The nasty, critical voice in my head that sounded a hell of a lot like my stepdad – the one I drank a little bit harder than I should’ve to blank out – was always there for moments like these. As I approached the vast, rust-red barn, watching dust flying from the corral opposite, I shoved it down and flicked my hair over one shoulder. The studio was doing fine without me for now; Cal and another talented artist we knew, Blake, were holding it down. No need to worry.
Reaching the fence, I resisted leaning against it, knowing everything out here was covered in a fine film of dirt. It’d been an eye-opener to see Lottie in her element, totally unbothered by smudges on her cheeks, shovelling up horse shit and getting stuck into every aspect of ranch life. I couldn’t imagine how constricted and fake she must have felt back home, having to become someone so entirely different to her real self. Kyle may have been an utter bellend, but at least the situation had forced a change for her.
‘Oh hey, cowpoke!’
Bailey’s voice rang out across the corral as she urged her horse, Dunkin, into a gallop right towards the fence, pulling up at the very last moment and sending a small shower of dirt towards me.
‘Jesus wept,’ I yelled, jumping back, not able to prevent my boots from being covered in it. ‘You pull that kind of shit with all your visitors?’
Bailey cackled, looking back at the other woman in the ring on her horse, still practising turning around big, rusting barrels placed at intervals. She was clearly learning, taking wider loops than I’d seen Bailey do.
‘Only the ones I really like,’ she said, winking. ‘You want to try, honey? I reckon you’d be quite something on a horse.’
I eyed her, speculating.
‘Fuck no, you’ve got the wrong Brit. Never ridden a horse in my life,genuinecity girl and very happy to stay that way.’
She tilted her head, eyes narrowed under the brim of her hat.
‘I call bullshit,’ she replied. ‘We’ll have you in the saddle before you leave, I know it.’
‘I’m gonna need an incentive,’ I added, giving her a sly smile, imitating her own accent, watching as she tried to hide a grin.
‘Hot damn, girl,’ she shook her head. ‘Lottie was right about you. Pure firecracker.’
I knew it. There was a flicker of interest, just as I’d felt in her truck when she’d picked me up at the airport.
‘Well, this firecracker needs an outfit for the line dance this evening. Apparently “goth Barbie”, as Lottie loves to call me, isn’t going to cut it. Have you got anything that might work?’
She considered me for a moment.
‘Maybe. I mean, you’re welcome to have a look in my closet, but honestly, I think we’re a different shape, honey. You’re all tits and hips, in the best way. If you want to get into town, I think Cole’s around somewhere, or Jesse? They’re both working on the cabin right now, but they’ll spare an hour or so, I’m sure. Pretty sure Lottie’s tied up with the guests today.’ She paused, seemingly weighing something up. ‘I’d give you a ride myself, but I need the rest of the afternoon with Darcy. The rodeo’s only another week away.’
I nodded, conflicted about seeing Jesse again at close quarters, having only seen him at a distance since . . . the kitchen.
‘Maybe a ride another time?’ I said, hoping the suggestive undertone translated.
Bailey smiled again.
‘Sure thing, cowpoke. Just so long as you know I’m focused on competing and all this.’ She gestured behind her to the corral, where Darcy was slowing, leaning down to pat her horse on the neck. ‘I’m not in the right place for anyone . . . no matter how tempted I am.’
‘Oh, I get it . . . more than you know,’ I added after a pause, not missing the flash of concern in her eyes as I took my sunglasses off my head and put them on, the bright sunlight threatening to give me a headache. ‘Okay – I’ll go find Cole. Does he know which shops to try?’
Bailey just laughed, manoeuvring Dunkin backwards before turning towards Darcy, reeling off the names of a few shops to try in Jackson. I waved, steeling myself as I began the walk towards the cabin.
‘I hope Bailey warned you that all I’m good for is holding bags and driving?’ Cole offered as we arrived in Jackson, a half-smile on his lips. I totally saw it, why Lottie had fallen so hard; hard enough that it had scared her at first, something a long conversation one night after I arrived had revealed.
‘Just point out the shops and I promise I’ll be quick. I fucking hate shopping. Don’t suppose there are any that are a bit less . . . you know, mainstream?’
He grinned as we pulled into a space just off the main square, somehow parking the giant truck with ease.
‘Well, most things here cater for the tourists,’ he admitted as we got out and started strolling down the street, weaving through them. They all had their phones out, taking photos of everything from the random archway made of what looked like giant deer antlers to the knife-edge peaks soaring behind the low-rise buildings and fir trees. ‘But there is a place some local ladies go. It’s not cheap, but it’s run by Deanna, and I reckon you and her might just get along.’
I side-eyed him.
‘Dare I ask why?’
He couldn’t hide a smile.
