“I am suffocating in this. Could you please give me some breathing room?”
Ike pushed back her hood; those wild red curls of hers went sproing and haloed her beautiful face. Then he undid the coat zipper so her cast was visible. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She smiled brightly at Ingrid. “Hello, Ingrid. I’m Riss Thorpe. It’s nice to meet you.”
Ingrid’s answering smile was brittle at best. “Whatever did you do to your arm?”
Riss looked at Ike. “It’s kind of embarrassing, isn’t it?”
Come on, alternate reality girl—make this one good. “I keep tellin’ you. It wasn’t that bad.”
Riss refocused on Ingrid. “I broke it snowboarding trying to impress my man. I took an easy jump and landed wrong.”
“Well, baby, I was impressed.” Ike kissed the crown of her head. “And you’re bein’ far too modest. You could’ve gone pro on the snowboarding circuit. That ‘easy’ jump was a ten-eighty at twenty-five feet off the half-pipe.”
“Such a shame,” Ingrid murmured. “Those triples are so hard to land. Where did this happen? Olly and I took the kids snowboarding all over Wyoming and Colorado several times a year when they were growing up, so I’m familiar with the winter sports areas.”
“Oh, I doubt you’ve been to this one,” Riss said.
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because it’s on the backside of a small mountain on the Shoshone Reservation. It’s a spot not known to outsiders since it’s part of a sacred site. But as a member of the tribe . . . I’ve been goin’ there for years.”
Damn. Ike had been sweating her answer on that one.
Ingrid’s skeptical gaze took in Riss’s vivid red hair, her green eyes and her freckled, ivory skin. “You’re Indian?”
“Yes, ma’am. My dad was half Shoshone; my mom was white; which makes me an quarter Shoshone with enough Native blood to enroll in the tribe, which I currently am.” She tossed her curls. “Let’s get back to the business at hand. Has that loader been used recently?”
Ingrid looked at Ike, not Riss, which annoyed him.
And it annoyed Riss, apparently. “We’re here to load hay, which we can’t do if the loader isn’t working. And no, forklift maintenance isn’t in the contract. So if it ain’t workin’, save us all a bunch of trouble and say so now and we’ll be on our way.”
“As far as I know my son-in-law used it last week.”
“Good.” Riss looked at Ike. “Need my help getting set up?”
“No. But don’t go too far in case that changes.”
Ingrid left and didn’t return until the bales were racked and stacked.
Of course Riss rechecked his tie-downs.
While she did that, Ike had Ingrid sign the paperwork. “I know this seems like an odd work order, but you’re delivering this hay to my daughter. She’s seven months pregnant with her second child. Her husband is in the army reserves and he’s at a mandatory training camp in North Carolina for two weeks. They believed they had enough hay for the horses until he returned home and could load up the rest of these stacks—which are theirs—but she’s about to run out. With her pregnant, and her daddy gone, and so many of our neighbors retired and moved to Arizona, I knew I had to find help.” She gave Ike a watery smile. “I’m happy I saw your ad. You are a lifesaver.”
It hadn’t been an ad, but he didn’t correct her. He and Riss needed to get back on the road. “I’m glad it worked out for you and the hungry horses. Take care, Ingrid.”
“You too, Ike. It’s awful nice of you to let your girlfriend ride along, but I’d keep an eye on her. She seems bossy about your business and it’s a little off-putting.”
“My business?” Ike laughed. “Riss works for Tito, not me. I’m currently unemployed. She’s nice enough to let me partner with her.” He tipped his hat and bestowed his most charming smile. “If anyone else around here needs extra help, we’d appreciate the referral.”
Riss waved to Ingrid as Ike helped her into the passenger’s side.
After the rubber hit the road, Riss spoke. “Lucky thing that this is a super short haul. The straps Tito sent are shitty. So are the tarps. If I’da known we were hauling hay this first leg when we left this morning, I would’ve stopped by my place and brought my own straps. We might be screwed if the wind blows hard the next hundred miles, since we’ve just got a single layer of bales.”
“I think we’ll be okay. But I hear ya on using different straps in the future.” As soon as he said it, he shot her a sideways glance. Would she get pissy that he assumed they’d be driving together again?
Riss was pissy. But not for that reason. Finally, she said, “Why do some women feel entitled to flirt with a guy right in front of his girlfriend? Total dick move.”
“I agree. She never acted like that when Olly was alive. So it’s not like I’ve had to fend off her advances in the past. If that’d been the case, I would’ve declined this load.”
She brooded out the window for the longest time before she spoke and even then she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “On an attractiveness scale, Ike, you’re, like, a twelve. On my best days, I’m maybe a five. I’m good with that. But other people see the seven-point difference between us and assume we’re just friends or whatever, because a dude who looks like you could do way better than a chick who looks like me.”
“Riss—”
“Hear me out, okay? If those assumptions would’ve happened once, I’d laugh it off. But that’s the third damn time this week people have given me that attitude when they realize we are together. It sucks. Mostly because I don’t blame them for the assumption.”
Ike was floored by her matter-of-fact statement. And really fucking annoyed. And really fucking pissed off. He forced himself to take a drink of soda and reached deep for that well of patience before he responded. “So you’re gonna use the ridiculous excuse that other people think I’m too good-lookin’ for you to break it off with me?”
Riss laughed. “Hell no. You like me as I am; I like me as I am. So I’m not gonna head into Sephora for a makeover to try to bring myself up to a seven; neither will I buy expensive clothes that’ll camouflage my body flaws to give me another bump on that number scale. I’ll just deal with the nastiness and now the jealousy that we’re a couple the same ways I always have.” She looked at him and gave him the most devious, most glorious smile he’d ever seen. “I will mind-fuck with them and then we’ll laugh about it. In bed.”
God. I love you, Larissa Thorpe.
The sound of someone laying on the horn jolted him out of the moment the same time Riss yelled, “Eyes on the road, Palmer, eyes on the goddamned road!”
Shit. He’d drifted into the other lane as he’d gazed awestruck at the woman he loved. That rolling, butterflies-taking-wing sensation in his belly wasn’t from nearly clipping a garbage truck but from another reminder that this woman was perfect for him in every way that mattered.
“Tito will fucking kill you if you put a single scratch on his rig,” Riss warned.
“I know. Sorry. I’ll refocus.”
She was quiet for a few beats. “You’re not gonna blame me for distracting you?”
Ike patted the steering wheel. “I’m behind this. Any driving errors, including those I make when I hear my woman’s fearsome determination to tell people who question our coupling to fuck off . . . are mine. Period.”
“Might make a driver outta you yet.”
“I’ll just ask you not to blow me when we’re movin’ down the road. I lose all ability to think when your mouth is on my cock, sweet cheeks.”
“As it should be, cowboy. Safety first.” She propped her sock-clad feet on the dash. “But when this rig is stopped for the night, look out.”
He laughed. “Gonna be a long goddamned day.”
* * *
Unloading at the W
inspahr Ranch was uneventful and they stayed on schedule.
Riss had packed lunch and snacks, so they didn’t have to stop until they reached the next pickup point outside of North Platte.
The building had a huge bay door that’d been opened as soon as the customer had seen the truck turn onto the gravel road.
Ike’s anxiety surfaced in all its blood-pumping, palm-sweating, ball-tightening, teeth-clenching glory as he lined the truck up to back through the open door. He hoped to hell he didn’t fuck this up and embarrass himself in front of Riss—and Riss in front of this Marlon guy—as he watched his positioning in his side mirrors, forcing himself to go slow.
Almost, almost . . . yes. The brakes let out a whoosh of air when he put the truck in park. He had to wipe his forehead on his sleeve he’d sweated so much in the past two minutes.
“Ike.”
“Yeah.”
“Baby, you did great.”
“Thanks. Christ. I don’t know that I took a breath at all.”
“It’s gonna be hard for these guys to breathe if you don’t cut the engine and kill the diesel fumes.”
Shit. So close to getting it right. So. Close. He groaned. “Forget one tiny thing . . .” He turned the key and the cab went quiet. Sometimes he forgot how damn loud the engine was.
“Two things I gotta warn you about with Marlon and this pickup. First, Marlon is a cheap motherfucker. He’s gotta be desperate to get this load delivered if he’s offering a bonus. I don’t gotta tell you it’ll be an extra fast live load. He’ll put every piece of concrete on the flatbed himself. His son Marlon Junior will try to engage you in small talk. Don’t fall for it. I know it’s second nature to you salesmen to offer that personal touch in getting to know your clients, but don’t engage with any of Marlon’s employees either.”
“Can I ask why not?”
“Without seeming . . . uncaring, Marlon Junior is a special-needs guy. He helps out when he can and he’s pretty good about half of the time. It’ll seem that his dad is kind of a dick to him, but as Marlon Senior has raised the boy pretty much alone, he knows the best way to deal with him.”
“Jesus. What else?”
“Ever given any thought to the importance of knowing how to look busy while standing around doin’ nothin’?”
Ike shook his head.
“Marlon will take note of everything you do—and don’t do. If he feels like you were fucking off during your nondriving time while he was loading his pieces—and yes, I understand that is his demand to literally do all the heavy lifting himself—he will complain to Tito. Tito is a businessman; he’ll get paid regardless and he’ll be willing to go along with Marlon in denying payment of a bonus if Marlon can back up his claims. So don’t talk with the employees. Don’t help yourself to the free coffee and doughnuts. Find a broom and act like you’re sweeping up concrete dust after Marlon moves the pallets to the flatbed.”
What a bunch of crap. But Riss had survived this scenario enough times he’d do exactly as she said. “Got it. What else?”
She squirmed. “You can’t give any indication that we’re a couple. And yes, I realize this is in direct conflict with what we just talked about, but Marlon is old-school. Women shouldn’t be drivers. He respects me because I’ve proven him wrong over the years by bein’ twice as tough. So I need to retain all the control of the details about this load, especially since I’ve got a broken arm. Okay?”
How she willingly dealt with this macho bullshit day in and day out surprised him. “So you’re sayin’ I’m supposed to shuffle around with a broom in my hand, lookin’ all handsome and shit, keeping my charming, chatting mouth closed and my lustful gaze off my beautiful girlfriend?”
“Uh . . . yeah.”
“That sucks. I love watchin’ you turn into Red, truck-tough, mouthy broad. Gets me hard.”
“Save it for later.” She exhaled. “Here we go. Stay put for a sec and keep the windows rolled down, ’cause I already see a problem I gotta take care of.”
“Just don’t hurt yourself getting out.”
“I’ll be careful.” She opened the door and all but jumped to the ground.
In the side mirror, Ike watched her walk the length of the flatbed, stopping at a pair of sawhorses and a plastic tarp about ten feet behind the bed. Then she yelled at someone out of Ike’s view. “Goddammit, Marlon. Move this shit off the scale. You’re not loading anything until I know I can weigh it.”
That sneaky fucker had tried to cover up the scales? To see if he could get away with overloading the truck? Or to see if Riss wouldn’t think to check that and then he’d have a legit reason for denying her bonus? What an asshole.
“Sorry. Junior! Paxton! Get that stuff moved off there now!”
As soon as the area was cleared, Ike could see the scales. It killed him to wait for Riss’s signal on what to do next, but he managed.
“Palmer!” she yelled. “Back it up another ten feet. Then bring me the clipboard.”
“As you wish,” he mumbled and did her bidding.
It was damn near impossible to keep his focus off her as she morphed into the larger-than-life Riss that he remembered from the first time they’d met. While her over-the-top behavior had a specific purpose to get Marlon to fall in line—the old guy defined cantankerous—Ike couldn’t help his smug sense of satisfaction that he knew the real Riss, not this ball-bustin’ stranger.
Everything played out as she’d said it would. The entire process from start to finish lasted two hours. Ike even slipped in a bathroom break when Marlon was busy yelling at his son.
Once Ike pulled onto the interstate, Riss relaxed. But he was wound tight. The distance to the drop-off point wasn’t far, but for him, driving a rig loaded down with concrete was the most difficult aspect of this run. The return load to Cheyenne was empty oak barrels for aging whiskey.
As if Riss sensed he needed to concentrate, she didn’t chatter.
After they’d cleared the weigh station two hours later, Riss said, “You’re doin’ great, Ike.”
“Thanks.”
“Gonna make a driver out of you yet,” she teased.
High praise coming from her.
He would take things one step at a time and hopefully nothing would go wrong in the next three days to make her change her mind.
Chapter Twenty-six
Today was the day.
Or so she hoped.
After twelve long weeks, Riss was supposed to get her cast off.
She’d spoken to all three of her brothers via speakerphone last night, assuring them Ike was accompanying her to the doctor. Suspicious fuckers made Ike confirm it because apparently they still didn’t trust her.
But she wondered if she’d even know how to act without the clunky thing weighing her down. She’d gotten so used to compensating for it she’d probably hit herself in the face and end up with a black eye.
Ike had left for work early, but not before fucking her so thoroughly she couldn’t crawl out of his bed.
Cocky jerk.
When she woke up, she debated on going home but decided that since she had a couple of changes of clothes here it’d be a waste of time.
She tidied up Ike’s place, and that killed all of ten minutes because the man was a total neat freak.
So when he came home for lunch, he found her napping on the couch.
“I wonder if I forgot how to work,” she mused as Ike fixed them both sandwiches.
“I doubt it. It’s too ingrained that two months ain’t gonna change much of anything. Hell, most people would’ve taken the injury as an excuse not to do anything.”
“How is the construction business?”
“A little slower than Holt would like.”
She paused with the sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Has he mentioned cutting your hours?”
Ike sh
rugged. “It’s a week-by-week thing. If it doesn’t pick up, I have no doubt I’ll be the first guy off the clock.”
“You don’t seem bothered by that.”
“Nothin’ I can do. This is a reality check so I’d have to find work someplace else.”
Ike might act like it was no big deal, but Riss knew his tells. He was worried.
“Well, good thing we’re still practicing cheap dates. I found a coupon code online for ‘buy one, get one free’ coffee and scones at this hip new coffee joint in Rawlins.”
“Yeah, I know. My sister Lea started working there, remember?”
Riss choked on her sandwich. She had forgotten that.
Ike’s sisters had pushed to get to know Riss and he’d granted them one afternoon at the mall, where Mikayla and Elijah could burn off energy on the climbing wall and she and Ike could leave if things became too tense. They’d managed to coexist peacefully for a few hours, but Riss would be hardpressed to call it fun.
On the other hand, Ike now had become tight with Riss’s brothers. Lonnie was teaching Ike to box twice a week and in the afternoons Riss spent at the garage going over the books, Lloyd was teaching Ike car repair basics. There was something seriously sexy about seeing that blond hair beneath the hood of a car and engine grease on his hands.
While Ike changed clothes, Riss loaded the dishes and for just a moment, she had to stop and remind herself this was her life now. Being part of a couple. Learning to balance family and friends and jobs. Before, the very thought of this type of domesticity would’ve had her slinking out the door.
Ike returned to the kitchen doing up the last button on a baby blue and red plaid western shirt. “You ready?”
“Why are you all dressed up, slick?”
“I have been slacking on my appearance if you think this is me dressed up.” He kissed her nose. “I’m only recently a sweats-and-hoodie-wearing-guy, yo.”
She snickered. “Our next foray into creating an alternate reality, I wanna see if you can make me hot in public by acting like an urban douchebag. You know. Like you used to be when we were frenemies.”
Racked and Stacked Page 30