Beckett
The cowboy church is crowded with lines backing out the front doors onto the street, and I would have expected nothing less.
Mrs. Taylor was a treasure. Sweet as sugar. And never met a stranger.
Though she and my mother got in their fair share of arguments—all of them over me.
Mrs. Taylor stood up for me more than my own mother and that’s why I trusted her with every fiber of my being. I would pray many nights that God would find a way for me to become a Taylor.
But I guess he never got those prayers. It makes me wonder if he even cares about me to begin with the parents he gave me.
“Beckett King,” a low rumble says behind me as I get closer to the steps of the church.
I turn, and I cannot believe my eyes. Wrapping my arms around the older man behind me, he chuckles and pats my back. “Heard you ran off and got yourself some fancy sponsors. Famous cowboy.”
I nod with a grin. “Yes sir. How are you, Mr. Jamison.”
Other than Mr. Taylor, Mr. Jamison also had a hand in raising me.
My Junior Rodeo bull riding coach and mentor.
He met a juvenile boy in his algebra class with a lot of pent-up anger and other issues.
Told me he knew how I could redirect it.
Next thing I knew, he was putting me on a mechanical bull and then eventually on a real one.
The adrenaline high from it made me wonder why my parents even wanted the high from drugs when animals like bulls exist.
“I am doing well, son. Hate it for the Taylor family. Does Carson know you are here?”
I shake my head, no.
“I am sure he will be happy to see you. You haven’t been home in how long?” Someone gets his attention over beside us. “Good to see you, son. Stick around for a while, would love to catch up over dinner.” He winks before turning his attention to another man who’s trying to get his attention.
I let out a deep breath, thankful for the intervention.
The truth is, I am not sure how Carson will react seeing me but him being happy about it is not on my radar.
I tried reaching out soon after his father’s death and all I got in response was he blocked my number.
Not a fuck you or hey Beckett, I never want to speak to you again.
Just blocked me from not only his phone but social media as well.
Which I didn’t realize until a few months later because I don’t use socials as much as my management does.
I guess when I didn’t show up for his father’s funeral, I burned that bridge not meaning to.
I finally reach the inside of the Church, and my bladder makes it impossible to stand anymore.
In other words, I am about to piss all over myself.
Taking the hallway to the right, I look around for the men’s restroom. Cutting to the right down another hall, I collide with some long legs, big boobs, and a black dress. I swear I felt her breast on my chest soon as she collided in me.
My arms grab her waist, and I grin, “Easy now, Sugar. This is a place of God. You can’t be running up on a man like that.”
She gasps and pulls out of my hold. “Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you . . .,” she takes a step back from me and pulls her arms across her chest. “Beckett King? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Such powerful language for a little girl and in a church, too.” I smirk, licking my lips. This woman is ridiculously beautiful and fuckable.
She huffs, tightening the tension in her arms. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
Now I am confused. I know just about everyone in this town, and they all know me. Can’t say I know who she is, though.
“Is this where you tell me or are you going to make me guess?” I ask her.
She grunts and it’s sexy. I wonder what she sounds like when she comes.
“No, I will leave you to figure it out on your own.” She grins at me and walks off down the hall.
And yes, I watched her delicious ass sway as she left.
Great, now I have a boner. Where’s the bathroom?
After whacking one out in the bathroom where I imaged the mystery woman the entire time. How her hips swayed, her lips so full and lush, the thoughts of what they would be like around my length….
I am back in line, waiting to see Carson. My eyes keep roaming the place looking for the mystery girl.
She is nowhere to be found until I am about ten feet from the Taylor family at the front of the church. She is standing closely beside Carson, beside the casket of his mother.
I wonder if she is Carson’s woman. Surely not, she doesn’t look like his type. I would like to get her into my bed, though.
I wonder if she will come back to the cottage with me after this.
Carson notices me behind the person talking to him and he snarls at me, “What are you doing here, King?”
“Coming to pay my respects, brother.” I hold out my hand, “I am sorry for your loss.” I look over at the casket and admire the woman lying in it. She looks beautiful as she always did, and I feel an instant hit of guilt that I haven’t been around in a decade or more.
“Leave.” Carson’s tone is clipped, getting my attention back on him.
My eyes land to the brunette beside him and I grin at her, moving my hand to hers, “Who was Jane Taylor to you?”
She smiles, looking at my hand, and shakes it. An electricity plows through me almost instantly, making my heart rate skyrocket. I am sure she can notice the vein in my neck thumping faster now.
“My mother,” she replies with her hands still in mine.
My eyes widen, I freeze and instantly feel dizzy.
“Lacey?” I ask.
My eyes roam her body, and I think I might pass out right now. She is not the little girl I remember following Carson and me around. No, she is all woman now, and I just jacked off to the memory of her ass and lips in the church bathroom.
My ex-best friend’s little sister.
Oh, fuck me. I am going to hell for what I just did.
“Go, Beckett. You’re not welcome here,” Carson says again, but this time there is a threat in his tone.
My eyes find Lacey’s again, and I smile, “You have grown into a beautiful woman, Lace. I am sorry for your loss.”
Her eyes hold mine, but there’s something written in them, curiosity maybe. Hurt?
She regathers herself quickly and turns to the person behind me, talking to them.
Welcome home, Beckett. I mumble to myself heading out the side exit.
* * *
15 years old.
Running through the Taylors’ farmhouse, Jane stands by the kitchen sink, cooking supper; Lacey standing at the sink helping her mother.
“Slow down boys,” Jane says.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, stopping in the opening of the kitchen.
“You want to join us for dinner tonight?” she asks me.
“That would be great. Thank you,” I tell her with a grin.
“Do you need to phone your parents to let them know?”
I shake my head, no. “No ma’am. They don’t care much about where I am most of the time.”
Her face falls for a moment, but she finds her smile again and nods. “Why don’t you stay over tonight. You and Carson can get up in the morning and help Holden do some pasture checks.”
I beam at the offer to stay. I love being over here with the Taylors. “That would be great. Thank you, ma’am.”
She laughs. “Call me Jane or Mama, not ma’am.”
A strange emotion stirs in my chest, one I don’t think I have ever felt before.
I nod and Carson hits my back, shoving me out the door. “Come on, Beckett. We can go do last checks in the barn before dinner.”
“You two better wash up before you come back in this house again,” Jane calls to us before the front door slams shut.
“Your mama is so nice,” I tell my new friend. We just met a few weeks ago in school when I moved here. I couldn’t be more thankful that he took a chance to sit with me at lunch my first week there, although at first I was not so sure.
“She is the best,” Carson beams with pride.
“I didn’t realize moms cooked home-cooked meals like that until I met yours.”
“And here I was thinking all moms were like mine,” he says.
I shake my head. “If by cooking you mean having food on a plate at night. No, mine doesn’t do that. I normally have to cook for myself or go find something on my own.”
Holden walks out of the barn at the time I finish the last word.
I hoped he hadn’t heard me, but he says, “Well, Beckett, you are welcome him anytime for a home-cooked meal,” confirming he, in fact, did hear me.
“Come on, boys; you can help me get these horses fed and watered before we eat. We don’t eat until our animals get taken care of first,” he tells me and turns, following us into the barn.
When I close my eyes at night, I always imagine I am here, on this farm and a part of this family.