More Than a Cowboy (Reckless, Arizona)

by Cathy McDavid

  “Twenty-two years of sobriety is more than enough to prove he’s changed,” Liberty insisted. “I had the right to make my own decision regarding Mercer. Ryder did.”

  Sunny jerked involuntarily at the mention of her estranged son. Then, to Liberty’s shock, her mother burst into tears.

  Her fury instantly waned. It must have been heartbreaking for her mother to lose Ryder. And all her attempts to maintain contact with him had either been ignored or thrown back in her face. He resented their mother as much as Cassidy did their father—and Liberty was caught in the middle.

  The stranger Liberty saw across the table disappeared, and her mother once more sat there.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you miss Ryder and wish things were different. But that doesn’t change the fact you should have told me about Mercer being my father.”

  “I wanted to.” Sunny wiped her tears with a paper napkin from the holder on the table. “You have no idea how many times I tried.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “I lost my courage. I was so afraid you’d go looking for him.”

  Like Ryder. The truth at last. Liberty supposed she understood her mother’s fear. Losing one child had been difficult enough.

  “You think we would have had it so good if he’d been draining our bank account dry every month?” Cassidy interjected.

  For the first time, Sunny defended Mercer. “It wasn’t like that. He couldn’t have drained us dry. There were clauses in our property settlement agreement. The monthly profits had to be at a certain level or the full amount he was owed went back into the operating account to insure sufficient cash flow.”

  “In other words—” Liberty sent her sister a pointed look “—he cared about the arena and us and made sure we wouldn’t hit rock bottom again.”

  Cassidy huffed and leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. “Before you go awarding him a big shiny halo, just remember he wants the money now.”

  “He’ll take payments.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “He won’t have a choice.”

  “Girls!”

  At their mother’s sharp outburst, both Liberty and Cassidy shut their mouths.

  “Why didn’t you put the money aside?” Liberty asked a moment later when she and her sister were both calmer. “Just in case he came to collect.”

  “I did at first.” Sunny was also calmer. “A couple hundred dollars a week. But Cassidy was competing on the rodeo circuit in those days. She needed money for a horse and training and a new saddle. With her gone so much, I was shorthanded and had to hire part-time help.”

  Barrel racing was the same as any other rodeo event. Decent winnings could be had at the championship level. Getting there, however, required money, and Sunny had footed the bill.

  Did Cassidy ever repay their mother? Liberty considered asking but held her tongue. In Cassidy’s current mood, she wouldn’t appreciate the underlying accusation.

  “Then there was the accident and poor Ernie Tuckerman.” Sunny wrung her hands together. “I had a ten-thousand-dollar deductible to cover, and afterward, our insurance premiums skyrocketed. It was six years since Cassidy’s high school graduation. I figured if Mercer hadn’t demanded his share of the revenue by then, he wasn’t ever going to.”

  A peculiar arrangement, Liberty thought, not for the first time since hearing about it. Mercer hadn’t paid any child support for Cassidy. Instead, he’d let their mother keep all the arena profits until Cassidy graduated high school. At that point, her mother was supposed to start paying him his share. Only she hadn’t. And he didn’t ask for it.

  Sunny had obviously said nothing about his half ownership of the arena to Cassidy, either. Liberty had seen the shock and disbelief on her sister’s face when she’d blurted the news. Yet, Cassidy had blamed Mercer rather than their mother.

  “You and Mercer must have talked over the years,” Liberty said. “Did he ever mention the money?”

  Sunny shook her head. “The few times we did talk, the subject of money didn’t come up. That’s the truth,” she reiterated.

  There was a wistfulness in her mother’s expression that Liberty had seen before. When she was young, she’d caught her mother studying a framed photograph, that same expression on her face. Later, Liberty had snuck into her mother’s room and removed the photo from its hiding place in the back of the drawer. A younger version of her parents stared back at her, except Liberty hadn’t known Mercer was her father.

  When she’d asked about Mercer, her mother changed the subject. Eventually, Liberty stopped asking—but not wondering.

  “Did he ever talk about me?” Her tongue tripped over the last word.

  “To ask if you were his?”

  Liberty nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Mercer must have realized she’d been born nine months, give or take, after he and her mother split.

  “He did.”

  “You lied to him, too!”

  “He was drinking then. Heavily. I didn’t want to give him any reason to stick around.”

  Emotions rose up in Liberty, threatening to choke her. She fought for control. “He must have been so hurt. Thinking you slept with another man within days after he left.”

  Sunny remained mute, her features dark.

  “He hurt us!” Cassidy insisted. Tears had welled in the corners of her eyes.

  Liberty shot to her feet, the need to distance herself for a moment overpowering her. Sunny had lied to Mercer and driven him away rather than let him know he’d fathered a third child with her.

  “Tell me this, Mom.” She hesitated on her way to the door. The barn, with its familiar scent of horses and dark, cool corners, beckoned. It had been her sanctuary since she was a little girl, the place she went to when she wanted to be alone. “If you despised Mercer so much, why did you sleep with him right up to the day you threw him out?”

  If she meant to wound her mother, she succeeded. Sunny’s control collapsed, and her features crumpled.

  Liberty wasn’t quite to the door when the arena phone rang. Extensions had been placed in the kitchen and Sunny’s bedroom in case of emergencies. With no one manning the office, they’d been answering the phone in the house.

  Being the closest, Liberty grabbed the receiver, put it to her ear and automatically said, “Easy Money Rodeo Arena, Liberty Beckett speaking.”

  “Hello, Liberty. It’s Deacon McCrea.”

  She went still, and despite her resolve to the contrary, her insides fluttered as they often did when she spoke to him. Dammit. After the meeting with Mercer, he was off-limits. Apparently, her heart hadn’t gotten the memo yet.

  “Hello,” he said. “Did I lose you?”

  “N-no.” She turned toward her mother and sister. They’d been as unnerved as her to learn Deacon McCrea was representing Mercer. The irony wasn’t lost on Liberty. They’d blamed him for the bull-goring accident regardless of any evidence. “What do you want, Deacon?”

  The alarm on their faces matched the panic Liberty felt.

  “Is your mother available?” he asked.

  She held the phone away and pressed the mute button. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Sunny shook her head vehemently.

  Liberty returned to the call. “I’m sorry. She’s not in at the moment.”

  “Could you give her a message for me?”

  “What is it?”

  Liberty hadn’t intended to sound so curt with Deacon. Nothing about this situation with her family was his fault. But he’d positioned himself squarely in Mercer’s camp and had to know that squashed any potential relationship with her. She did, and grieved just a little for what was lost.

  “Your father and I would like to meet with you, your mother and sister tomorrow. Is one o’clock co
nvenient?”

  “For what?”

  “To discuss terms. Can Sunny or someone else call me back and confirm? Here’s my number.”

  Discuss terms? An ambiguous phrase that held the power to tear their lives apart.

  With shaking fingers, Liberty reached for the pad and pen kept by the phone and jotted down the number he recited.

  “I’m not sure we’re available,” she said. “It’s summer. I teach riding classes both mornings and afternoons, and my mother—”

  “The sooner the better.”

  His abrupt businesslike manner caused her to bristle. To think she’d wasted all those hours daydreaming about him, now and in the past.

  “Fine. I’ll give her the message.” Hanging up, she faced her family. “Mercer has requested a meeting. It doesn’t sound like he’ll take no for an answer.”

  * * *

  DEACON PULLED INTO the Easy Money Rodeo Arena grounds and was instantly transported eleven years into the past. That hadn’t happened for weeks. Lately, he’d begun to hope the past was dead, that he might actually belong here again and have a chance with Liberty. Turned out he’d been wrong. On all three counts. He wasn’t sure which disappointed him the most.

  Relocating to Reckless had been a six-month impulse. He’d returned briefly to handle some old business for his parents. They’d moved to Globe years ago. Several people had recognized Deacon and stopped him on the streets, mentioning the accident. When he left, he vowed never to set eyes on the place again. Except he couldn’t get those encounters and the town out of his mind.

  He was innocent. He would clear his name. He would not run away again.

  Mercer must be going through a similar trip down memory lane for he’d grown suddenly quiet after having talked Deacon’s ear off during the entire drive from town.

  Maneuvering his pickup into an empty space outside the arena office, Deacon parked and shut off the engine. He reached for the door handle. “You ready?”

  Mercer didn’t move.

  Deacon waited while the cab quickly heated to an uncomfortable temperature.

  “Anytime,” he prodded.

  “Yeah, sorry.” Mercer’s smile was weak at best. “Got lost in thought there for a second.”

  Outside the truck, Deacon paused and surveyed his surroundings, much as he had that first day back. On the surface, little had changed.

  The office was housed in the main barn and could be entered from either the outside or inside of the barn. The arena was to the west and directly across from the main barn. Aluminum bleachers flanked the two long sides of the arena. On the south end were bucking chutes, large ones for the bulls and horses, smaller ones for the calves. Narrow runways connected the chutes to the livestock-holding pens. Above the chutes, and with a bird’s-eye view, was the announcer’s stand.

  A lengthy row of shaded stalls had been built behind the main barn, along with more livestock pens and three connected pastures. About half of the box stalls in the main barn and most of the outdoor stalls were available for lease to the public. Deacon himself rented two stalls for his horses.

  He’d long ago given up rodeoing. A couple years ago, at the urging of a buddy, he’d started team penning and discovered he not only had a knack for it, he quite enjoyed it. The horses were a gift to himself when he passed the bar exam.

  Liberty also had a love of team penning. It was something they’d shared these past couple of months, often practicing and competing together. He was going to miss that.

  Deacon and Mercer strode in the direction of the office. An old wooden picnic table sat to the right of the door, the innumerable scars and gouges indistinguishable from the initials and names carved into it. Three folding lawn chairs were clustered near the picnic table. All empty.

  At the office door, Deacon paused and knocked. Most people simply entered. He’d decided to give the three Beckett women a quick heads-up. Turned out they weren’t there. Instead, the tiny waiting area was deserted, and a woman Deacon didn’t immediately recognize occupied the desk.

  “Hi.” Her smile was guarded. “I’ll let Sunny know you’re here.” She reached for the desk phone and pressed a series of buttons on the dial pad. “Sunny Beckett to the office. Sunny Beckett to the office.” Half a beat behind, the receptionist’s voice blared from speakers inside the barn and at the arena. “She shouldn’t be long,” the woman said after hanging up.

  “Thank you kindly.” Mercer took a seat in one of the two well-worn visitor chairs.

  Deacon joined him. He understood this was a game. Sunny didn’t want to appear as if she was waiting for them. That would show weakness. Forcing them to wait for her, on her home turf at that, showed strength.

  He perused the pictures on the walls. Some were of familiar scenes and faces, others evidently taken after his time here as a wrangler. The ones of the bulls had been removed.

  “I remember you,” Mercer said. “You’re Cassidy’s friend.”

  Deacon swiveled in his chair. Mercer was staring at the woman, the beginnings of a grin on his face.

  “Yes,” she answered hesitantly.

  He snapped his fingers as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Tatum Hanks.”

  “It’s Tatum Mayweather now.” Her smile lost some of its wariness. “How are you, Mr. Beckett?”

  “Just dandy. And call me Mercer. I take it you work here.”

  “For the last four months. Before that, I taught third grade at the elementary school.”

  Deacon watched the woman as she and Mercer chatted. He’d seen her off and on, naturally, and noticed her staring at him, as did anyone who’d been around at the time of the accident. He’d ignored her stares. In hindsight, he should have paid more attention.

  She was, he now recalled, Cassidy’s friend. Best friend. The few memories he could muster crystalized. One centered on a wedding at the arena.

  “How’s that husband of yours?” Mercer asked.

  Her voice grew quiet. “We’re not married anymore.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “I have three children.” She brightened and turned a framed picture around on her desk for Mercer to see. In between, she cast Deacon hasty glances.

  For a moment, he missed the way Liberty looked at him. There was no wariness or accusation in her eyes. Only kindness, humor and undeniable interest.

  She wouldn’t have that same look today. Her tone during their phone call yesterday had been icy and distant. He anticipated similar treatment at their meeting.

  The door leading to the barn opened. Sunny strode inside, accompanied by Cassidy. Neither woman noticed Deacon. They went straight to Mercer, who immediately rose.

  “Sunny. Cassidy.” He removed his cowboy hat and took them in from head to toe. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

  They didn’t return his enthusiasm. Anything but. And no hugs were initiated.

  “You look great. Both of you.” He’d included his daughter, but his attention never wavered from Sunny.

  Deacon had to admit time had been her friend. A short-sleeved Western-cut shirt tucked into her jeans revealed a still trim and shapely figure. Blond hair a couple shades darker than Liberty’s was pulled up into an efficient ponytail. Her green eyes observed Mercer carefully.

  Green. Hmm. Liberty’s eyes were blue, a deep shade Deacon could easily get lost in.

  He mentally shook himself. This meeting was too important for him to abandon focus.

  “Let’s go into Mom’s office.” Cassidy started for the connecting door. If she was feeling sentimental, she hid it well.

  Deacon had barely stood when Liberty entered. An all-too-common jolt coursed through him. It intensified when their gazes locked.

  She was hurt. He could see it in her face. There was no way to change that. No going back. De
acon had made his choice, though not without regrets. He hoped one day she’d understand.

  “Liberty!” Mercer beamed. “How are you?”

  Give the man credit. He acted as if their visit today was strictly social and nothing out of the ordinary.

  She didn’t answer him and instead followed her mother and sister into Sunny’s office. They were presenting a united front. Even so, Deacon noted a slight underlying tension between the women. He imagined Liberty had posed a lot of questions to her mother yesterday. Perhaps not all had been answered, or answered satisfactorily.

  There weren’t enough chairs in the office. Sunny sat at her desk, a position of authority. Cassidy dropped into the only available vacant seat. If her intent was to make their visitors suffer discomfort, she didn’t succeed.

  Undaunted, Mercer said, “Be right back.” And he was, with the two chairs from the front office. Carrying one in each arm, he set them down and squeezed them together in front of Sunny’s desk.

  “My dear.” He gestured for Liberty to sit.

  She did, and when Mercer plunked down in the middle chair, he and his two daughters were practically rubbing knees. Deacon leaned against a four-drawer file cabinet, which put him directly behind Liberty and looking over her shoulder. She shifted uneasily, then, as if sensing him, turned. The hurt he’d seen earlier was gone, replaced by confusion.

  He ignored the pang of guilt—he had to, really—and smiled. “Good afternoon.”

  Her answer was to face forward.

  All right, he deserved that. Tucking the envelope containing the demand letter and draft partnership agreement under his arm, Deacon powered up his tablet and readied to take notes.

  “Just so you know, Sunny, I don’t want your money.”

  At Mercer’s impromptu announcement, the three women sat suddenly straighter.

  “Then why threaten me with a lawsuit?” Sunny asked, her voice ripe with indignation.

  “I’d rather manage the Easy Money with you.”

  Deacon swallowed a groan. Why bother with plans when his client was bound and determined not to stick to them?