Chapter 13 Hestia
HESTIA
My gloves on and stencil applied, Dee was almost vibrating with excitement as she looked down at the guide now on her arm. Nestled within part of her existing sleeve, the horns of the cow skull wove through the end of a snake’s tail above, the blossom cascading down her arm to her elbow.
‘Honey, it’s going to look like I tattooed this drunk if you don’t simmer down,’ I mock-scolded, picking up the tattoo machine, thankful it was the same brand as mine back home.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ Dee laughed as she all but skipped into the chair, startling as the band in the corner started up.
We both watched the beginning of their set for a minute, amid the bustle of the Jackson Collective space.
It was an open day – throwing the doors of Jackson’s artistic community open to everyone, locals and tourists alike.
Artists and creators of every description, from photographers to sculptors, musicians to hatmakers, had set up stands in a huge community hall.
The idea was to showcase Jackson’s home-grown talent and invite others, like me, in to demonstrate our passion.
I smiled to myself, realizing that I’d used a very ‘Jesse’ word just then, adjusting my grip and the needle depth slightly as I herded my attention back to the task at hand.
A vision of accidentally tattooing Jesse’s face on Dee’s arm crossed my mind and as she turned back to me, I chuckled under my breath.
‘What?’ she asked, smiling as I shook my head.
‘Nothing, just trying to get myself in the zone a little. It’s been . . . almost two months since I last did any work. And this week I’ve been distracted with, well, the rodeo last weekend, and Luci . . .’
‘The rodeo, huh?’ Dee asked after I got started. Within seconds I could feel the muscle memory returning to my fingers, my creative brain locking into the detail. I knew this design would look incredible, especially with the rest of her look. ‘Yeah, I heard a few things about that.’
‘Oh?’ I murmured, feigning innocence.
She paused, as though assessing my expression.
‘It’s a small-town thing, the gossip,’ she explained, careful to keep her voice in line with the volume of the band.
I could feel eyes on us now I’d started – people are always curious about the tattooing process.
‘So don’t take it personal that people were yapping about you, but yeah .
. . there was some talk. Something about the return of Jackson’s star bull rider, getting an incredible score and then high-tailing it out of the rodeo after a woman. ’
‘Huh,’ I replied, raising my eyebrow as I completed the curve of the horns, really starting to get into my groove. ‘He did, did he?’
A quick glance at her face confirmed that she was holding back a laugh.
‘Yeah. Funny thing is, by all accounts a little while later he came striding back in again, holding hands with – and I quote – “some hot goth chick”.’
I snorted.
‘He was just being . . . nice,’ I admitted, smiling as she chuckled. ‘I got a bit freaked out by the bull riding, that’s all. If you think about it, it’s a pretty fucking weird thing to do, not to mention fairly suicidal.’
I realized how much I didn’t want to lie to her, or anyone else, about me and Jesse. But we’d agreed on returning to the Diamond Back after the rodeo that we would keep things as quiet and low-key as possible while we figured it out.
My stomach squirmed as I thought of him, of the snatched moments we’d had together since.
The week had been manic with guests, Jesse out from dawn to late, not to mention silently suffering the physical after-effects of being jolted and thrown around on a bull.
I knew his shoulder was hurting; I had noticed him rotating it, wincing, too many times over the past few days.
‘So, are you guys . . .? Or is it complicated with stuff at home?’ Dee asked, her voice tentative.
I sighed a little, turning my head to begin part of the blossom, switching inks. My signature style was using an indigo ink, something Dee had specifically requested.
‘Yeah, it’s kind of complicated,’ I confessed, trying to explain without going too deep. ‘I still run my studio at home with my ex, and he’s only a recent ex. But . . . Jesse is . . . I like him. A lot.’
We were skirting the real truth, as though walking along the edge of an abyss, teetering above the blackness below.
In that darkness, way down, was every failed relationship I’d had, and the knowledge that – aside from Lottie and one, maybe two others – I didn’t know how to let people in for the long term.
I didn’t know what it was to make a relationship work, not really.
Therefore, the odds of something working out with Jesse were . . . low. At best.
‘Oh, I get that,’ Dee agreed, nodding and saying hi to someone passing, being careful not to move. ‘I mean, he’s fucking gorgeous, obviously. Must make it even more difficult with only being here for a little while, I guess.’
I hummed an agreement as I concentrated, registering yet another lurch in my gut at the inevitable, not yet able to picture just how we would say goodbye.
I’d always known that leaving Lottie would be hard, but now, with Jesse – not to mention Luci, Bailey, Cole, Dee – the list was growing unbearably long.
‘What about you?’ I said, keen to switch the topic away from myself and clear Jesse from my mind, if only for the next couple of hours while I worked. But even as Dee talked about a recent date and her own ex, he was still there on the periphery of my perception.
Just over two hours later, Dee’s arm wrapped and admired as I met a whole host of fellow artists, she wrapped me in a careful hug.
‘I fucking love it,’ she breathed, helping me to clean up. ‘Do you want to borrow the machine and the rest of the kit while you’re here? It’s a spare anyway. Just in case you feel . . . inspired up there at the Diamond Back.’
I laughed, thanking her, and agreed to take care of it.
‘Want to come look at all the other stuff? There’s something I want to show you in particular as well,’ she enthused, glancing down at the new part of her sleeve and grinning again.
Her natural enthusiasm was catching; I’d almost forgotten the satisfaction of seeing a client as in love with my creation as I was with the process of doing it.
‘Show me everything,’ I agreed, linking arms with her and carrying the kit in a bag on my shoulder. ‘Are those belt buckles over there?’
We reviewed a whole selection of buckles – not something I’d ever imagined being interested in.
But learning from Dee what they meant and assessing the metals, from silver to brass and steel, and designs from bucking broncs to one particularly beautiful cow’s skull, I found myself choosing two: the skull, not dissimilar to my tattoo design for Dee, and a turquoise-studded silver one that I could picture with my black Wranglers.
‘Okay, now – this is what I really wanted to show you,’ Dee said, barely suppressing a squeal as we reached one of the largest stands, already crowded with other customers.
There were endless cowboy hats of almost every colour and shape on racks, with four people at benches in front, customizing them.
‘These guys are going to be supplying my shop soon – I’m branching into offering hat customization for bachelorette parties and girls’ weekends.
We get so many weddings now in Jackson.’ She stopped, catching the eye of one of the women serving, waving and pointing at me.
‘I, um . . . well, as a little thank-you for this and the other T-shirt design, I kind of had one made up for you.’
Taken aback, I watched as the woman brought over a large box, greeting Dee and offering it up to me.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked, my eyes flickering over the slightly intimidating price tags on the hats nearest to us. ‘This is really generous . . .’
As Dee lifted the lid, allowing me to pull it out, my mouth fell open. It was jet black with a braided black leather band around the crown, and a silver skull and a turquoise ‘H’ charm woven into the ends of the braid.
‘Oh my God, Dee,’ I blurted eventually, putting my bag down, desperate to try it on. ‘Oh wow, it fits perfectly.’
I turned to her and the woman, both nodding.
‘I knew it,’ Dee said, grinning. ‘Got a knack for guessing sizes. And obviously the black looks awesome against your hair.’
‘I fucking love it,’ I said, grinning right back and pulling Dee into a hug, mindful of her arm. ‘It’s so thoughtful of you.’
‘I really don’t want you to go,’ she murmured into my shoulder before we pulled apart. ‘I was hoping I could bribe you to stay.’
It wasn’t until much later in the day, back at the ranch and freshly showered, that I began to dwell on her words.
What the ranch had come to mean, the growing depth of my attachment to it – let alone the people.
The thought of wearing my new hat at home, in London, felt entirely alien.
But the strangest part about it wasn’t the hat – that felt comfortable in every sense.
It was the thought of the city, my life there, that felt . . . off.
My stay was open-ended right now, but I knew that hovering in the distance was a moment when I’d have to make the call to go home.
Luci was recovering beautifully, even being borderline pleasant to Bailey as well as to me; she might well become a useful asset to the ranch.
My tourist visa was ultimately the deciding factor, given I didn’t have Lottie’s flexibility with dual citizenship.
In my bathrobe, I slipped into the kitchen, suspecting tonight would be a quiet one – likely a movie in bed and an early night. Lottie was exhausted. The cabins were booked solid for another few weeks through to mid-September, and even with a full staff it was all hands on deck.
As I grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, the side door opened, and Jesse came in from the dimming twilight outside.