Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(7)
My eyes drop to my purse on the table, taking in the white note sitting on top. I grab it and read, squinting and even stumbling over Rand’s messy scrawl. I think it says:
Cat,
After you get a copy of the will from the attorney, come see me at the shop, Westward Ink. It’s at the corner of Cache and Pearl. I want to see what it says.
Rand
Several things about this note hit me at once.
Rand works at a tattoo shop? By the name alone, it could be a print shop, but I know it’s a tattoo shop because I’ve walked by it several times. It sits right in the heart of town, just a few blocks off the main square. Whenever Samuel brought me to Jackson so he could get his rocks off by watching me in The Silo, I’d have plenty of free time in which I was desperate to escape the house and proximity to his cold, leering eyes. So I wandered around Jackson and came to know a great deal about all the shops here.
I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around this. Does Rand run the tattoo shop? Or does he just work there? And why? How come he doesn’t work in the ski industry, which is absolutely booming around here in the snow months?
The other thing that hits me—almost with a warm, tingly sensation in my belly—is that he wants to see the will. That means his interest is deeper than just letting me crash on his couch, and the warm, tingly sensation flares a bit. I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me or wanted to see me safe and secure. In fact, outside of the initial illusions Samuel gave me when we first got married—that he was my salvation, ha!—there’s never been another person in my life who worried about my welfare.
I’m inherently distrustful nowadays, especially after Samuel roped me into a sham marriage and abused me in every way possible. This was only fortified when I was kicked out of the Jackson home and turned out in the street.
It would be very easy for me to suspect Rand’s motivations, yet for the life of me, I can’t help but believe he’s a genuine person. As such, after I visit the attorney, I intend to visit him at his shop and let him read the will with me.
Chapter 3
Rand
I got into work right at ten, which is what time the doors are supposed to open at Westward Ink. I’m not a tattoo artist. My reasons for working here are varied, in no particular order, and really don’t define who I am.
After getting knocked out of competitive skiing two years ago, I decided to make Jackson my permanent home. I’d spent a great deal of time here, skiing the double-black diamond slopes as part of my training. I liked the locals and the atmosphere. I also liked the powder that was always in abundant supply. In addition, Jake Gearhart, one of my closest friends, made this his permanent home and opened up a ski shop, so I figured… why the f*ck not? This was as good a place as any to settle down.
What I did not want to do was work in or around the ski industry. It’s not from sour apples or bitterness over my injuries and the early end to my career. I wasn’t lying to Cat this morning. I choose to glory in the fact that I had a great career while it lasted. She didn’t ask about it, but there’s more to competitive skiing than just winning races. And I’m really talking about endorsement deals and sponsorships. Like I said before, I could afford much bigger and better than the tiny apartment where I live as I made a f*ck of a lot of money during my heyday. But I don’t need more, so my money is banked, along with my gold and silver medals, in a secure lockbox. I spend my money if I want something, and I still buy my mom Louis Vuitton and my dad expensive cigars.
Most of my early training was done on the East Coast, as I’m a native Vermonter. I attended prep school with Jake at the famous Carrabassett Valley, which is a private alpine skiing, snowboarding, and freestyle academy that has produced many Olympic and World Cup champions. It sits at the base of Sugarloaf and I cut my teeth there, but after I turned eighteen, I moved to Park City, Utah to train with the U.S. Ski Team. In between training for competitions and recovery of my injuries, I lived a great deal of time in places like Tahoe and Jackson where I’d spend weeks, sometimes months, working my way back up to championship level.
I met my buddy and Westward Ink owner, Pish Malden, here in Jackson when I got my first ink during one of my numerous stays in the area. He was someone I’d grown close to over the years. After I moved into the apartment above Jake’s garage, Pish and I were casually talking one day as he was working on some ink on my arm and he ended up offering me a job. Not as a tattoo artist, mind you, but really just helping to run the shop to start out. I also took a part-time job bartending at The Wicked Horse last year, which then earned me a one-way ticket to my role as a Fantasy Maker at The Silo, but I’m content helping Pish out here for now. It keeps me busy and I like busy.
While I’m not a tattoo artist, I am an artist of sorts. In fact, in my late teens, my parents were proud to see I excelled at two things. Skiing and drawing. I had mad skills at both. But they gently pushed me toward skiing, since honestly, there was just more opportunity there. So I became a competitive alpine skier who drew and painted in my spare time. When Pish learned this about me, he would often take some of my doodles and designs and put them in his tattoo template book. So yeah… I might not actually do the ink, but there are many people who walk around with one of my designs on their bodies.
Pish offered to teach me how to tattoo, but I’m just not interested. For one, it takes a long time to get good at it and, honestly, I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I’m pretty sure it’s not working at a tattoo shop forever. Besides, I end up spending a lot of time at The Silo and I’m not interested in working more hours at Westward. So Pish settled on me being sort of a manager of the shop, coordinating schedules of the other artists and keeping things running smoothly. I’m in charge of opening every day except on weekends.