Dirty Ginger by Stacey Kennedy
2
Fifteen minutes after leaving Amelia, Beckett slowed his truck when he reached the wrought iron signage that read Blackshaw Training, and he slid his tan-colored Stetson onto his head, feeling like he could finally breathe again.Amelia looked good. He never again wanted to see the haunted look in her eyes when he watched her heart shatter when Luka crushed her. He knew she had a long road of recovery ahead of her, but at least today she looked a little more like herself again. The gravel crunched beneath his tires as he drove up the driveway he’d driven up for the last two years, five days a week, sometimes more if a horse in training needed daily work. Horses were where his heart lay. He’d never questioned his decision to work at the training facility, and he never looked back.
He drove up the gravel driveway, passing by the two-story log house with the wide covered deck where Nash lived with his wife, Megan, and his son and daughter. The farm took in everything from young horses to trouble horses for training, and the facility had garnered a name for itself. People all over North America shipped their horses in for the care and training of Nash and the cowboys working for him. Beckett felt pride over the work they did, and that they saved many horses that otherwise would have been sent for slaughter.
When he stopped his truck next to the black-roofed barn, he spotted Nash approaching from the house. It took Beckett a minute to realize he had a carrier strapped to him with his daughter tucked inside. The view was such a contrast to the tough, rugged image of the famous, retired professional bull rider that it took a moment to process. But when he did, Beckett felt nothing but envy. Children, a quiet life, a wife by his side, he wanted all that and more. Which was why Luka breaking off the wedding was the best day of Beckett’s life. It meant he could fix the biggest wrong he’d ever made. He could get Amelia back in his arms. When they dated, he’d been a reckless idiot who took his life day-by-day, living on the edge whenever he could. A wild mess of a man. When Amelia had spoken about going to college and chasing her brewery dreams, Beckett didn’t want to stand in the way of her happiness. Knowing she’d never leave him to attend college, and with his father in River Rock, he gave Amelia a push to go, declaring there was a distance between them. At the time, he’d been stupid enough to believe she’d return home to him once she finished school. Instead, she met an asshole.
“I’ve got a new one in for you,” Nash said by way of greeting as Beckett exited his truck. Nash skipped his usual cowboy hat this morning, and his messy brown hair and tired blue eyes indicated a few sleepless nights.
Beckett looked to the reason—Nash’s daughter, Callie. She had the brightest blue eyes Beckett had ever seen, unusually aware, even though she was only five months old. He offered his finger and she squeezed it, bouncing her little legs in the carrier. “She looks far more awake than you do.”
Nash laughed dryly. “Because we live in Callie’s world now. She sleeps whenever she chooses, and we simply have to go with it.”
Beckett chuckled. “Ah, tough like her mother, then.” Nash’s wife, Megan, was witty, sharp, and everything Nash needed to keep him in line.
“She is that,” Nash replied, with obvious tender affection.
Callie released Beckett’s finger and began eating her hand, and Beckett shoved his hands into his pocket. “About this horse.”
Nash gestured ahead of them to the closest paddock next to the barn. Laid out in eight rectangular fields were grassy paddocks for the horses to graze. Behind the barn was a large meadow where the broodmares lived out their lives, raising their foals, which were later trained and sold. “The strawberry roan there.”
Beckett took one look in the field and saw the fire in the horse’s eyes. “Mare?” he guessed.
“You bet,” Nash said. “She’s got the attitude to prove it too.”
Not all mares were made of fire and spice, but certain ones had that flavor. Beckett loved those mares the most. Callie began babbling as Beckett asked, “What do I need to know about her?”
Nash planted a boot on the lower railing of the fence. “She’s got impeccable ground manners, but get on her back and you won’t stay there for long.”
A challenge. Beckett’s favorite. “How dirty is she?”
“As dirty as it gets.” Nash studied the mare before frowning at Beckett. “I worked her a little in the round pen when she got here. She’s a bit of a puzzle. Confident in some ways, insecure in others. Seems agreeable with tack. Until you get on her.”
Odd, but when a horse lost trust in humans, they could act unpredictably. Beckett had seen this time and time again. He slid his gaze back to Nash. “How dangerous is she?”
Nash shrugged. “I haven’t seen her act aggressively on the ground yet. But from what I hear, once someone backs her, she’s determined to put a stop to that in any way she can, including flipping over backwards.”
Which meant she’d learned the best and fastest way to get a person off her back. “Good to know.” Beckett studied the horse, who watched him carefully. Horses were flight animals, and the mare was sizing him up as a threat, no doubt about it. “Has Dr. Alan had a look yet?” Dr. Alan owned River Rock’s Veterinary Clinic for large animals, and had Beckett’s respect.
“Not yet,” Nash replied. “Go ahead and get the works done on her.” At Beckett’s nod of agreement, Nash studied the mare again. “If we can’t retrain her, we’ll put her into the breeding program.” Nash made a name for himself with breeding high quality quarter horses. “She’s one of Colby’s, and comes from a good line.”
Professional bareback bronc rider, Colby Warner, bred quarter horses at his ranch in Wyoming. Any that gave him grief, he sold to Nash for what he’d spent on feed during the horse’s upbringing. “Got any videos of her going?”
“A couple. Colby put a few weeks training into her, but said she wasn’t worth his trouble. One of his falls was nasty.”
Beckett snorted. He knew, as did Nash, that the best horses were ones that had heart. No greater reward than when a man gained the trust of a horse. “Can you send me those videos?”
“I’ll add them to your Dropbox when I go back into the house.” Callie snatched the finger Nash offered, babbling on like she was right in on the conversation. “Any news on the charges?”
Beckett blew out a frustrated breath. He’d withheld telling Amelia the news yet, not wanting to ruin her first day back, especially since he figured the last thing she wanted to think about was the dipshit that dumped her at the altar. “As far as I know, Luka is pressing on with the charges. I’m waiting on my lawyer to hear about next steps.”
Nash shook his head slowly. “What kind of man can’t handle a well-deserved punch?”
“A weak one,” Beckett said simply.
Nash agreed with a firm nod. “No matter what happens, you’ve got a place here for as long as you want it.”
“Thanks, man, appreciate that.”
Nash gave his classic smart-ass grin and cupped Becketts’s shoulder. “Now get to work. I don’t pay you to stand around.”
Beckett chuckled as Nash strode away and said to Callie, “Now, sweetie, you need to sleep more for your mama.”
Beckett’s smile faded when he looked back to the mare. Determined to introduce himself to the horse, Beckett headed over to the gate and once through, shut it behind him before facing the mare again. Quarter horses were all Beckett knew growing up. Jefferson Duncan, his grandfather on his mother’s side, was a champion calf roper, and Beckett followed in his footsteps for a time. He’d learned the tricks of the trade from his grandfather from the time he was four years old, atop a Shetland pony. He’d even been considered to compete professionally. Until one night changed the direction of his life.
On his way toward the horse, he kept his eyes cast downward, but stayed aware of exactly where the horse was in case she acted aggressively. The mare took a small step back but didn’t run when Beckett reached her, offering his hand out for the horse to smell. That feel of warm air brushing against Beckett’s hand brought him right back to the fatal car crash that killed Beckett’s mother, grandfather and beloved horse, Smokey, all because a trucker fell asleep at the wheel. His mother was pronounced dead at the scene. His grandfather died an hour later in the hospital. Smokey had been euthanized by a state trooper on the side of the road, his injuries too bad to heal. Beckett’s life changed after that night. He changed after that night. Gone was his dream of becoming a professional calf roper. Not that he didn’t love the sport, and wonder what would have been if the accident never happened, but the death of his mother took a hard toll on Beckett’s father. Beckett needed to stay close to home.
“Easy,” Beckett said, stroking the mare’s dark chestnut-colored head.
She snorted once, then took another step back, and Beckett didn’t make another move as tires crunched against gravel behind him. He glanced back, finding a white truck and horse trailer driving down the driveway with Blackshaw Training on the side. Two horses that Beckett had trained were off to their new homes.
With a long sigh to ease the mare, he glanced back at his new project, studying her. “Autumn. That’ll be your name, sweetheart,” he said. Her coloring reminded him of leaves in the fall. Her dark eyes locked onto him. “We’re going to do just fine together.” As if in agreement, she snorted again, and then he turned away, leaving their first introduction behind them.
Later in the morning, he’d work her in the round pen and get a feel for her, but rushing a troubled horse only led to more problems. He made it back to the gate when his phone in his pocket vibrated. A quick look at the screen revealed it was his lifelong friend, Hayes. “Hey,” he answered.
“Mornin’,” Hayes said. “Are you working?”
“I’m looking at my new project as we speak,” Beckett answered, locking the gate behind him.
A pause. One that always meant trouble.
Hayes’ voice tightened. “Listen, I hate to tell you this, but we’ve got your dad here at the station.”
Hayes worked as a detective for the River Rock Police Department. “What’s happened?”
“Someone found him passed out drunk in the park this morning.”
Beckett shut his eyes and breathed deep before reopening them to Autumn, who still watched Beckett’s every move. Yeah, Beckett understood putting up a fight when forced to do things one didn’t want to do, and he also understood wanting to give up entirely. He’d been there, more times than he’d like to admit. “Is he hurt?”
“No, just blackout drunk. What do you want us to do with him?”
His father drank only a half dozen times in a year, but when he drank, it never ended well. Though most times, he got inebriated at home, obviously that didn’t happen last night. “I’ll come get him.”
“See you soon,” Hayes replied. Then the line went dead.
The world began to press in on Beckett’s shoulders as he texted Nash: An emergency has come up. Shoot me those videos. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.
Nash replied: do what you have to do. Sending now.
The sun beat down on Beckett as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, leaving Autumn behind and returning to his truck. His pristine and jacked-up F-150 was his only indulgence.
Back on the road, he took the drive easy, passing by Amelia’s place again, finding her driveway empty now. He slid down the window, letting the fresh scents of wildflowers and sunshine take away the tension in his chest.
When he rolled into the downtown, he found the double-lane road quiet. Visitors came for the views of the Colorado mountains, the small town life, and the rich countryside, but the scents of fresh cut grass and clean air were home to Beckett. Along the main street, quaint brick storefronts hugged the thin road. Each store had unique storefronts that had become more modernized over the years.
He parked next to the brown-bricked police station and swiftly entered through the front door, finding Hayes waiting for him in the waiting room. Brown curls peaked out from beneath his friend’s black cowboy hat. The tightness of Hayes’ amber colored eyes told Beckett his dad was in bad shape. “Thanks for calling.”
“Not a problem,” Hayes said, gesturing to the door next to the reception desk. “I’ll bring you back.”
Growing up, Beckett was the last kid who’d end up in a police station. He got good grades, played football and rode in the rodeo, working his way up the rankings. Before the accident, he’d been too busy to get into trouble. After that accident, he’d found trouble often. It seemed that hadn’t changed. He’d seen the insides of these walls twice in the last two weeks. Once with his arrest, and now for his father. It didn’t feel good, leaving him hypersensitive to the loudness of the voices, banging of fingers typing on keyboards, telephones ringing and the musky smell in the air.
He followed Hayes down the hallway to the back room where the holding cell was located. They passed the cubicles of cops writing up reports or making telephone calls. Every weighted stare only sank more heaviness onto Beckett’s shoulders, a firm reminder that he was so far away from living the life he wanted. And no matter how much he’d tried to make things right, he couldn’t outrun this part of his life. Though he’d done his best to not become the emotionally crippled man his father had become.
Once they passed through another locked door, a chill ran up his spine. He knew the holding cell personally; he’d been in there the night of Amelia’s wedding. He took one look at his father slumped on the thin mattress. A shell of what Jim Stone had once been. “He’s still knocked out?”
Hayes nodded, folding his arms. “Like I said, blackout drunk.”
Before Beckett’s mother died, his father rarely drank, simply enjoying a beer every now and again. After his mother’s death, on any day that reminded Jim of his wife, he couldn’t survive it and erased the day with booze. Beckett’s chest squeezed tight. “Can I take him home?” he asked Hayes.
“Yeah,” Hayes said before glancing up at the security camera and nodding.
The cell’s door clicked open, and Beckett stepped inside. “Dad,” he called.
A loud snore greeted him.
“Dad,” Beckett said, louder, shaking him on his shoulder.
Jim moaned.
Beckett sighed and glanced back over his shoulders at Hayes. “Sorry, man, but I’m going to need your help getting him home.”
Hayes stepped up. “You’ve got my help. Always.”
Beckett would never forget it either. Never forget that even with the hardships and the loss of all his family, the dad he once knew and loved included, he had good friends and a good life that Beckett worked hard to achieve. And now he had the chance to get the one that got away back in his life. Permanently. Keeping that on his mind, and not allowing his father to encroach on Beckett’s happiness that Amelia was a free woman again, he grabbed one arm as Hayes grabbed the other. “Dad, wake the hell up.”
When they hoisted him up, Jim murmured nonsense.
Every step Beckett took out of the cell made him proud that, after he lost his way when his mother and grandfather died, he eventually found his way back to himself. Sure, he’d fallen deeper into a pit of misery when Amelia fell in love with someone else, but seeing her leave had been the push to better himself. It had made him look hard at himself and question why he let her walk out of his life, and it had made him realize she did deserve better than him. It made him change. Do better. Be better. And as they headed out of the police station, he promised himself that he’d get everything right this time around.