Cathy Mcdavid - More Than a Cowboy

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.