More Than a Cowboy

“She’ll come around. Sooner or later. Until then, co-managing the arena will give me a reason to see her every day and get to know my daughters.”

“Good luck with that.” From what Deacon knew of Sunny Beckett, Mercer had his work cut out for him.

Mercer’s meal arrived. While he ate and Deacon finished a refill of his iced tea, they discussed the terms of the partnership agreement.

“We need to see copies of the arena’s financial statements before finalizing any agreement,” Deacon said. “The last five years at least.”

“Sunny will have them. She’s a whiz when it comes to the books and money. It’s one of the reasons we were able to build the arena up from practically nothing.”

Deacon maintained a neutral expression. Mercer’s drinking almost drove the arena into the ground. Sunny was clearly one sharp businesswoman. She’d built up the arena from practically nothing—twice.

“First order of business,” Mercer eagerly announced, “is to increase the bucking stock operation. Sunny has let most of it go since the accident.”

Mercer knew about the accident with the bull and that the blame had been pinned on Deacon. He’d told Deacon in their meeting yesterday that he didn’t care about a youthful mistake. Plenty of more experienced bucking stock handlers made worse mistakes than that.

When Deacon insisted on his innocence, Mercer’s response had been simply, “All the better.”

“You can’t purchase new bucking stock without her consent,” Deacon said.

“What if I use my own money?”

“She’ll still have to consent. That’s how most partnership agreements are worded.”

“Change the wording.”

Deacon typed another note into his tablet. “Her attorney will fight it.”

“Don’t know until we try.”

Before, Deacon would have seen Mercer’s confidence as cocky and arrogant. Now, he knew the reason behind it. The man was in love and, evidently, eternally optimistic.

He sure did have a funny way of demonstrating that love.

Not that Deacon was suave and sophisticated when it came to ladies. His acute reading disability hadn’t just held him back in school. Even when he’d learned to compensate, old habits were hard to break.

Take Liberty, for example. He’d had multiple opportunities to pursue her but hadn’t acted on them. Like Mercer said, she was pretty, with her short blond hair that didn’t look anything like a cowgirl’s. Neither did all those rings she wore, which he hadn’t noticed before today.

The boots and jeans were another story. He couldn’t take his eyes off her incredibly long legs when she was riding. It had cost him more than one disqualification when they were team penning together.

“Can you call Sunny and tell her to expect us tomorrow? After lunch sometime.” Mercer sopped up the last bit of chicken gravy with a chunk of dinner roll.

“No problem.”

“And ask her to make sure Cassidy and Liberty are there, too. This concerns all three of them.”

Deacon exhaled. He should have known Liberty would be there.

Despite his interest in her and the thoughts he couldn’t get out of his head no matter what, he hadn’t hesitated when Mercer approached him seeking representation. Having access to the arena’s records was exactly what Deacon needed to aid his own cause. For that, he would sacrifice a great deal.

Someone other than Deacon had left the bull’s gate unlatched that terrible day, and he intended to find out who. Then, armed with proof positive, he’d see to it Sunny Beckett and everyone else in Reckless knew the truth. Deacon would live in shame no more.

Chapter Two

“How could you?”

“Come on. Give Mom a break.”

Liberty sighed expansively and slumped down into the kitchen chair. For the past half hour, her sister, Cassidy, had been defending their mother while Liberty had paced back and forth in front of the sink, venting her outrage at being lied to and her anger at the turn of events. If she’d been told the truth from the beginning, none of this would have happened.

A lawsuit! And that was only a small portion of what Liberty was grappling with. The father she’d known for an entire five minutes had used her in his scheme to get the money owed him. Money!

Did he realize that, as employees of the arena, Liberty and Cassidy would be profoundly affected?

The scent of Mercer’s aftershave filled the air. Or maybe it was no more than a memory. One she’d be better off without. Refocusing her attention, she looked at her mother sitting across the table—and saw a stranger.

“What else haven’t you told us, Mom?” she asked.

“Nothing.” The response was uttered through tight lips. She’d been angry since being confronted.

“Yeah.” Liberty snorted derisively. “I guess the identity of my real father, his half ownership in our rodeo arena and the money you owe him are enough.”

“That’s not fair! I did what I thought was best to protect you.”

“From what? A reformed alcoholic who hadn’t touched a drop in twenty-two years? A man who, by all accounts, was a good father to his son?”

During most of their long, emotionally draining exchange, Sunny had sat at the table, enough sparks flashing in her eyes to ignite a brush fire.

“I don’t trust him,” she blurted out. “And with good reason.”

“Maybe once. Not for years. You had no right to screw with my life.”

“That’s enough.” Sunny slapped the table with her hand.

Liberty fumed. What did her mother have to be so mad about? Mercer’s return? She had to assume he’d approach her for the money one day. The amount was a staggering sum. Over one hundred thousand dollars. When Sunny informed them, Liberty had physically gulped. Their savings didn’t cover a fourth of that.

Cassidy, too, though she’d regained her composure quickly, making up for their mother’s silence with more verbal attacks on Mercer.

“She was thinking of us,” Cassidy said, her tone superior. “Like a good mother does.”

Younger by eleven years, Liberty had always been the baby of the family, doted on by her mother and ruled over by her big sister. Liberty might be twenty-four, but as far as Cassidy was concerned, their relationship hadn’t changed.

“Please.” Liberty leaned forward and waited for her mother to meet her gaze. A sudden surge of emotion tightened her voice. “I need to know. Why did you lie to me?”

The topic of Mercer and the money owed him had been temporarily set aside. Liberty instead pressed for the information most important to her.

“Trust me,” Cassidy quipped. “You don’t want Mercer Beckett for a father. He nearly killed us both.”

Killing might be a stretch. On his way home from picking up Cassidy at a friend’s house, an inebriated Mercer lost control of the pickup he was driving and slammed into the well house. Thankfully, no one was injured. The same couldn’t be said for the well house. But the wreck had terrified Cassidy and prompted Sunny to send Mercer packing a few weeks later.