Beckett (Scars and Saddles #1)

Prologue

Beckett

My first week at a new school. Well, the first week of a new school in the last few months.

My parents have moved me around since I was old enough to remember. We would spend a few years in one spot before packing up our little black Pinto with the few things we did have and hauling to a new place in a new state.

Honestly, I know why we move the way we do . . . they don’t have the money to pay their dealers anymore and must flee; unfortunately, taking me with them.

This time, they found the small town of Honeysuckle, Georgia and it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen with my own eyes. Horses and farms for miles upon miles. Only to my dismay, we live in the only trailer park in town and nowhere on one of the beautiful ranches or homes nearby.

I haven’t met any new friends yet at school and I don’t plan to. I have learned if I can just be invisible, I don’t have to worry about people feeling bad for me because most do and it’s embarrassing when they ask things about my life because none of them understand it.

What a privilege that is for them.

It is no secret I have a rough home life: from the holes in my clothes, to the dirtiness of my hair and skin.

I am lucky if there is even water on at home to take a bath, so I am sure I stink.

I have noticed most students don’t even try to sit next to me and that’s okay.

I prefer it that way; less of a chance of feeling something that I know isn’t real.

“Is this seat taken?” A boy’s voice draws my attention from my lunch tray in the school cafeteria.

I sit alone on a long table with twelve seats on each side. “No.” I shake my head.

The boy smiles, setting his tray down, and sitting beside me. His boots are the only thing about him that are dirty. His short brown hair is combed and styled and the black t-shirt he has on portrays a picture of a bull on the back.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asks, plunging a hole in his Styrofoam cup of sweet tea.

“Yes. Just started here earlier this week.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“My name’s Carson. What’s yours?”

“Beckett.”

He gives me a soft grin, “Well, Beckett, there’s no sense in sitting here alone. Mind if I eat my lunch with you?”

“I guess.”

He nods, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite. “This lunch is not as good as my mama’s cooking, but it will do.”

“Your mom cooks?” I ask before I realize.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t yours?”

I can’t bring my eyes to look at him, but I reply. “I am lucky if mine is not passed out when I get home.”

“Is she sick?”

“No. Just too worried about her drugs to take care of me.”

My honesty must have shocked him because we sit in silence for more than a few minutes before Carson asks, “Beckett, would you like to come over after school and hang out with me and my family?”

“I d-don’t know,” I stutter. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. It’s okay.”

“I don’t. Plus, I could use a friend around here. I only have a little sister at home and she’s annoying most of the time.”

That makes me laugh. “I am an only child. I wouldn’t know what that was like.”

“Well, it’s settled. Come hang out at my house later. You’ll love the farm.”

“Farm?” My eyes light up.

“Yeah, my family owns a big horse and cattle ranch. Scars Creek. You’ll love it.”

“Oh, okay.”

“What class do you have next?” he asks.

“Mr. Jamison’s.”

“Cool. Me, too. We can walk together.” Carson says excitedly.

* * *

Later that evening, I follow Carson home. I wondered if he walked to school every day when we walked past the parking lot where the pick-up lines for younger student’s circle around the parking lot and onto the downtown strip of Honeysuckle.

My question was answered when we walked past the trailer park where my house sat and over the train tracks to find the big gate that led into his family’s ranch.

Scars Creek was not some small hobby farm. No, it housed an entire world inside its pastures.

I feel out of place and Carson must have noticed my mind racing almost instantly.

“Hey.” He stops and looks at me. “We are all just country folk. Don’t let the fancy things fool you. My parents worked hard for this land and ranch, but it doesn’t define the way they are internally. You’ll like them. They are the most laid-back people.”

He puts in a code on the fence and the gates open, leading me into a world I know for sure I will never want to return from.

A mile later, a big beautiful white farmhouse comes into view, with a wraparound porch and dogs greeting us with their tails wagging.

“Son.” The voice of a husky man with a small beard and wearing the same Wranglers as Carson, sits on a rocking chair, cutting up an apple with a knife in his hand. His jeans are dirty, his button-up shirt is rolled up on his forearms, and a cowboy hat sits on his head.

“Hey, dad!” Carson beams when he sees the man. “This is Beckett. A friend from school. He is going to hang out this evening and eat supper if that is okay.”

“Well, you know it is.” His father puts down his knife and apple on the table beside the chair and stands, reaching his hand out to me.

I just stare at it.

“Shake his hand.” Carson whispers towards me and I jump, putting my clammy hand into his father’s. His grip is strong, and his hands are rough with calluses. His eyebrows raise for a brief moment and then he smirks. “My name is Holden Taylor, son. You must be new to Honeysuckle.”

He lets go of my hand and I stutter. “Y-yes sir. My parents and I just moved here this past week.”

“Where are you living?”

I don’t want to answer, but I do. “Um, in the trailer park just by here.”

His eyes soften, and he gives me a soft grin. “Carson why don’t you take Beckett with you while you do chores and show him around the ranch. Supper will be done shortly; your mama is inside cooking now.”

“Yes sir.”

“Thank you, sir.” I finally find my voice. “For allowing me to stay for dinner.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, Beckett.” Holden nods at us before sitting back down and returning to his apple.

Moments later, I am walking into the biggest barn I have ever stepped foot in—the only barn I have been in. Horses stick their heads out, and Carson walks into a side room full of saddles, buckets, and other things I don’t know what they are.

“Grab one of those.” Carson gestures to the buckets and opens one of the bins.

I grab a black bucket and bring it to him.

“My job when I get home from school is feeding everyone in the barn. You can help if you would like. Or just watch. Whichever you want to do.”

“I don’t mind helping,” I tell him.

He seems to like that answer; he points to the other buckets where the one I brought to him was. “Bring me four of those, then we can tag team this. I will fill them all up and you can help me take it to each stall.”

Carson takes his time, scooping horse feed from the bins and filling the buckets. Some buckets he put other things in, and some didn’t get certain stuff. He explained to me that the older horses were on a special diet for their health and so were the young ones.

He hands me a red bucket and instructs me.

“This is Hank’s feed. He is our oldest gelding.

” I follow him out of the stall with the bucket at my side.

He points to a brown horse in a stall across from the feed room and states.

‘That is Hank. Just open the stall door and walk in; you can pour it in the bucket that’s hooked by the door. It’s black.”

At first, I am a little intimidated. With a shaky hand, I open the gate, the beast before me being patient with me and watching as I enter.

“You can pet him. He is a good boy,” Carson says.

I reach up, my hand touching his nose and the warmth of his skin echoing back to mine. “Hey, big guy.” I tell him before moving to the bucket fixed to the wall beside the door and pour the red bucket’s contents into it. Hank starts eating immediately.

“He is beautiful,” I say excitedly, closing the stall behind me. I think I may have just fallen in love with this place.

* * *

“Did you just move here?” Carson’s mother, Jane, asks me while we are all sitting around the dinner table. His sister, mother, and father sit to the right of Carson and me.

I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, how are you liking it?” Holden asks.

“I’m not really sure yet. Everything is still new. Your horses are beautiful.” I tell them.

Holden smiles, “You ever rode one?”

My eyes widen. “Oh, no, sir.”

“Well, it’s a perfect time for you to try. That is, if you want to.”

“That would be cool.” I try not to sound too excited.

“Come back tomorrow and have dinner with us again.” Jane grins, fixing her plate. She made chicken fingers, mashed potatoes, and peas tonight. It smelled heavenly. I haven’t seen a meal that looked like this unless it was on tv.

“Okay.” I nod.

“Eat as much as you would like, too. There is plenty,” she tells me.

I only thought mothers like this existed in my dreams. These people are so nice and generous.

I end up fixing three plates back-to-back, cleaning my plate spotless each time. Mrs. Taylor watched me every time I would timidly get up and add more but she never said a word.

Normally, I go to bed hungry or have to find something small to hold me over until school the next day. Groceries are very few in our home, nothing like the inside of the Taylor’s kitchen.

“You want to take some home with you tonight?” Holden asks me.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I have had enough. Thank you again.”

What I wanted to say was yes, but I was afraid I would get in trouble with my parents if they knew I had a better meal than them.