Before Ike considered all the logistics, he said, “I can’t let you guys do that, although I’m sure Riss would jump at the chance to crash here. But you both have jobs, and this place is pretty far out of town if something were to happen when you weren’t around. Riss needs someone to keep an eye on her full-time, so she should move in with me until she’s back on her feet.”
Both Tobin and Jade gaped at him as if he’d lost his mind.
Maybe he had.
“Ike. Buddy,” Tobin said slowly. “Need I remind you—”
“That Riss and I are usually at odds with each other about something?” he supplied.
“At odds with each other about something?” Jade repeated. “More like you’re at odds with each other about everything and trying to verbally annihilate each other before weapons are chosen for physical combat.”
“Hey, it’s not that bad.”
“Uh, yeah . . . it is,” Tobin said. “So while I appreciate you offering to step in, unless Riss is so drugged up that she ain’t aware of what’s goin’ on, we all know she’ll say hell no.”
“More like she’ll scream hell no, before laughing hysterically at you for even suggesting that option,” Jade added.
“Thanks for your input, smart-asses, but Riss and I managed to be civil—hell, even nice to each other—for sixty-two days straight during our truce.”
Tobin’s eyes narrowed. “What truce?”
He’d blown that secret. Well, the cat was out of the bag now. “Riss and I agreed to a truce during the prewedding stuff since we’d be forced to spend more time together. Our . . . unique style of communicating sets people on edge and we didn’t wanna stress you two out.”
“Why is this the first we’ve heard of it?” Jade demanded.
“Because . . .” He laughed self-consciously. “To be honest, we weren’t even sure if we could pull it off. But we did.”
Then Tobin and Jade looked at each other and started laughing.
“What?”
“That explains it.” Tobin patted Jade’s ass. “And that means you lost the bet, little wifey of mine, so get ready to pay up.”
Now Ike was confused. “What am I missing?”
“During those months before the wedding we noticed you and Riss were being obnoxiously nice to each other,” Jade said. “I suspected you guys were secretly sleeping together.”
“I disagreed,” Tobin said. “I figured you two had a rip-roaring fight and were killin’ each other with kindness to see who would crack first.”
“Jesus. Really? You bet on that?” Then it clicked. “So that insane hour we spent with the Mud Lilies at your wedding reception . . . ?”
“Was them gathering intel for us.” Jade giggled. “Man, they were all over that idea of getting you and Riss to confess something juicy—not that either of you did.”
“And it kept them ladies occupied and out of the booze for a while,” Tobin added.
Well, well. Boy Scout and Sweetie Pie weren’t averse to manipulation. Maybe he should let them deal with Riss. Then again, Riss was on a whole other level. And he wanted to see if he was up to the challenge.
“I give you props for that. But I’m giving myself even bigger props for surviving sixty-two days of forced bliss with Riss.” He smirked. “So I’m positive that Riss and I could make it another week or two.”
“I don’t know, Ike. It’ll be different if you’re in the same space twenty-four/seven. You can’t escape each other.”
“Riss is bound to be cranky as hell bein’ all busted up,” Tobin added.
“And she has dependency issues—as in, she hates being beholden to anyone. For anything. So no offense, but there’s no way she’ll accept your help, Ike.”
Tobin nodded.
“I’m gonna prove you both wrong. By the end of the workday tomorrow, Riss will be staying with me. Voluntarily.”
“How do you hope to accomplish that?”
Good question. “With my irresistible natural charm.”
“So you plan on bluffing your way through it?” Tobin asked. “Or bullshitting?”
“I reckon I’ll have to use both. And if that don’t work, I’ll fall back on my tried-and-true sales tactic.”
“Which is what?” Jade asked.
Lying my ass off—or, in Riss’s terminology . . . creating an alternate reality. He winked at her. “Now, darlin’, that’s a trade secret.”
Tobin muttered, “Twenty bucks says he’s screwed.”
“You’re on.”
Ike grabbed the remote. “Now that I’ve decided to do my good deed for the year, can we finish watching the game?”
* * *
Early that evening Ike called Hugh Pritchett, his partner in Jackson Stock Contracting. “What’s up, California Dreamin’?”
“Still not funny after the hundredth time you’ve said it, Ike.”
“Dang, partner, that hurts. And speaking of hurting, Riss broke her arm.”
“What? How’d that happen?”
“Not sure. Something to do with fixin’ pipes under her trailer.” Ike had zero mechanical skill and even less aptitude for explanations.
“So what’s that mean for us?”
After Ike said his piece, he waited for Hugh to organize his thoughts. The man was a deliberate thinker. It used to drive Ike crazy, but he’d gotten used to it over the years.
Finally Hugh sighed. “I hate to say this, but at least Riss’s accident happened when there’s just one event scheduled in Gillette.”
“I was hopin’ to hear you’d picked up a couple down your way.”
“I’ve been workin’ on it. Nothin’ new to report.”
“It’s hard not to get discouraged with the ‘wait and see’ attitude, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Some’ve talked a good game about hiring us, then it falls back on an unseen committee that doesn’t want to outright fire a local stock provider.”
“I’m startin’ to wonder if Renner was right in scaling back this side of the business and if we were fools to take it on,” Ike said.
“We knew expanding Jackson Stock Contracting would take time and patience, especially since we’re cold-calling venues that haven’t heard of us. We just have to push the fact we’ve got two generations of rank bulls in our rough stock arsenal.”
“I hear you, Hugh. It’s just frustrating as hell. It’s been a year and a half and we’re still nowhere. You’re still in California, which I thought would be temporary.”
“It gets more permanent every day.”
That tipped off his radar. “Something else goin’ on you wanna tell me about, partner?”
“It’s fuckin’ expensive to live in California.”
“And? That’s not news,” Ike said.
“And we agreed to draw a minimal salary until we had some money coming in.”
Ike hadn’t been drawing a salary at all—a fact he’d managed to keep from his partner. The bank account couldn’t afford to pay them both, so Ike had been living off his personal savings, which had dwindled down to nothing.
“So while the building maintenance job I’m working in our apartment complex lowers our rent and pays me a decent wage, I’m gonna need more money.” A pause, then Hugh blurted out, “Harlow is pregnant.”
Ike’s stomach dropped.
“I know what you’re thinkin’, Ike.”
“You do? You’ve become one of them psychic Californians reading my aura and my energy along with my mind?”
“Piss off. I’m serious. You’re worried I’m gonna pull a Renner.”
“With all due respect, Hugh, you don’t know how things will play out once you and Harlow are holding the precious in a few months. Heck, you don’t even know if you can handle leaving Harlow alone while she’s pregnant.”
“So you’re sayin’ t
hat now ain’t the time to talk about it.”
Seemed they never talked about anything real. They spoke in circles and in terms of potentials.
But a baby was as real as it gets.
Ike honestly didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat. “I guess congratulations are in order.”
Hugh snorted. “While on one hand we’re thrilled, on the other . . . this wasn’t something we planned, so we’re both in shock.”
“Harlow has told Tierney and Renner?”
“Yeah. Tierney wants Harlow back in Muddy Gap after the semester ends, so she can keep an eye on her during the pregnancy, since their mom . . . had preterm and postterm problems.” He blew out a breath. “I can’t even wrap my head around the life-and-death issues my woman might be facing because I knocked her up. That’s scary shit, man.”
“Obviously Harlow’s health is the most important thing.”
“And?” Hugh prompted.
“And I’d do an Irish jig complete with heel kicks if the two of you moved back here. It’d be easier to run the business from one location.” That sounded offhand and supportive and not panicked as all get-out.
“I know that, Ike. For now, we’re in a holding pattern. Harlow just started the spring semester and that puts us at the second week in May before she’s finished. If all goes well, she’ll be in the last trimester of her pregnancy. Sounds as weird as hell saying that.”
“Better get used to it.”
“So back to Riss . . . you’ll keep me and Harlow updated on how she’s doin’?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“You sure you two ain’t gonna kill each other bein’ in the same place for more than five minutes?” Hugh asked.
“Nope. But it’ll be a damn sight harder for her to take a swing at me with a broken arm.”
“Don’t put it past her if you piss her off . . . which you’ve been known to do on occasion.”
The warnings about their knockdown, drag-out fisticuffs were wearing on him. “I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
“I’m getting at that I don’t know if you’d come back from bein’ smacked upside the head with a cast since the girl has a wicked uppercut.”
“I’ll handle her like I handle everything else in my life.”
“And how’s that?”
“Dodge and weave, my friend, dodge and weave.”
Chapter Five
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Bang.
Groaning, Riss squinted at the clock on the coffee table.
Two a.m.
Seriously? It was the middle of the damn night. They were supposed to be sleeping, not fucking.
Again.
It was the second time she’d been jarred out of a deep sleep by the horny duo.
Maybe she needed a higher dose of meds.
No, you need to get the hell out of here.
Yeah, well, that was easily wished for and harder to accomplish.
The squeaks got progressively faster and louder, as did the voices coming from her brother Louie’s bedroom.
“Yes, yes, yes! Drill me harder.”
For fuck’s sake.
Riss couldn’t cover her head with a pillow fast enough before Louie’s bedmate began moaning like a porn star, which was only marginally better than hearing her brother grunting.
When it finally—finally—went quiet, Riss lamented the fact she couldn’t clap on account of her mangled hand.
Lucky thing her mouth worked just fine.
She yelled, “I give you fuckers a six out of ten for sexual stamina and a seven out of ten for wakin’ up the household with your jungle howls.” Then Riss started laughing even when she doubted her brother and what’s-her-face would find it funny.
Sure enough, twenty seconds later, a bedroom door banged open. Stomping footsteps echoed down the hallway.
The lights came on, practically blinding her.
“You think it’s funny to horn in on a private moment?” Louie demanded.
“Well, stud, it wasn’t a private moment, that’s the point,” Riss shot back.
“Then stop bein’ a little pervert and don’t listen!”
“I’m not a pervert, asshole. I’m sleeping on the couch right outside your bedroom! It’s after two o’clock in the morning, Lou, and this is the second time your sexcapades have woken me up tonight.”
“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Deal with it, sis.”
Another bedroom door opened.
“This is how I’m dealing with it since you all insisted I stay here when I’m supposed to be recovering. So the least you could do is fuck quietly.”
“I agree. It’s bullshit we’re up because of your bow-chicka-wow-wow times.”
Riss looked at her brother Lloyd . . . and immediately wished she hadn’t. At least Lou had put on boxers; Lloyd was buck-ass naked.
“For fuck’s sake,” Lou hissed, “put some damn pants on.”
“Why? I ain’t got nothin’ to hide.”
“That’s beside the point. I don’t want my hookup wandering out here lookin’ for me, only to see your dick.”
“Afraid of the comparison?”
“Fuck you, Lloyd. It ain’t the size of the tool that matters, it’s how well you use it.”
“Then why don’t you invite her out, Lou, so she can compare tool sizes.”
“Great idea, since we’re all up anyway,” Riss said with false enthusiasm. “Here’s some advice: with the way your hookup was screeching, she definitely needs more lube.”
Lloyd laughed.
Lou did not.
Especially not when his lady friend—fully dressed and sporting some seriously awesome sex hair—stormed into the living room.
“A hookup?” she emphasized snottily. “That’s all I am to you?”
“Baby, you know that’s not true.”
Baby. The term her man-whore brother used when he couldn’t remember his hookup’s first name.
“I thought you were different.”
Lou moved closer to her—mainly to block her view of Lloyd. “Baby, I am different.”
“Prove it.”
He murmured something about proving it for a third time, but she wasn’t falling for his sweet bullshit.
“No, prove it by saying my name,” she retorted prissily.
Oh man. Seeing Lou backed into a corner was totally worth lost sleep.
“Uh, it’s . . . Carly, right?”
“Carly? You think my name is Carly?”
Louie kept sinking deeper. “No, baby, I was kidding. Of course I know your name.”
“Then what is it?” she shouted.
“Ah . . . Charley?”
“No!”
“Marley?” he offered. “No, wait. It’s Harley.”
“Omigod! You really don’t have a clue.”
Lou’s puppy dog eyes were wasted on her; she’d already booked it to the coatrack by the front door.
“I’m such an idiot. I thought we had a connection.”
“You did connect at least two times from what I heard,” Riss interjected, “so maybe—”
“Maybe you should stay the hell out of this!” Louie snapped at Riss.
Carly/Charley/Marley/Harley glared as she donned her outerwear. “Don’t ever contact me again, Louie Thorpe.”
“Not a problem, since he doesn’t remember your name, baby.”
“Go to hell. All of you,” the woman said and slammed the front door behind her.
“You just had to go there, didn’t you?” Lloyd said to Riss, shaking his head.
“I’d go anywhere else if I could, but I can’t.”
“Just great, Riss. I can’t fucking believe you did that!”
“How is this my fault?”
Before Louie started in on her
, Lloyd jumped in. “Don’t get pissy at Riss because you woke up the whole house in the middle of the damn night.”
Lou and Lloyd argued until a shrill whistle sliced through the air—the Thorpe family warning signal that shit was about to get real.
Lonnie, Riss’s oldest brother, wandered into the living room, his hands signaling time out. “Enough. You and you”—he pointed to Louie and Lloyd—“go back to your rooms. Finish this fight in the morning.” When they both hesitated, he said, “Go,” in that sharp tone no one argued with.
Bedroom door number one slammed.
Riss fought a snicker. Louie had been way more dramatic growing up than she had.
Lloyd’s door closed with a soft click.
Now she and her big, bad oldest bro were alone.
Her hope that Lonnie would return to bed without lecturing her . . . yeah, she should’ve known better.
He studied her with that I’m-the-law, spill-your-guts-now half squint.
And yep, she cracked. She always did. “What?”
“I know exactly what you’ve been doin’, sis.”
She squirmed to resituate her body on the lumpy couch. But her feet were tangled in the afghan and her pillow had somehow lodged itself under her ass.
Lonnie pulled the afghan free. Then he tugged the pillow and replaced it at the end of the couch. Being mindful of her cast, he gently tucked the afghan around her.
Say thank you. Don’t tag it with a defensive phrase like you’re capable of taking care of yourself because you’re obviously not. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And reverting to bein’ our bratty little sister ain’t gonna work.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but Lonnie just shook his head.
“You’ve been baiting Louie. You’ve tried that with Lloyd and me, attempting to piss us off so we’ll send you packing. That ain’t happening, Riss, because you’ve got no place else to go.”
Way to point that out, jerkface.
Just because she didn’t want to hear Lonnie’s tough-love declaration didn’t make it any less true. But he could just fuck the fuck off because her eyesight was getting blurry.
“Hey, now. Don’t cry.”
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