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One
This wasn’t my home. It never would be. Home wasn’t a place. Home was a person. If you were lucky, it was more than one person. Because of that, I’d never be able to go home again. My home had been my dad and my brother, Cole. Now, they were dead, and I was alive. I was homeless. Even though I had a roof over my head.
“Madeline, honey, breakfast is ready. No hurry though. I don’t have an appointment until nine thirty,” Melanie Houston called from the other side of the closed door.
I stood there, staring at my reflection in the mirror, wearing clothes that weren’t mine. Melanie had bought them for me. I would have never chosen these items for myself or any of the other items she had filled the massive walk-in closet with before my arrival yesterday. My mother’s best friend was someone I had never met until she walked into my former neighbor, Mrs. Miller’s, living room with tears in her eyes to take me “home.”
Melanie was nice. She had come to save me when I had nowhere else to go. Mrs. Miller barely made it on her monthly check from the government. Staying with her had been temporary. I had been planning on getting a third job in hopes I could afford a place to live. I was a legal adult. I wouldn’t stay with the Houstons that long. Just until I could save enough money to live on my own.
“I’ll be right there,” I replied and bit my tongue to keep from reminding her yet again that my name was Maddy.
My mother had named me Madeline, but I didn’t remember much about my mother. She had died from breast cancer before I turned three years old. My dad had always called me his “Maddy girl.” I’d never been called Madeline by anyone, except on the first day of school every year. I would correct my teachers when they called roll that first time.Had my mother called me Madeline?There was so much I didn’t know about her.
With one last look at the stranger in the mirror, I walked to the door and opened it, then headed down the hallway toward the wide, curving staircase. The chandelier that hung over the foyer appeared to sparkle as the sunlight came through the windows, hitting it directly. Everything was so clean and smelled fresh. That was the first thing I’d noticed when I walked in the large double doors yesterday afternoon.
There was no lingering hint of weed or stale beer in the air. The moldy smell that I’d grown accustomed to in our apartment was also absent.Would I ever get used to this? Did I want to?I didn’t miss that smell, and it made me feel guilty. I had hated the stench and complained about it often to my dad and brother. If I could have them back, I would never mention it again.
“There you are, and don’t you look beautiful.”
I turned to see Melanie beaming brightly up at me as I descended the stairs.
“I knew blue would be your color. It was your mother’s color too. Those eyes of yours are like looking at Etta. You do have her eyes.”
My dad had once told me I had my mother’s blue eyes. He said they were bluer than the sky and deeper than the sea. I had always wanted the hazel eyes my dad and Cole shared, simply because they looked so much alike. There wasn’t anything about me that looked like either of them.
“Mrs. Jolene made homemade waffles with her special strawberry glaze. You’ll love it. It’s Saxon’s favorite breakfast,” she told me and patted my arm. “Let’s go get you fed.”
I followed her toward the kitchen as she continued to talk about the different milk options and the juice selection. Breakfast wasn’t something I was used to unless it was cold Pop-Tarts and a glass of water before I hurried to catch the bus.
“Oh good,” she said as we entered the spacious white kitchen. “Saxon, you’re eating in the house this morning.”
Melanie moved to the side of the island, and when she did, the guy standing there studied me. I, in return, did the same to him. He was tall—at least six foot, if not more—with broad shoulders and dark brown hair that held the slightest bit of curl. His brown eyes were set off by his thick, dark lashes. They would almost seem feminine, if not for his chiseled jawline and the small scar on his left cheek. When the corner of his mouth lifted just barely enough to form a smile, I noticed the hint of dimples.
“Madeline, this is my son, Saxon,” she said before looking at him. “Saxon, dear, this is Madeline.” She turned back to me. “He gets up early to go out to the stables. Racehorses are what the Houston men eat, sleep, and breathe. You’ll find that it takes over every part of our lives here.”
Saxon kept his gaze locked on me as he finished the glass of milk in front of him. I had been too tired yesterday after our flight from Dallas, Texas, to Ocala, Florida, to stay up and meet the family for dinner. Instead, I’d taken a shower and gone to sleep.
Although Melanie had told me all about Saxon during our flight. He was her only child, my age. He had been the all-star high school quarterback his senior year and worked with his father, raising and training racehorses here on their five-hundred-acre ranch, even though he had been offered several football scholarships. Kenneth, Melanie’s husband, had been born into a racing family, and Moses Mile Farm had been in his family for over eighty years.
“You left out a few details,” he said to his mother, raising one eyebrow at her, then smirking. When his gaze swung back to me, he asked me, “You ever ride a horse?”
I shook my head.
“But you’re from Texas,” he stated the obvious while looking confused. As if being from Texas meant we all had our own horses and rode them around for transportation.
“And yet I’m not a cowgirl. Go figure,” I replied.
He laughed, and both dimples were out in full force. “I’ve got to get back out there before Dad realizes I snuck inside for a second breakfast. Jo didn’t make this out at the barn kitchen.” He nodded his head toward the back door. “The waffles are delicious, trust me,” he added. “When you’re done, you can head out to the stables. I’ll show you around.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about horses or going out to the stables, but what else was I supposed to do with my day? I simply nodded, and he turned and exited out the door in the far-right corner of the kitchen.
“He grew up on horses. He forgets that there is a life outside racehorses,” she said as she walked over to the kitchen cabinet and began getting me a plate. “We aren’t formal around here for breakfast. Mrs. Jolene, who Saxon has been calling Jo since he could talk, cooks breakfast for the ranch hands early every morning and then comes in to make sure we have a hot breakfast before returning to clean up the workers’ breakfast. Kenneth always eats with the hands. Saxon eats in here the days he has classes, but he’s not taking any classes this summer semester. Which reminds me, we need to talk about college. If you want to attend locally, we need to get you registered for the fall term. Anyway, Mrs. Jolene will always have food to eat in the house. You just come in and make yourself at home.” She paused. “I want you to feel at home here. I truly do.”
“Thank you,” I replied, although I didn’t see that ever happening, but Melanie was trying her best to make it so.
“After breakfast, go on out to the stables and find Saxon. He can give you a tour and then show you some things you can do every day to help out. We all have some chores, and I think that’ll help you feel like a part of the family.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
