Читать книгу More Than a Cowboy - Cathy Mcdavid - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Liberty pretended not to notice Deacon’s approach. Even if she wasn’t currently teaching a riding class of four-, five-and six-year-olds, she wouldn’t have acknowledged him. Not after the meeting yesterday.

“That’s right, Andrea,” she called out. “Put your weight in your heels and keep your back straight. Pay attention, Benjy. Look ahead and stop making faces at your neighbor.”

She suppressed a groan. Her nephew Benjamin was the self-appointed class clown.

Nephew! Did Mercer know he had a grandson? He must, right? In all the turmoil of the past two days, Liberty hadn’t once stopped to consider her sister’s young son. Okay, she had. But that was before Mercer threatened her mother with a lawsuit.

She’d naively assumed grandfather and grandson would be introduced over time and with plenty of preparation. Or not. The decision was Cassidy’s to make. Liberty had only wanted to meet her father. She hadn’t anticipated all hell breaking loose. And so fast.

Deacon knew about Benjamin, had seen him around the arena. He’d probably discussed Benjamin with Mercer. Could that be why he was approaching the arena, his attention fixated on...what?

Liberty’s gaze shot to her nephew. Too late now. She couldn’t very well send the boy away. That would only bring attention to him. No choice except to continue with the lesson and act normal.

“Morning, Liberty.”

Swell. He was addressing her. She should have moved to the center of the arena where she’d be out of earshot instead of standing along the fence.

She turned her head a mere fraction of an inch. “Deacon.”

He was early to the family meeting. Really early. Like, thirty minutes. He was evidently Mr. Prompt when it came to appointments. She’d gotten that much from the restaurant when they both arrived ahead of schedule. But a whole thirty minutes? And did he have to stand near the bleachers where the students’ moms and one dad were all seated?

“Nice day,” he said nonchalantly, petting one of the ranch dogs that had crawled out from under the bleachers.

“It’s hot,” she retorted, and returned to her class. “Dee Dee, even reins. That’s it.” Breathe, Liberty reminded herself. Relax. “All right now, I want everyone to trot in a circle. Then, on my cue, reverse and go in the other direction. Remember, no kicking your horse. Just a steady pressure with the insides of your calves.”

Horse was a loose description. Two of the students rode ponies and another a small mule. All the mounts were dead broke and reliable as rain during the summer monsoon season—which, judging by the clouds accumulating in the northeast sky, might start any minute.

Liberty liked teaching the younger children much better than the older ones. They were sponges, eager to learn and soak up all the knowledge she could impart. As they grew and gained confidence, they sometimes gave Liberty a hard time. Not that she let them get away with it. Rule number one during any lesson, child or adult: the instructor was in charge.

Feeling a tingling on the back of her neck, she rubbed the spot. A few seconds later, the tingling returned. Deacon! He was staring at her again. She’d experienced the same sensation yesterday in her mother’s office.

Then, he’d been standing right behind her. In the Flat Iron Restaurant, they’d been sitting side by side. Now, he was tracking her every move. The part of her that was still attuned to their mutual attraction went on high alert.

He looked good. Taller than when he’d worked here as a teenager and broader in the shoulders. He had a way of making jeans and a Western-cut dress shirt look professional. And his hat—a dark tan Resistol—was pulled down just a touch. Enough to lend a bit of edge to his appearance.

She fought the impulses charging through her. Deacon was her father’s attorney. He could be short, bald and ugly for all she cared.

Oh, but he wasn’t. She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck again.

The end of the lesson couldn’t come fast enough. Except, then they’d be having their “family meeting” in the house. Liberty and Cassidy would learn the details of the new partnership agreement between their parents and precisely what role Mercer would have in the operation of the arena.

He was to be a permanent fixture in their lives. Assuming he didn’t grow tired of them and leave. Liberty had yet to come to terms with how she felt. She’d wanted to get to know the man who’d fathered her. Not, however, under these circumstances.

The tangle of lies her mother had told was going to affect them all—possibly for years to come. Liberty tried not to judge her mother too harshly. She was having trouble with that. Her mother’s attempt to protect her—protect them—had backfired. Their livelihoods could even now be in jeopardy, depending on what Mercer wanted.

She tried to remain optimistic. He might be an alcoholic—a reformed alcoholic and sober for many, many years—but that wasn’t the same as a serial killer or a rapist. And he must care about them and the arena. If not, he would have made things difficult for them long before now.

She should have been told about him, Liberty thought with renewed frustration. Then, they wouldn’t be in this fix. Frankly, she didn’t know who to be angrier with—her mother, Mercer or Deacon. All had lied.

All right, maybe not Deacon so much. He hadn’t been under any obligation to tell her he’d taken on her father as a client. But he might have prepared her when they were sitting together in the Flat Iron, their knees brushing...their eyes locked—

“You’ve got a rebel on your hands.”

Deacon’s voice shook her from her reverie in time to spy her nephew kicking his mount into a lope in order to overtake the girl ahead of him, breaking not one but two of her instructions.

“Benjy!” she shouted, silently cursing herself for losing focus. “Trotting only.”

“But I want to race,” the boy complained.

“Maybe at the end of class, if you behave.”

He pouted but did as he was told and pulled back on the reins, his small body bouncing up and down in the saddle as the horse’s gait slowed. Luckily, Skittles was just about the laziest horse at the arena and more than happy to forfeit the race.

Ah, Benjamin. He was his mother’s child and liked nothing better than to test everyone’s patience. Liberty couldn’t say whether or not he resembled his father. Cassidy had taken a page from their mother’s book and refused to reveal the man’s identity. Liberty supposed her sister had her reasons, but without knowing them, she only felt sorry for the man who wasn’t getting an opportunity to be a part of his son’s life.

What about Mercer? Did she feel sorry for him, too? He hadn’t gotten to be a part of his grandson’s life either. Or Cassidy’s. Or hers.

Liberty bit down on her lower lip again. It was all so darn confusing.

The lesson continued for another ten minutes. When it was over, she headed to the gate and opened it so her students could exit the arena—single file except for Benjamin, who couldn’t resist cutting up one last time. As if connected by a string, the parents moved in a group to greet their children and oversee unsaddling the horses. When they were done, they’d walk with their children around the grounds, giving the horses a brief cooldown.

Some of the horses belonged to the Becketts and were used by students at various skill levels. A few were privately owned and either boarded at the arena or were transported in for lessons by trailer. Liberty herself owned three horses, including one very young, very green mare she hoped to eventually use for equine endurance competitions.

She hadn’t been bitten as strongly by the rodeo bug as the rest of her family. Though she’d competed in barrel racing up through high school, her passions were team penning and trail riding. At every opportunity, at any time of year, she rode into the nearby hills and mountains, seeking the most obscure, roughest terrain she could find.

“Come on, Benjy,” she called, her patience all but used up.

It was her job to make sure her nephew took care of his horse, just like the rest of the students. Afterward, Tatum had volunteered to keep an eye on Benjamin until the family meeting was over. Her children were close in age to him and the four frequently played together.

Liberty was sure Cassidy’s intentions were to keep her son out of Mercer’s sights. To that end, Liberty would make certain they walked Skittles behind the barn. “This way, Benjy.”

The boy was far more interested in entertaining his fellow students and refused to listen to his taskmaster aunt.

Deacon appeared from nowhere and fell into step beside Liberty. “Mind if I tag along?”

Please, tell her it wasn’t so. “What do you want, Deacon?”

“If you must know, Mercer asked that I make sure you’re at the meeting.”

“He thinks I’ll miss it?”

“He knows you’re...miffed at him.”

“Miffed?”

“His words.”

“Well, he’s wrong.” Liberty walked faster. “I’m not miffed. I’m furious. And hurt. With good reason, I might add.”

Deacon easily kept pace. “Don’t judge your father too harshly, Liberty. His intentions are good.”

“Of course you’d say that, you’re his attorney.”

“Give him time. There’s a lot to sort out.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

They caught up with Benjamin at last. Skittles plodded along behind him, the reins dragging on the ground.

“Benjy, pick up the reins. What if Skittles runs off?”

“She won’t go nowhere.”

He was right, but that wasn’t the point.

“It’s a bad habit to get into. Horses are animals and unpredictable.” Liberty stood, her right foot tapping, and waited for her nephew to do as he was told. “Benjamin.”

Finally, he bent over and snatched the reins. As he did, his hat fell off. “Shoot!”

At least he hadn’t cussed. Benjamin was growing up around cowboys, and his language tended to be a bit riper than his mother liked.

Dropping the reins he’d picked up seconds earlier, he scrambled for the hat and again muttered, “Shoot.”

Deacon stepped forward, retrieved the reins and handed them to Benjamin. “That’s a fine mount you have there.”

The boy’s gaze went up...and up. He seemed to notice Deacon for the first time.

“Her name’s Skittles.” Benjamin accepted the reins from Deacon’s considerably larger outstretched hand.

Liberty’s heart beat erratically. This wasn’t going as planned. She’d wanted to keep her nephew out of sight and under wraps. Cassidy wouldn’t want him drawn into the situation with Mercer until everything was resolved. If it was resolved.

“I know,” Deacon said. “I remember her.”

“You do?” The boy’s eyes widened. “How?”

“I worked here a long time ago. Before you were born. Skittles was one of the horses the pickup men regularly used. I even rode her now and again.”

“Really? My mom says she’s old.”

“Older than you, for sure. But she’s a good horse. Treat her right, and she’ll be your best friend.”

Liberty’s nerves were about to tear her in two. She had to get Benjamin away before something happened.

“I’ll meet you at the house.” She took her nephew’s hand. “I promise to be at the meeting. You don’t have to babysit me.”

Before Deacon could answer, Liberty’s worst fears came true. The office door opened and, as if in slow motion, Mercer stepped outside, accompanied by her mother. His gaze went right to Benjamin, and he started forward. Sunny called after him, but he ignored her, making a beeline for Benjamin.

No, no, no! Liberty instinctively stepped in front of the boy. It was no use.

“Liberty.” Mercer was beaming by the time he reached them. “Is this my grandson?”

Benjamin looked up at her, his small brow knit with confusion. “Who’s he?”

The next instant, Cassidy rounded the corner of the barn and broke into a run. She wasn’t fast enough.

“Mercer, don’t,” Liberty said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“This might not be the best time,” Deacon added.

Mercer had eyes and ears only for Benjamin. He went down on one knee in front of the boy. As Cassidy skidded to a stop in front of them, he said, “How do you do, young man? I’m your grandfather.”

* * *

IN THE SPAN OF a single heartbeat, everything went from slow motion to lightning speed. Cassidy swooped up her son and hurried him to the office where, Liberty suspected, he’d be deposited in Tatum’s care. Mercer rose, disappointment written all over his face. Sunny called over one of the ranch hands and instructed, “Take care of Skittles for me, please.”

At that moment, droplets of rain started to fall.

“Shall we head into the house?” Deacon posed the question more as a statement. When Mercer hesitated, his gaze lingering on the closed office door, Deacon helped him along with a tilt of his head in the direction of the house. “I have an appointment after this.”

Mercer’s shoulders slumped. “Just wanted to meet my grandson.”

“You will. Later. Don’t push it.” Deacon’s voice was mild but firm.

The older man ambled toward the John Deere all-terrain Gator they used to drive between the house and arena. Sunny went, too.

Liberty watched the entire exchange with interest. Mercer’s acute disappointment appeared genuine. And Deacon...this was hardly the shy, keep-to-himself teenager she remembered. He’d taken control of what could have been an explosive situation with tact and authority.

Apparently, he wasn’t done. Before Liberty could object, he grasped her by the elbow and briskly steered her across the open area. “Come on.”

Since they wouldn’t be riding with her parents on the Gator—it held only two people—the only other choice was to walk. She’d assumed Cassidy would be the one making the two hundred yard trek with her. Not Deacon.

“What about my sister?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “She’ll be along shortly.”

No argument there. Cassidy wouldn’t forgo this meeting for anything, even a near disastrous run-in between Mercer and her son. Both sisters were eager to know what the future held for them.

Staring at Deacon’s fingers resting possessively on her elbow, she said, “I won’t run away. I promise.”

“I believe you.”

“You can let go of me.”

“Could.”

But, obviously, wouldn’t. She had to admit the sensation of him touching her bare skin wasn’t unpleasant. Far from it, actually. When she was thirteen, she’d dreamed of this very scenario. Only then, they were walking in the moonlight instead of a light sprinkle of rain and not on their way to a meeting guaranteed to be stress filled. Oh, and he wasn’t representing her father, either.

Inside the house, the group convened in the living room. The rain picked up, creating a loud ruckus as it pummeled the roof. Thunder boomed.

“Help yourself,” Sunny said. She’d arranged for a selection of beverages. Ice water, iced tea and sodas. No afternoon snacks, however. She wasn’t feeling that amicable.

“You still have this.” Mercer stood in front of an antique pine side table Liberty had seen so often she’d taken it for granted.

“Of course.” Her mother settled on the far end of the couch, a glass of iced tea balanced in her hands.

“It was my grandmother’s,” he told Liberty. “She gave it to us when your mother and I got married. Along with that silver tea set over there.” He hitched his chin at the side table in the corner.

Liberty’s breath caught. Her mother had always said the pieces were passed down from one family member to the next. But not Mercer’s family.

“I—I didn’t realize,” she stammered, wondering when the surprises were going to end.

An awkward tension descended on the room as everyone jockeyed for seats. Liberty and Mercer both went for the couch and the empty place next to her mother. He won. Liberty refused to sit next to Deacon on the love seat—too reminiscent of the Flat Iron Restaurant.

That left only two spots, the more coveted one across the room. Rather than make a big production, she chose the chair adjacent to Deacon. Surely the meeting wouldn’t last more than an hour. She could manage the proximity to him for that long.

The existing tension promptly escalated when Cassidy arrived, sans Benjamin. Face flushed, clothes damp and invisible daggers shooting from her eyes, she took the last vacant seat, then lit into Mercer.

“You are not to speak to my son without my permission and without me being present. Do you understand?”

“My apologies,” he said, his expression sincere. “I thought you’d told him.”

Liberty attempted to steel her defenses on the chance he was manipulating them. It was harder than it should have been.

“Are we ready to begin?” Deacon removed a stack of legal-sized papers from his briefcase and distributed a set to everyone in the room. “I’ll give you a few minutes to look these over.”

Liberty stared at the pages in her hand. The words “Partnership Agreement” were typed in big bold letters, along with a red stamp declaring the document to be a draft.

Deacon started out by summarizing the agreement. In a nutshell, Liberty’s mother would continue to run the administrative and financial side of the arena business. Mercer would be in charge of the livestock and bucking contracts.

“What about Walter?” Cassidy asked.

Liberty was also curious. Their current livestock foreman had been with them for nearly thirty years, promoted from assistant foreman after Mercer left.

“He’s retiring next spring,” Deacon said. “That’s been his plan all along.”

Being a regular at the arena, Deacon would know. Walter often chatted about him and his wife moving to Wickenburg in order to be closer to their son.

“So, you’re getting rid of him early.” Cassidy glared at Mercer.

“Not at all.” He addressed her for the first time since she’d lit into him about her son. “Walter can stay on until he’s ready. I’m counting on him to show me the ropes.”

“But you’re demoting him.”

“His title and pay will remain the same,” Deacon responded. “But he’ll report to Mercer rather than your mother.”

“What’s his title?” There was no doubt to whom Cassidy referred.

“What it’s always been. Co-owner.”

That didn’t go over well. Cassidy stiffened, and Sunny’s lips thinned. Liberty caught herself balling her hands into tight fists.

“Your duties and those of Liberty will remain the same,” Deacon continued. “You’ll report to both your parents for their respective areas of operation. The rest of the staff will, as well. There’s a detailed listing of job duties in section three, article five.”

The rustle of papers filled the room as everyone flipped pages. After a moment of silence, the room erupted as question after question was fired at Deacon. He responded with clear, precise explanations. Occasionally, Mercer interjected. Most of their answers weren’t well received. Cassidy and Sunny constantly talked over each other.

Liberty alone was quiet, overwhelmed by the loud voices and the document’s wordy legalese. When had it stopped raining?

At the mention of her name, her head shot up. “I beg your pardon.”

“Tomorrow morning.” Her mother laid the agreement aside. “After your lessons.”

“What about tomorrow morning?”

“Showing Deacon around. I can’t make it. The hay delivery is scheduled for nine. After that, Mercer and I will be meeting with Dr. Houser.”

The Becketts’ veterinarian. He regularly visited to check on all new livestock, administer vaccinations, deworm the horses and calves, treat injuries and a dozen other reasons. Mercer, as the head of livestock, would want to oversee both the hay delivery and Dr. Houser’s visit.

Was her mother possibly okay with all of this?

“Deacon’s been coming here for months,” Liberty protested. “He doesn’t need to be shown around.”

“A tour of the operations,” he said.

Clearly, she’d missed a vital part of the discussion.

“Before I can finalize the partnership agreement,” he explained, “I need to have a thorough understanding of how each individual aspect of the arena operations functions and what kind of revenue it generates.” He consulted his tablet. “Rodeos. Livestock leasing. Horse boarding. Classes. Teaching clinics. Team penning and bucking competitions. I’ll also require access to the office and all the files. Your mother said you’d be available.”

“Me,” she answered flatly.

His brows rose. “Is there a problem?”

“Problem?” This could not be happening to her. “Let’s see. Where do I begin?”