Page 7 of Mountain Protector

“They must really trust you.”

“I’ve been here for three years. And they know I’d rather die than let anything happen to this place.”

The words send an uncomfortable jolt through me. That’s exactly what I’m here to prevent.

While Ruby checks appointments on the computer, I do a walkthrough of the space, assessing security measures. The main area is open concept with several private tattooing stations. Glass display cases showcase jewelry and artwork. There’s a small kitchenette in the back, a storage room, a bathroom, and an office. Two exits—the front door and a back door leading to an alley. The windows are large, which isn’t ideal from a security standpoint, but gives clear visibility to the street.

“First client isn’t for another twenty minutes,” Ruby calls out. “I’m going to set up Spike in his spot.”

I watch as she takes the bearded dragon to a terrarium set up in a corner near one of the tattooing stations.

“Who’s coming in first?” I ask, leaning against the reception desk.

“Margaret Johnson. Seventy years old and getting her first tattoo.” Ruby’s face softens. “She’s been talking about it for months. A small butterfly on her wrist to celebrate her birthday.”

“Seventy-year-old rebel,” I say, and Ruby laughs.

“You’d be surprised how many older clients we get. It’s like once they hit a certain age, they stop giving a damn what anyone thinks.” She glances at me. “Something to look forward to in your golden years.”

“I’m thirty-five, not eighty.”

Ruby giggles. “So, in other words, practically ancient.”

I’m about to respond when the bell above the door chimes.

A slender woman with silver hair cut in a stylish bob enters, her posture straight and elegant. She’s dressed in a crisp blouse and slacks, looking more like she’s headed to a garden club meeting than a tattoo parlor.

“Margaret!” Ruby’s whole face lights up as she rushes from behind the counter to embrace the woman. “You’re early!”

“Couldn’t sleep a wink last night,” Margaret says, returning Ruby’s hug with equal enthusiasm. “Too excited.” Her sharp eyes move to me, curious but not wary.

“This is Clay,” Ruby says, gesturing to me. “He’s an old friend visiting from out of town.”

I step forward, offering my hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Margaret’s grip is surprisingly firm.

“Such manners. And so tall.” She looks between Ruby and me with an expression I can’t quite decipher before adding, “You found yourself a good one, dear.”

Ruby’s cheeks flush. “It’s not—we’re not—he’s just a friend.”

Margaret winks at me. “If you say so.”

I clear my throat. “I hear today’s a big day. Seventieth birthday?”

“Indeed. Finally getting the courage to do what I’ve been dreaming about for decades.” Margaret follows Ruby to her station, settling into the chair with a contented sigh. “My Harold always said I’d chicken out, but I’ll show him. Even if he’s not here to see it.”

Ruby begins preparing her tools, organizing ink caps, laying out the stencil. I take a seat nearby, close enough to observe but far enough not to crowd them.

“How long has Harold been gone?” Ruby asks gently as she cleans Margaret’s wrist.

“Five years this December.” Margaret’s voice is steady, tinged with nostalgia rather than fresh grief. “We had forty-three wonderful years together. Met right here in Cooper Heights, you know. At the Piney Creek Diner.”

“Love at first sight?” Ruby asks, her tone suggesting she’s heard this story before.

Margaret’s eyes light up. “Absolutely. The moment he walked in, I knew. He was supposed to meet someone else. A blind date his sister had set up. But he took one look at me serving coffee, and that was that. Walked right up and said, ‘I think I’m supposed to be meeting you.’”

I find myself leaning forward, drawn into her story.

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