More Than a Cowboy (Reckless, Arizona)

by Cathy McDavid

  Didn’t have a chance to confirm before you left. See you tomorrow morning at 11:00.

  She hated that a ripple of anticipation swept through her before she came to her senses and deleted the message without responding.

  * * *

  “LIBERTY ISN’T HERE YET.” There was no mistaking the irritation in Tatum Mayweather’s voice.

  Deacon infused a dose of honey in his. “I’m early.”

  “Almost an hour.”

  He lowered his briefcase onto the seat of the closest visitor chair. The leather was hand tooled, the briefcase custom-made. A pair of locking steer horns branded onto the front was his own design. “Thought I’d get a head start on reviewing the arena records.”

  Tatum reached for the desk phone. “I’ll page Sunny.”

  “No need. I don’t want to interrupt her and Mercer.” He flashed his most sincere smile. “There’s no problem, is there? Sunny did authorize you to give me access to the files.”

  “Yes...”

  “Good,” he said, as if all was settled. “I’d like to start with the personnel records. Are they here?” He indicated the lateral file cabinet he’d leaned against the other day.

  “No. Those are stored in Sunny’s office.” With painstaking hesitancy, Tatum opened the center drawer of her desk and dug out a small silver key attached to an oversize ring.

  Deacon held out his hand. “I’ll try not to disturb you.”

  She hesitated, not yet ready to surrender the key. “I should call Sunny.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll wait.” He sat in the second visitor chair and stretched his legs out, attempting to appear calm, cool and collected.

  He’d deviated from the agreed-upon arrangement, and Tatum knew it. Sunny was supposed to be present during any examination of the records. If not her, then Liberty. He’d planned to arrive early, while Sunny and Mercer were busy with Dr. Houser and Liberty was running errands. He’d wanted time alone with the personnel records and had taken the chance he could buffalo his way past the Becketts’ dedicated office manager.

  Tatum punched a number into the phone. “Hi, Sunny. Sorry to bother you.” She quickly explained the situation. “Okay. Yeah, sure.” She fired a stern glance at Deacon. “I don’t think so.” After another brief exchange and pause, she hung up. “Sunny says it’s all right.”

  Tension flowed from Deacon in waves. He was going to pull this off. “Thank you.”

  Rather than give him the key, Tatum accompanied him into Sunny’s office and opened the file cabinet herself. “Everything you need is in the top drawer. You can sit at Sunny’s desk.”

  Deacon quickly perused the row of manila files with their color-coded labels. There were no more than twelve or fifteen. “How far back do these go?”

  “Current employees only, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “What about former employees? Where are those files?”

  “Archived,” Tatum answered tightly.

  “If it’s not too much trouble...”

  “They’re stored in the attic above the garage.” Her tone implied retrieving the files would be a great deal of trouble.

  Deacon had anticipated just such a roadblock and tried another approach. “What about electronic copies of the records?”

  “On a backup hard drive. I’d have to restore the information year by year.”

  He began to suspect the office manager was intentionally waylaying him. Her next remark, however, had him reconsidering.

  “I do have copies of the annual W-2 wage statements for the last ten years.”

  “That’ll help. Thank you.”

  Walter was the only current employee who’d been around at the time of Ernie Tuckerman’s accident. More than once, Deacon had discreetly prodded the livestock foreman for information. The rodeo world was small but apparently not that small. Walter hadn’t kept in touch with any of the arena’s former employees or customers who’d moved from Reckless, other than when they returned for a rodeo or the annual Wild West Days. The few vague leads he’d supplied failed to pan out.

  No doubt some of the people Deacon sought still lived in town. The arena records would enable him to narrow his search. He didn’t have to look far for Ernie Tuckerman. Deacon had spotted him frequently going into the market or standing on a corner. Talk was Deacon’s former rival lived hand to mouth in a single-wide trailer on the edge of town and didn’t get out much. His pronounced limp ripped the heart clean out of Deacon, as did his thin, haggard appearance.

  Seeing the other man’s suffering only strengthened Deacon’s resolve to find the person responsible for the accident. As much for Ernie as himself. They’d both been wronged and had been paying the price for too long.

  “Wait here.” With a toss of her long black hair, Tatum went to the storage closet and unearthed a bulging box from its farthest recesses. She dropped the box on Sunny’s desk and said, “Anything else?”

  “Not at the moment.” He stopped her when she reached the door. “I saw you have a new picture of your kids on your desk.”

  “I took them to the zoo last month.” She smiled tentatively.

  “Nice shot.”

  Encouraged, Deacon sat in Sunny’s chair. Powering up his tablet, he started on the oldest W-2 wage statements first. Halfway through the box, he’d managed to plug several names and addresses into his tablet. Seemed Sunny was good at gathering updated addresses when a W-2 was returned as undeliverable.

  “What are you doing?”

  Liberty. From the sound of it, she stood in the doorway. Deacon could feel her stare boring straight through him.

  “My job.” He forced himself not to deviate from his task.

  She moved into the office, prompting him to at last glance up. She wore a severe scowl—which was a real shame. She was far too pretty not to be smiling all the time.

  “You’re not supposed to be here without my mother or me.”

  “True. But Sunny gave her permission. You can ask your office manager.”

  “I will.” Liberty came closer. “When she’s off the phone.”

  Interesting. She’d come charging in here without first checking with Tatum. He took enjoyment in being the cause of Liberty’s hair-trigger reaction. Any emotion, even a negative one, showed she wasn’t immune to him.

  “I was early,” he said.

  “Figures.”

  “Thought I’d spend the time getting a jump on the arena records.”

  She angled her head sideways to read the file lying open in front of him. “By looking at old W-2s?”

  “How much you pay your employees is relevant to the operations.”

  “From five years ago?”

  “I’m tracking wage history.”

  “Hmm.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  Again, Deacon was struck with the conviction that she should be smiling as often as possible.

  Closing the file, he powered off his tablet before she could read what he’d entered. “If you’re ready now, we can tour the grounds. I’ll finish this later.”

  “When my mother’s done with the vet,” she reiterated, “and available to oversee you.”

  “Sure.” Deacon wasn’t worried.

  He had enough names and addresses to start his search. And he’d find ways to dig into more arena records, even with Sunny or Liberty watching his every move.

  Hopefully it would be Liberty. She could watch his every move anytime she wanted. And he’d watch hers in return. Kind of like he was doing now.

  Chapter Five

  Deacon and Liberty passed through the front office on their way to the barn. Tatum was off the phone, but Liberty didn’t stop and confirm that Deacon had indeed obtained Sunny’s permission to nose through the files. He awarded himself a mental check mark in the
plus column.

  “Where shall we start?” Liberty asked.

  He glanced down the main aisle. “Since we’re here, how about with horse boarding?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged her consent.

  Shifting his briefcase to the other hand, he followed her.

  Liberty paused, her eyes fastened on the briefcase. “Very nice.”

  “A gift from my mother when I graduated law school.”

  “She has good taste.”

  “In some things.”

  Not in men. But Liberty was already aware of that, along with most of the town. His parents’ reputations, as much as the accident, could account for Deacon’s slow-to-take-off legal practice.

  “Looks expensive. You might want to leave it in the office.”

  “I’ll drop it off in my truck later.” There were several important and confidential documents inside the briefcase. Deacon would rather be safe than sorry.

  They stopped in front of Deacon’s two horses. Liberty absently combed her fingers through the gelding’s fetlock. “You already know how much we charge for the indoor box stalls, seeing as you pay for two of them.”

  “How many of the fifty stalls are rented out?”

  “Thirty-five at last count.”

  Deacon didn’t take notes. This kind of information was available in the records. Mostly, he was trying to get a general feel for the arena’s business operations. Hard numbers could come later.

  Strolling the row of indoor stalls, they discussed feeding schedules, quantity of feed, prices, availability and storage. As they neared the sheds, the strong aroma of fresh-cut hay triggered an onslaught of memories. How many bales had Deacon stacked during his youth? Too many to count. If he concentrated, he could feel the baling wire cutting into his palms and the thick welts rising in spite of the leather gloves he’d worn.

  Sunny had worked him hard, yet those two years had been the happiest time of his youth. The only happy time in his life until his twenties when he entered college.

  “We purchase hay in the summer,” Liberty said, not noticing his momentary lapse. “It should last the entire year, barring any problems like mold or damage from pests.”

  “Isn’t July when prices are at their lowest?”

  “It’s also right after the Rough Riders rodeo.”

  Made sense, he thought. The rodeo was one of the Easy Money’s best attended events and produced the surplus of cash needed to purchase such a large quantity of hay.

  At Deacon’s request, they headed toward the outdoor stalls and pastures. The horses there paid little attention to the two of them. Standing quietly with heads hung low, they swished their tails at the flies. The mares and foals in the pasture sniffed the ground in search of tidbits. A lazy pair stood head to toe in the marginally cooler shade of an awning.

  “How’s your mom’s doing?” Liberty asked.

  Despite the earlier mention of his mother, the question hit Deacon like a sucker punch to the gut. “Same as always.”

  “Do you see her often?”

  He squinted in an easterly direction. “Globe isn’t that far away.” His parents had moved to Reckless’s closest and considerably larger neighboring town a year after Deacon ran away. He sometimes wondered if they weren’t afraid of him returning to Reckless and had moved because of it.

  “That’s not what I’m asking,” Liberty said.

  “Only if I absolutely have to.”

  Like when his mother called him, hinting for money or a favor. He usually granted the favor. Money, that was different. He’d buy her groceries or put gas in her car or pay her utility bill before he’d hand over cash. Carol McCrea would simply waste it. Lottery tickets, pedicures, magazine subscriptions, you name it. Vital necessities were last on her priority list.

  “And I don’t talk to my dad at all, if you were going to ask that next.”

  “Sorry,” Liberty said. “I was just being polite.”

  Deacon regretted his terseness. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my screwed-up parents out on you.”

  “When it comes to screwed-up parents, mine set the bar.”

  He slowed his steps. “We’re quite the pair, I suppose.”

  “At least you knew your dad, and he was around every day.”

  “I’d have been better off without him.”

  “Don’t say that. Growing up without a dad is hard.”

  He felt sorry for her. But growing up without a father couldn’t have been worse than having Henry McCrea for one. He hadn’t beaten or abused his wife and children or mistreated them in the slightest. He would have had to acknowledge their existence for that.

  Deacon’s father was only interested in which of the town ladies, or those in nearby Globe, he could sweet-talk into bed. They were the ones he spent his money on, the ones on whom he lavished his attention. Most tired of him when he wouldn’t divorce his wife. Frankly, Deacon wasn’t sure why his father hadn’t walked out on his family. He surely didn’t love them.

  As a result, Deacon’s mother had vented her frustration and unhappiness by constantly berating and belittling Deacon and his sister. Misery needs company, and his mother guaranteed she had plenty of it. Had either of Deacon’s parents cared a lick about anyone other than themselves, his acute reading disability might have been diagnosed and treated years earlier, and he wouldn’t have earned the nickname Einstein.

  He also might not have been blamed for an accident he didn’t cause and fired from a job he loved.

  He’d left Reckless soon after the accident, though at seventeen he was considered a runaway. Just like his sister two summers before him. Only she’d traveled much farther, to California, and would likely never return. Or so she told him during their infrequent conversations.

  A loud ruckus had Deacon and Liberty turning to investigate. One of the hands was driving a tractor toward the arena and pulling a grader blade behind him. Kenny—a freckled-face high school junior—waved. He might have been Deacon at that age, only Deacon wouldn’t have done anything as overtly friendly as wave. He’d have nodded stoically, the most he could muster.

  Except when he saw Liberty. Then, he’d have blushed beet-red beneath his tan. It wouldn’t have mattered that she was just a kid. She’d been smitten with him, he could tell, and her crush had embarrassed him to his core.

  No more. If he drove by her today, he’d stop the tractor and ask her to hop on.

  They meandered to the far pasture that held the bucking stock. Almost immediately, the horses plodded over. Bucking stock could be quite tame outside the arena, depending on their personalities. Inside the arena was another story. They were trained to do a job, and if the owners were lucky, they did it well, earning back their keep along with a tidy profit.

  “We have twenty-seven altogether,” Liberty said, anticipating Deacon’s next question. “Two are currently residing in the infirmary.”

  “What happened?”

  Liberty leaned her forearms on the pasture railing. She instantly became the object of much sniffing and nudging. “Biggie Size has a laceration on his knee, and Calamity Jane’s on a diet.”

  “A diet?” Deacon chuckled.

  “She’s hog fat.” Liberty didn’t laugh in return. “It’s interfering with her ability to buck.”

  “That is serious.”

  “She’s been one of our top earners. Until she became such a glutton.”

  “Tell me about the bucking stock side of the operation,” Deacon said.

  “You know. You were a wrangler.”

  “Things have changed since then.”

  “Obviously, we supply the horses, calves and steer for our own rodeos. No bulls. Those, we lease. Usually from the Lost Dutchman Rodeo Company out of Apache Junction.”

  There was pride in her voice a
nd with good reason. Under Sunny’s direction, the Easy Money had earned a stellar reputation. They were also the only bucking stock operation Deacon knew of to be run exclusively by women.

  No more. Mercer’s return changed that. Would it affect their business? Being woman-run had given the Becketts a certain advantage with some rodeo organizations and associations and a disadvantage with others.

  “Calamity Jane being your one exception,” Deacon said. At Liberty’s puzzled expression, he added, “She’s too fat to be the best.”

  His teasing remark earned him a hint of a smile. Good. She wasn’t made of stone after all.

  Loud bawling greeted their arrival at the calf pens. Typical. The sight of a human almost always triggered that reaction in bovine. Regardless of the time of day, the calves associated people with being fed. The appearance of Deacon and Liberty started a chain reaction in the herd.

  Before long, the calves were bunched together at the fence. In the next pen over, the steer weren’t any better and made a similar feed-me-feed-me fuss.

  “You never told me goodbye when you left,” Liberty said.

  He hadn’t seen that remark coming and needed a moment to recover before replying.

  “It was a quick decision. I didn’t say goodbye to a lot of people.”

  Including his parents. Deacon had thrown a few belongings into a backpack and hit the road, catching a ride to Phoenix with Lenny Faust, owner of the local Ship-With-Ease store.

  “I never believed for one second you left that gate unlatched.”

  He met Liberty’s gaze. “You’re the only one.”

  “Everyone assumed you were guilty when you took off like that.”

  “They assumed I was guilty the moment Ernie Tuckerman accused me from his hospital bed.” Resentment rang in Deacon’s voice. “Your mother among them.”

  “It was a rough time for her.”

  “Her? Your mother’s accusations made sure I’d never work in Reckless again.”