by bein’ so loud.