Page 74 of Attraction & Repulsion

Raegan leaned on the display next to her and put a hand on her stomach. Even though she wasn’t showing yet, Carson understood the natural instinct to cradle, even when the baby was the size of a bagel bite.

“Isn’t this the same guy that asked you out?” she asked, recalling theirconversation from Hunter’s birthday party.

Carson rolled her eyes. “Yes, but we’re just meeting up as friends.”

Raegan sniffed, then said, “Have you spoken to Jax lately?”

“No.” She frowned. Really it felt like her whole body frowned.

“I heard he got promoted to captain.”

“Really?” Carson said. “I knew the position was opening up. I’m happy he took it.”

Raegan pushed off the display and started fingering through a rack of onesies. “Make sure you text me about your”—she formed air quotes with her fingers—“non-datetonight.”

The horse skull’s glowing green eyes stared menacingly down at Carson from above the bar entrance. She wasn’t sure if the skull was meant to be rugged and bold, like the thousands of cowboys that had passed underneath it, or scary and intimidating. Maybe it was guarding the entrance to the bar.

Standing—more like shivering, it was so damn cold—outside Mustang Saloon in the dark, she waited for Will. Smoke-filled bars with sloshing alcohol and pulsing music were no longer her scene, but Will had wanted the authentic Prescott experience.

Pulling up her scarf to cover her nose, Carson nestled into the crocheted yarn. One more minute and she’d wait for him inside.

“Carson!”

Will was walking up the sidewalk, avoiding a group of tourists fervently photographing the famous Whiskey Row. He looked soout of place wearing a woolen trench coat, striped scarf, and were those leather gloves? His shoes were too shiny for the desert, missing dirt and goatheads stuck to the bottom. They would have been more appropriate in the streets of New York, not a small rodeo town. When he got closer, Carson recognized the smell of flowers, maybe peonies. It was stronger than the last time she saw him. It was dainty, and nothing like the way Jax smelled.

“You made it,” Carson said, relieved that she could now get out of the cold.

“Just barely,” he huffed. “I couldn’t find a parking spot.”

“Even in the parking garage?”

“There’s a parking garage?”

Carson pointed at the bar behind her. “It’s just on the other side.”

“Of course there’s a parking garage,” Will muttered.

Leading the way, Carson pushed open the heavy wooden doors. Her nose crinkled at the bitter smell of alcohol, and she choked down a gag. Lights danced and swirled like the few folks who were swinging to the raucous, thumping music. Why bars played music so loud that guests couldn’t hear themselves think, Carson would never understand. The bartender didn’t seem to have a problem with the music’s volume as they ordered their drinks and chose one of the tall tables near the bar.

“Why do they call it Whiskey Row?” Will asked after taking a long pull from his mug.

“Huh?” The music, the buzzing conversations, the clinking of glasses. All too loud.

He repeated himself.

“Oh. I guess back in the early nineteen hundreds, a fire burned down a majority of the buildings. They rebuilt it with a bunch of bars, and, I think, at one point there were about forty saloons,” Carson explained, pulling offher jacket and scarf. Her sleeves were long and safe. Nobody on this planet could persuade her to show her scars in front of Will.

“That seems excessive,” he said.

She lifted her Shirley Temple. “Welcome to the wild west.” Then she added, “You could say downtown Prescott is cursed. Fires are always happening here.”

Will took another drink while his eyes raked over the bar. Something caught Carson’s eye in the corner. A large Maltese cross was printed on the back of someone’s shirt. She squinted in the dim lighting. The guy standing next to the shirt looked familiar. Had she seen him before?

Shaking her head, she sipped her soda and asked, “What brings you into Prescott?”

“I took a job in Scottsdale and moved in last weekend.”

“Really? What firm?”

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