Page 4 of Holding The Reins

“Have fun, girls! Break some hearts, not the law.”

I giggle, shaking my head at her as we start the car and Jason Aldean croons through the sound system.

I’m so far from Seattle, and for the first time since I made the decision to leave Andrew, I feel totally, completely free.

The Horse and Barrel is alive with women from all over town, and a few brave men that don’t want to miss out on their after-dinner beer. Sangria Sundays have been a ritual in Laurel Creek for as long as I remember. It’s a night just for the girls, the best country music plays through the vintage sound system; we dance, gossip, and enjoy cheap drinks, especially the house made sangria. Everyone in town knows you don’t seek good customer service from a woman on Mondays in Laurel Creek. Chances are, they’re probably still a little hungover.

The crowd isn’t disappointing tonight. The place is packed and my girls and I are sandwiched into the corner of the only rustic cowboy bar Laurel Creek has to offer. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been inside but I can’t see much of a difference—aside from some new pine floors. I look around and take in the antique tin signs that adorn the entire back wall over the stage where house bands play on Friday and Saturdays. Jack Daniels bottles have been hollowed out and made into wall sconces over the dark rustic wood walls. Cozy booths have dim chandeliers hanging over them, and in the middle of the wide open space is a large dance floor. The entire east wall is a bar complete with neon lights and our town mascot, Archibald the Tiger, gracing the center as a large neon Tiger shrine.

“Someone remind me why the hell the giant Tiger is hanging there again? It freaks me out, it’s like it’s looking at me,” Avery Pope, the newest and youngest addition to our crew asks. I’ve just met her but she’s sweet and funny. Ginger tells me she moved here two months ago from Lexington to teach figure skating at the town sports facility. I’ve heard all about her. Apparently, she drinks my girls under the table and I can see why as she gulps down what’s left in her glass.

“Well, he’s a hero,” I say. We all love to tell this story and I’m an official expert after writing a paper on him in eighth grade.

“When the traveling circus used to come to town—”

“In like, the 1800’s,” Ginger pipes up.

“Yes, 1889,” I correct. “Archibald chased another tiger that got loose from the circus—a younger tiger, some even say a cub. The cub was on the train tracks and Archibald sensed the train was coming so he chased the other tiger out of the way and was hit by the train himself. He sacrificed his life to save the cub, it’s our town legend. There’s a statue of him near Cave Run Park.”

“Aww…” Avery says.

“You know that’s all bullshit right?” a deep and even voice says from beside me. One I know well.

I brace myself and turn to meet the face I know is waiting for me.

“Is not,” I argue, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s true. Turns out Archibald was just a selfish asshole that always tried to escape from the circus, probably because they treated those animals horrifically.” A corded, inked forearm places a handful of napkins on the center of the table and I note the number ten, in Roman numerals incorporated into honeysuckle vines that disappear up into his rolled up flannel sleeve.

“Anyway, he got away one night and was all by his lonesome when the train hit him. The whole ‘saving a cub’ story was made up to make him appear like a hero. Good press. But none of it was actually true.”

Ginger and I gasp.

“How dare you?” Olivia Sutton, my other best friend and final portion to our lifelong trio pipes up.

“You get away from our table with those lies, and stop tarnishing our town lore Nash Carter!” She wags a finger at him.

He chuckles at Olivia before he responds.

“Alright, well I was bringing you this, just to welcome Rae home, but I guess I’ll just give it to another table then?” Nash holds up a fresh pitcher of the best sangria in three counties, grinning at us and goddammit, if he isn’t the most devastating specimen of a man I’ve ever seen. He always has been, but his looks are even more perfect than I remember and the worst part is, he knows it. He uses it to his benefit and I, for one, have had enough of men like that to last me a lifetime.

“No, no, no,” Ginger says, flashing him a wide smile. “No need to rush off, I’m sure we can work something out. I guess there could be two sides to every story. We’ll consider your version of Archibald’s history. Thanks for bringing us a refill… on the house, Nashby?” She winks and pats his forearm, calling him by a blend of his first name and my last name. He’s like my parent’s fourth child and has been since he was a teenager.

He nods and puts it on the table.

“My pleasure, ladies. Enjoy. Avery, see you tomorrow.”

She smiles at him and nods, fresh-faced. “Sure thing.”

I look her over—long dark hair, a skater’s figure, petite but strong, tan skin and olive eyes. She is beautiful and young and doesn’t know yet that he’ll probably just use her until he’s had his fill. He’s definitely banging her, I decide.

Nash puts a hand on my shoulder and leans down before he speaks. “Good to see you, Rae,” he says in his deep tenor, his eyes momentarily connecting with mine, as he gives me a gentle squeeze that makes me feel sort of melty all over.

I watch him over my shoulder as he walks away, trying to make sense of what is going on. Nash ‘The Rocket’ Carter—record breaking, slap shot scoring, Stanley cup winning, Laurel Creek fan favorite hockey star and my brother Wade’s best friend—now works as a server at the Horse and Barrel?

“I know what you’re thinking.” Olivia leans across the table. Her copper hair falls around her shoulders as she does, and her glossy pink lips turn up into a grin.

“He doesn’t just work here, he bought this place from Rocco Pressley right after he retired and moved back here in April. He owns it now.”

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