Racked and Stacked

by Lorelei James

  “I’m so fuckin’ relieved to hear that.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get cleaned up before our date.”

  “What date?”

  “The one I decided on before I showed up to grovel.” He nipped her earlobe. “And while feasting on your sweet pussy for the past hour was damn near a religious experience, I’m starving for real food.”

  “It’s gotta be cheap,” Riss reminded him. She disentangled herself and reached for her clothing. That was when she noticed Ike’s jeans were undone and his cock looked . . . lonely. “Hey, I could always snack on some cowboy sausage as an appetizer.” She smirked. “Don’t want him feeling neglected.”

  “Thanks, darlin’, but not necessary. He got his. He’ll be fine for a while.”

  Riss froze. “You—”

  “Got off about thirty seconds after you did when I had my first taste of your pussy. I didn’t even have to touch myself, Larissa. Never had that happen before.”

  “Are you embarrassed?”

  He stood, tucked his cock in and zipped up. “Are you kiddin’? It was fuckin’ hot as hell.” Ike’s gaze fell to her groin and he growled. “Get dressed or I’m liable to see if I can get it to happen again to both of us.”

  As Riss locked up the building Ike accompanied her.

  “So tell me about this date.”

  “Bingo night, baby, at the R&R Senior Citizens Center in Rawlins. Buy one card, get one free. So there’s cheap entertainment. And it’s ‘Moo Monday’ at DQ so burgers are a buck.”

  “Damn, Palmer, I’m proud.” She settled his cowboy hat on his head and smoothed her hand down his chest. “You’re serious about making changes.”

  “I’m serious about a lot of things these days. You’re at the top of the list.”

  She kept fussing with the buttons on his shirt, unsure what to say.

  He crouched down, forcing her to look at him. “Come home with me tonight after we kick those senior citizens’ asses at bingo. I’ll even throw in a ride to work in the mornin’. It’d be an economical decision to carpool since we’re goin’ to the same place.”

  “Playin’ on my thrifty sensibilities . . . that’ll earn you brownie points, cowboy.”

  “That’s what I’m hopin’ for.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It’d been an interesting couple of days since Riss’s epiphany about them teaming up to take this run for Tito.

  Since Holt’s side projects had finished, Ike had been laid off until the construction business picked up, so this driving partnership couldn’t have come at a better time.

  Tito rode along as Ike familiarized himself with the Kenworth. They’d driven into Casper, allowing Ike to practice backing up into tight dock spaces—apparently similar to their unload point at the distribution center in Omaha—because it’d been a while since Ike had unloaded anywhere besides an open field. Then they’d driven highways, both interstate and rural, into the mountains and then back down to the plains, until shifting and speed control felt natural. It gave him a sense of accomplishment to polish his rusty skills, even when he understood the rig would handle differently loaded down with concrete than just coasting along as an empty flatbed.

  Early Friday morning, he and Riss hung around the shop, waiting for dispatch to sort out a last-minute pickup/drop-off load before they reached North Platte.

  Ike’s presence as a new hire—and “Red’s” boyfriend—had caused a stir among the other drivers. Even Tito’s wife, Esme, had stopped by to meet the man who’d broken Riss’s “no dating” rule. Ike loved watching Riss in her element, talking smack with the guys while maintaining a professional boundary. Ike followed her lead when they were in the shop even as he wondered how their dynamic would change when they were alone.

  He and Riss had discussed possible conflicts the past four days—and nights—since they’d spent all of them together. Riss’s concerns were that Ike would ignore her advice when it came to driving scenarios; he’d revert to his former bossy-big-brother behavior and talk over her instead of listening to her.

  Whereas Ike’s major concern was the professional side of their relationship would overtake the personal aspect. They’d relapse to constant arguing, which would lead to them needing time apart—not an option when they shared less than one hundred square feet of space twenty-four/seven for the next four days.

  Then again, the amount of time they’d been together had only increased their desire to experience more time doing couple things. Monday night, after finishing their bargain burgers, they headed to the R&R Senior Citizens Center for bingo. Fun-loving, outspoken Riss had gotten some nasty looks from their somber-eyed, gray-haired matronly tablemates. She’d maintained an even keel when the curmudgeonly bingo callers rechecked her winning bingo cards four times to ensure she hadn’t been cheating. And just to be ornery, Riss had tucked her winnings into her bra.

  However, Riss’s laid-back attitude vanished when two ladies tried to slip their granddaughters’ phone numbers to Ike during the last coffee break when Riss had gone to the restroom. When Riss returned and confronted them about their sneaky behavior, not only did they not apologize, they defended themselves, claiming that Ike and Riss hadn’t “acted” as if they were in a relationship.

  In the past, when Riss emitted that mean little laugh, Ike might’ve warned bystanders to run before he took off himself.

  But now when he heard that sarcastic trill of Riss’s laughter, his dick immediately went hard.

  Riss showed everyone in the room exactly what kind of relationship she and Ike shared when she settled herself on Ike’s lap and kissed the crap out of him.

  Somewhere behind them the timer had dinged, indicating the third round of bingo was about to start.

  Riss hadn’t cared.

  For once, Ike hadn’t cared either and another protective wall crumbled between them as he’d given himself over to her very blatant PDA.

  But someone had called security—not until after Riss had demonstrated her excellent lap-dancing skills.

  Several attendees had booed as a security guard tapped her nightstick on the metal chair to break up the show.

  As the security guard herded them past the bingo callers’ table, Riss had yelled, “I’ve been thrown out of better joints than this! And just so you know, the bingo payout at the Casper Senior Center is twice as much as it is here. Check it out for yourselves online if you don’t believe me!”

  That’d nearly started a riot.

  As soon as they cleared the outermost edge of the building, Ike had Riss pressed against it, his mouth hungry on hers, his hands everywhere, his thigh between hers, his need for her overpowering and immediate.

  She moaned, “Yes, yes, yes,” as she ground her sex against his leg.

  Wrenching her yoga pants to her knees, he spun her around, angled her forward and fucked her hard and fast. His shearling coat kept their exposed bits covered from the cold and any prying eyes, but he wouldn’t have cared if the whole damn town had been watching them. Ike had never felt a burning need to claim a woman like he had in that moment with her. Her impromptu lap dance had increased his lust, but what had sparked those embers was when Riss had straddled his lap, planted her mouth on his and left no doubt they were very much intimately together.

  Ike had never known what a fucking rush it was to belong to one woman, so he’d gone a little crazy showing Riss just how much he’d loved it.

  And she’d loved it too.

  “Ike?”

  He blinked and the memory vanished. He glanced over at Dianne, the dispatcher, and offered her a smile. “Sorry. Thinkin’ about a million different things. Could you repeat that?”

  “Sure. Your first pickup is with Ingrid Olaffson. She claims you know her?”

  “I know of her. I mostly dealt with her husband, Olly, over the years.”

  Riss moved in closer.
“What’s the load?”

  “Hay. Load at the Olaffson Ranch in Chugwater, offload at the Winspahr Ranch in Gurley, Nebraska.”

  “How far does that take us off route?”

  “Not at all,” Dianne said. “Still goin’ south on I-25 until you hit Chugwater. Then you’ll head east on WY 313, and slightly south on 385. Then you’ll head straight south to hit I-80 at Sidney and continue to North Platte as planned.”

  “Good. We’re ready to roll.”

  “I’ll tell Dave.”

  Not a surprise at how quickly Riss had jumped in to assert her dominance to Dianne. Or was that a reminder for him that in this temporary driving partnership, she was the senior partner?

  Then Riss was in his face. “Is it a coincidence that you’re familiar with the person requiring a last-minute haul?”

  “No. I put the route and load capacity on a page I used a few years back for Stocksellers. You know, one of those pre-Craigslist rural catchall web pages where people buy, sell and trade items and ask for and offer help. I used my name and my former affiliation with Stocksellers, but gave Tito’s Trucking as the contact number. I’m actually a little shocked my former clients still use that web page.”

  When Riss continued to stare at him oddly, he let her.

  Then she smiled—grinned, actually. “Lookit you, cowboy. Showin’ me up on the first damn day of our partnership. Bein’ a self-starter, a team player, a work hustler, a load broker. Dude. I’m so damn proud right now I could bust my buttons.”

  Ike grinned back. “Glad I could do something to make you proud.” Then his gaze dropped to the front of her buttonless shirt. “Buttons or no buttons, them beauties are for my eyes only, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the button bustin’ until we’re alone.”

  She didn’t even check to see if anyone was watching before she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, in that sweet, drugging way that made his head swim.

  Tito’s shrill whistle sliced through the air. “Thorpe and Palmer. Your rig is ready.”

  Riss groaned against his mouth. “That ass-hat has probably been waiting to break a lip-lock between us since he knew we were locking lips.”

  As they stood outside the bay, Ike said, “You gonna let me help you in? Or will Red rip me a new one for even offering?”

  Her eyes softened. “It’s an extra-big step up into the Kenworth, so I’d appreciate your help in and out with this busted arm. But thanks for asking and not assuming.” She slid her hand up his chest, just like she did when they were about to get naked. “Call me baby, sweet cheeks or even twatwaffle, but never call me Red. That’s not who I am when I’m with you.”

  Wham. Love hit him with the force of a runaway truck.

  The world as he’d known it cracked and crumbled around him, then just as quickly rebuilt itself into something stronger and better.

  Had she noticed that everything had changed?

  Tell her.

  She tugged on his hand. “Let’s go, partner. I cannot wait to start on this adventure with you.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The first two hours Riss rambled on about her experiences as a young solo driver, which included the lean years when she had to work other nondriving jobs between freelance runs. How a few times she’d left employers high and dry because a last-minute hot load had been offered and she’d needed the money and to prove herself. Given the work ethic Lonnie had raised her with, she’d always felt guilty quitting last minute, but driving was her career, not just a temporary job, unlike the other positions she’d taken to make ends meet.

  “What about you? Had you always known you’d end up in sales?” she asked.

  “I’d had a knack for selling things, starting when I was a kid. I’d buy discounted candy on the weekend and sell it on the school playground the next week for a profit. A small profit, mind you. As I got older, I became the go-to guy for finding a way to fulfill a need and I’d pocket a finder’s fee. Anything from cash to a part-time job that paid cash, to a week’s worth of lunches, to surplus groceries.”

  “What kinds of needs were you fulfilling?”

  “Say Tim needed a ride home after basketball practice and Jim was looking for someone to help his sister clean stalls during calving season. They traded rides for work and they owed me a favor and a referral. It’s strange to think about how well that system worked back then. That’s how I ended up doin’ so much ranch hand work. So two years after my mom died and I’d exhausted all my options for finding a local job with a regular paycheck and flexible hours, Abe Lawson and Bran Turner introduced me to Bernie Stack, who owned Stocksellers, and he hired me. For the first two years I did all the grunt jobs; whatever they needed, I did it.”

  “Such as?”

  Ike reached for the Big Swig in the cup holder and swallowed a mouthful of Diet Mountain Dew. “Cleaned out cattle pots and bull haulers. Hauled garbage. Ran the snowplow. Delivered hay. Hung around the offices and salesmen as much as I could. So when the receptionist took sick, who did they ask to man the call center?”

  “You.”

  “Yep.” He grinned. “And did that come back to bite them in the ass. Like I said, since I’d done everything, I knew way more than anyone gave me credit for. On my own, I set up a meeting with a new client, put on my best clothes, borrowed Abe’s truck and showed up as a rep for Stocksellers. I brokered a deal—with Dan Hale, Tobin’s dad, ironically enough—and brought it back to the office.”

  Riss smirked at him. “No balls, no glory, eh?”

  “Exactly. The other salesmen were livid. They demanded I get cut out of the deal and fired. Bernie refused. Instead, he assigned me a mentor, Augie, who was two years from retirement. He said if I was up to speed when Augie retired, he’d make me a full-time broker.”

  “So I can fill in the blanks for the success you had the next dozen or so years. You obviously rocked your job, Ike. How in the hell did you end up getting shitcanned?”

  “Ever heard of second-generation failure in a family-owned business?” She shook her head. “It’s what started happening at Stocksellers. Bernie Junior—aka Junior—took over after Bernie Senior had a heart attack and was forced to retire. I was the last broker Bernie Senior had hired all those years ago, so my coworkers were quite a bit older than me. Junior began implementing video technology that basically cut the salesmen out of the process, keeping the commissions for the company. None of them older guys needed Junior’s shit or needed to learn new tricks so they retired, leavin’ me the lone survivor. That played right into Junior’s plans to downsize.”

  “Any idea what’s goin’ on at Stocksellers now?”

  Ike slid his hands up and down the steering wheel. “Just rumors. Junior abandoned the company’s existing clients to work with the bigger cattle operations. Last summer someone mentioned Stocksellers was struggling, but I tuned them out, bein’s I had my own struggles to deal with.”

  Riss reached out and ran her hand up Ike’s arm. She didn’t offer platitudes, just her silent show of support.

  His need to shout these strange, wonderful feelings of love for her made the slow crawl from his heart up his throat. Just as the words reached the back of his tongue, her cell phone rang.

  He swallowed the words back down and the moment was lost.

  * * *

  Three hours after leaving Tito’s they turned off the paved road onto the gravel road that led to the Olaffsons’ place.

  “The instructions were to pull up next to the haystacks outside the fence. I’m guessing we won’t be four-wheeling this eighteen-wheeler across the frozen tundra to get to those stacks.” Riss pointed to six large, misshapen mounds in the distance, half-covered by tarps.

  “The loader is already out.” He frowned. “Five rolls are all we’re takin’, right?”

  “That’s what the bill of lading says.”

  Ike do
wnshifted. “Best direction to park this? Alongside? Or back end facing?”

  “Alongside would mean less overall movement for the loader.” She shot him a glance. “I’m assuming I don’t get to run the loader?”

  “Nope. That is a model I’m familiar with, so as long as it starts, we oughta be good.” Ike inched along the fence until the truck was lined up.

  Riss clapped to commend his parking effort.

  He donned all of his outerwear and jumped out of the cab, skirting the front end to help Riss out. She didn’t even fuss when he zipped up her coat, flipped up her hood and slipped on her left glove.

  A parka-clad woman waved and crossed the driveway. When she reached them, she threw her arms around Ike. Then she stepped back and lowered her mink-lined hood. “Ike Palmer. Have mercy. You’re twice as handsome as I remember. You make an old widow like me wish I was much younger.”

  Old widow his ass. Olly hadn’t been in the ground a year yet, from what he’d heard. “Miz Olaffson, you’d give any woman a run for her money in the looks department.” No doubt that was why she’d removed her hood, so he could see how well she’d aged, even in the harsh, less-flattering winter light.

  “I’ll admit I was surprised to read you’re running a trucking company now.”

  Ike heard Riss snort behind him.

  “No, ma’am. I work for a trucking company.”

  “None of this ‘ma’am’ stuff.” She squeezed his biceps, letting her hand linger on his arm. “Call me Ingrid.”

  “I was sorry to hear about your husband, Ingrid. Olly was a great guy.”

  “He was. I miss him terribly. It’s . . . lonelier than I imagined it’d be.”

  Riss stumbled forward and Ike shot an arm sideways to catch her. “Careful, darlin’. I don’t need you breaking anything else.”

  Ingrid took notice of Ike calling Riss darlin’. Bundled up in the oil-stained men’s Carhartt jacket that nearly reached her knees, with her head covered by the oversized hood, her gender wasn’t immediately obvious.