LOVE OR FAMILY LOYALTY?

Liberty Beckett was so used to watching longtime crush Deacon McCrea ride at her family’s Reckless, Arizona, arena, she nearly forgot the handsome cowboy was an attorney. But it won’t be hard to remember now that Deacon is representing her father in the legal battle dividing the Beckett clan and threatening the Easy Money Rodeo Arena.

This case is Deacon’s chance to clear his name in Reckless. He didn’t anticipate the powerful effect Liberty would have on him. Their attraction is undeniable…and a huge conflict of interest. To save his career and Liberty’s relationship with her family, Deacon knows he needs to avoid Liberty. But what a man needs and what he wants are two very different things….

“You don’t have to help me clear my name if you don’t want to,” Deacon said.

“A bet’s a bet,” Liberty answered.

“And I’ll help you, too. With Mercer and your mother.”

“Seriously?” That cheered her.

“It’s my job to make my client happy if I can, and reconciling with your mom will make Mercer happy.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Without thinking, she laid her cheek on his chest and hugged him hard.

It was wonderful. Deacon, all rock-hard muscles and impressive height, made her feel soft and small and utterly feminine. He hugged her back, too, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

Friendly, chaste and as far as things should probably go. Liberty didn’t know much about attorney ethics. Kissing her surely violated one or two of them. Even if she wanted a kiss more than anything.

She should stop this hug now. For Deacon’s sake. But when she tried to pull away, he held her fast.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice suddenly husky as he dipped his head.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Reckless, Arizona!

I just love saying those words—or ones like them—because it means I’m launching a brand-new series and introducing my readers to a whole bunch of new characters. I feel kind of as if I’m taking my child to school for their very first day, or showing up for my first day of work at a new job. It’s a little scary and a lot exciting. Will they like me? Will I fit in? Will I do well?

I often talk about where I live, in the foothills of the stunning McDowell Mountains. But there are so many other beautiful, fascinating and even quirky places in Arizona. This time, I chose to set my series in a fictional town near Roosevelt Lake, a stunningly beautiful and, frankly, wild area of the state. For such a place, I needed to create a town that was also a bit wild, then populate it with an interesting and complicated family to match.

This first book about the Becketts is the story of Liberty and Deacon. She’s trying to piece together a family that’s been broken for years. He’s trying to clear his name and find out who really caused a terrible bull-goring accident years ago. The odds are stacked against them and against the attraction they feel for one another. In order for them to prevail and find true love, they’re going to have to learn some very hard lessons.

I’m thrilled to bring you their story. And, as always, I love hearing from you.

Warmest wishes,

Cathy McDavid

www.CathyMcDavid.com www.Facebook.com/CathyMcDavid www.Twitter.com/CathyMcDavid

More Than

a Cowboy

Cathy McDavid

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For the past eighteen years Cathy McDavid has been juggling a family, a job and writing, and doing pretty well at it, except for the housecleaning part. “Mostly” retired from the corporate business world, she writes full-time from her home in Scottsdale, Arizona, near the breathtaking McDowell Mountains. Her twins have “mostly” left home, returning every now and then to raid her refrigerators. On weekends, she heads to her cabin in the mountains, always taking her laptop with her. You can visit her website at www.cathymcdavid.com.

Contents

Dear Reader,

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Chapter One

He wasn’t here.

No surprise, really, thought Liberty Beckett. She’d arrived—a glance at the clock on the wall behind the long counter confirmed it—fifteen minutes early.

Relief battled with worry for control of her emotions. Was he still coming? Had he changed his mind? A deep breath failed to quell the tension that had been her constant companion this past week.

“You want a table or a booth, honey?”

Liberty blinked. A plump waitress had appeared from nowhere, cradling a stack of oversize plastic menus in the crook of her arm.

“Um, I’m not sure.” She took stock of the restaurant that was as familiar to her as the local market or corner gas station. She must have eaten here two, no, three hundred times. The lunch crowd had long departed, and the dinner crowd wasn’t due for another hour. A lone customer sat at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee.

Really? In this heat?

Liberty wiped her damp forehead. “I think I’ll wait until my...” Her what? Father? Technically, yes. “Until my, um, other party arrives.”

“Sure thing.” The waitress, someone Liberty knew by sight after all her years of patronage, gave her a funny look before bustling off.

Other party? Where had that come from?

Liberty silently chided herself and took a seat on the bench just inside the restaurant’s front door. Better to wait for Mercer here than at a table or a booth. No awkward pushing out of her seat, going for a hug when he only wanted to shake her hand.

Mercer. Her father. Not just the man who was father to Liberty’s half sister and brother. No, make that full sister and full brother. Her mother had lied. Since the day Liberty was born. Probably from the day she was conceived. For twenty-four years.

How could she?

Why did she?

Liberty had sacrificed a lot of sleep recently, tossing that question around and around in her head. At one time, she might have understood her mother’s motives for keeping such a huge secret. But her father—the word still sounded strange to her—had been sober for longer than Liberty could remember. At least, according to her brother’s infrequent communications. Several times a year their mother called Ryder, usually on birthdays or holidays. He never called them.

The rift that had developed between her parents before Liberty was born had only widened through the decades, becoming impossible to repair after Ryder left to live with their father. Could that really be twenty-two years ago? Liberty, a toddler at the time, didn’t remember Ryder ever living with them. It had always been just her, her sister, Cassidy, and their mother for so very long.

Three women running the Easy Money Rodeo Arena. Probably no one had thought they’d succeed in a predominantly man’s world. But they’d proved the skeptics wrong. How different Liberty’s life might have been if she’d known Mercer Beckett was her father and not some I-can’t-remember-his-name cowboy passing through, as her mother always claimed.

Why had she lied? Liberty kept coming back to the same question. Maybe Mercer could provide the answer, if she worked up the courage to ask him.

The door to the restaurant swung open, and Liberty swore her heart exploded inside her chest. She turned at the same instant a wave of adrenaline swept through her.

Not him! She hugged her middle and tried to collect her wildly scattered wits.

“Morning, Liberty. Is this seat taken?”

Looking up into the tanned, handsome face of Deacon McCrea, she murmured, “N-no,” and automatically scooted to her left, making room for him. “Go right ahead.”

He smiled as he sat, his brown eyes crinkling attractively at the corners. “I promise not to crowd you.”

Only he did. His large frame consumed over half the available space on the bench. Their elbows inadvertently brushed.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No worries.” Liberty shifted her purse to her other side.

There was only one bench in the Flat Iron Restaurant. She didn’t dare suggest Deacon wait outside. He’d melt. A hundred degrees in the shade was typical for summers in Reckless, Arizona. Today’s temperatures exceeded that.

Besides, she and Deacon were friends. In a manner of speaking. Acquaintances for sure. He boarded his two horses at the Easy Money and, since his recent return, regularly entered the arena’s team penning competitions.

She’d seen him around a lot, at the arena and in town, and that was okay with her. More than once, she’d intentionally put herself in his path, hoping he’d get the hint and ask her out. So far, no luck. But she wasn’t giving up. She sensed her interest in him was reciprocated, even if he hadn’t acted on it. Yet.

Any other day, their unexpected encounter would be a perfect opportunity for her to flirt and hint at hooking up. Except Liberty was much too anxious about meeting Mercer to relax, much less ply her feminine wiles.

Biting her lower lip, she studied the clock on the wall again. Ten minutes to go.

Deacon removed his cowboy hat and balanced it on his knee, drawing her attention. “Are you meeting someone, too?” she asked, disliking the slight tremor in her voice.

Damn Mercer for making her nervous. Damn her mother for the lies she’d told.

“A client.”

He had nice eyes. Dark and fathomless when he was concentrating, sparkling when he laughed. “Ah, business,” she said. “I usually see you on horseback and forget you’re an attorney.”

“Thank you for not calling me a shyster or a shark.”

She drew back to stare at him. “Do people really do that?”

“Not to my face, anyway.” He chuckled. “I’ve been called worse.”

Einstein. The cruel taunt suddenly came back to Liberty. She’d been in junior high, and Deacon in high school, but she remembered when he’d worked afternoons and weekends at her family’s rodeo arena. More than that, she remembered the terrible treatment he’d received at the hands of his peers, all because school hadn’t come easy for him.

Obviously, things had changed. Graduating law school and passing the bar required enormous intelligence and dedication.

“I saw a sign for your office on Sage Brush Drive.”

He nodded. “I just moved into the space a few weeks ago.”

“It’s a good area.”

Good area? What was she, the local real estate agent? Liberty suppressed a groan. Nerves again. The most banal of comments were issuing from her mouth. Deacon’s proximity wasn’t helping matters.

She briefly wondered what had happened to him in the eleven years he’d been away from Reckless, besides becoming an attorney. He’d departed under such bad circumstances, shortly after the horrible bull-goring accident. Some said he’d run away, an action that proved his guilt.

Liberty refused to believe for one second he’d allowed the bull to escape and injure that cowboy. Deacon had been the Becketts’ most responsible hand. Unfortunately, her mother hadn’t seen it that way and, along with others, pointed the finger of blame at him. No wonder he’d left.

The door to the restaurant whooshed open again, causing her to jerk in response. Deacon looked curiously at her but didn’t comment. Thank goodness.

A trio of boisterous young men entered on an explosion of laughter. Tourists. Judging from their sunburned faces, they’d spent the day at Roosevelt Lake thirty miles up the highway. Liberty pegged them as water-skiers rather than fishermen. Their slip-on canvas sneakers, wraparound sunglasses and swim trunks covered by baggy T-shirts gave them away.

Outdoor enthusiasts made up only a small portion of the visitors to Reckless, and they mostly happened to stop on their way to and from Phoenix. The rest were cowfolk. The Easy Money Rodeo Arena and its four annual PCA rodeos made Reckless a regular stop on the circuit for competitors from all over North America.

A colorful and lawless history only added to the appeal. The town’s first citizens were, in fact, a notorious gang of outlaws known for their “reckless” escapades. They hadn’t settled in the area as much as hidden out in the nearby hills.

Once, Mercer had been a large part of the Easy Money, running it with Liberty’s mother, and an active member of the community. Then, he’d started drinking.

Would he be welcomed back? Certainly not by her mother. Liberty had yet to say anything about the meeting to anyone, choosing instead to wait and see how it went.

She forced herself not to check the clock a third time and focused on Deacon. “Have you been getting a lot of new clients?” All right, the question wasn’t quite as banal as the others.

“Some. Reckless is still a small town.”

“True. But we have no attorneys. The closest ones are in Globe.” Almost an hour away. Liberty should know. She’d made more than one trip there to deliver various legal documents to the Becketts’ attorney.

“I’m hoping to corner the market.”

He had a dry sense of humor. That was new. Deacon had been painfully shy as a teenager, no doubt the result of being constantly picked on by his peers. She’d felt sorry for him. Not only did he have difficulty with school, his home life was a mess. The kind of mess people in a small town loved to gossip about.

As a result, he’d pulled at her teenage heartstrings. Now he pulled at her heart for an entirely different reason.

What did he think of the grown-up her? Oh, if only she weren’t in such a state about meeting Mercer, she’d find out.

“I’m sure you’ll do well.” An idea suddenly occurred to her. “Hey, maybe I could talk to my mom about hiring you. Our liability agreement is probably really outdated.”

His features instantly clouded. “I appreciate it, but I have to say no. Conflict of interest.”

“Because we already have an attorney?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t discuss it.” He appeared genuinely distressed.

Though there was no real reason, Liberty felt hurt. She’d been sure their attraction these past two months since his return was mutual.

Wait! That must be it. He didn’t want to take on the Becketts as clients because then he couldn’t ask her out.

She said nothing more. Just sat and smiled to herself, her fingers twisting the jade ring on her right hand. She had a whole new reason to be nervous.

The sudden sound of the front door opening had her jumping up from her seat. It was him. Mercer! She recognized him from the pictures she’d researched on the internet.

Their glances connected, and her knees turned to butter.

“Liberty?” Removing his cowboy hat, Mercer combed his fingers through his too long gray hair.

Beside her, Deacon also stood. If not for his hand on her elbow, she might have wobbled ungracefully. Fortunately, he just as quickly released her...and went nowhere.

Oh, this was awkward. For several lengthy seconds, they all three stared at one another.

“You’re so pretty.” Mercer’s gaze took her in from head to toe as if she were a newly minted marvel. “Just like your mother.”

Liberty swallowed, surprised to find a lump the size of a golf ball lodged in her throat. She did look like Sunny Beckett and nothing at all like her brother and sister, which was probably why she’d never directly questioned the lies her mother told.

But behind Sunny’s back? That was an altogether different thing. The frequent tales she’d heard from the townsfolk about Mercer and her mother, with their many conflicting versions, was why Liberty had begun to dig into her parentage.

Her father hadn’t been hard to find. She’d started searching a few months ago after a conversation with Ricky, her team penning partner. The subject of Mercer came up—it often did even after all these years. Ricky had told her about Mercer being at the Wild West Days Rodeo twenty-five years ago. He’d been adamant and claimed to have a photo somewhere. Liberty’s mother always swore Mercer had left before the rodeo. Liberty couldn’t forget the conversation and began poking around. Those who could remember confirmed Ricky’s story.

It had required all of Liberty’s courage to contact Mercer. He’d been nice and readily taken her call. Turned out, he’d had his own suspicions about being her father. The DNA test was simple enough to conduct. Once the results were in, they’d made their plans.

And now he stood before her, his arms open. She went into them with only the slightest hesitation.

He smelled like aftershave. Liberty inhaled deeply, committing the scent to memory.

Mercer hugged her warmly. “There, there, girl.”

Only when he’d murmured the endearment did she notice she was crying. Wiping at her cheeks, she straightened and reluctantly withdrew. So that was what it felt like to be held in a father’s embrace.

“Do you want to sit?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“Sure thing.” A grin spread across his whiskered face.

For an instant, Liberty saw her brother, Ryder. Or, what Ryder would look like if he ever grinned. She couldn’t recall seeing him happy. Maybe learning they shared the same father would change that. Maybe he’d come home, too.

Scanning the restaurant, she spotted the waitress heading toward the counter and motioned that she and Mercer would be taking a nearby booth.

“Come on.” She led the way...only to pull up short after three steps and peer over her shoulder.

Deacon was following them. She’d forgotten all about him.

“Is there, um, something you want?”

He addressed Mercer rather than her. “Would you like me to wait here?”

“No.” Mercer clasped Deacon’s shoulder. “Join us.”

“W-why?” Liberty stared at the two of them in confusion.

“Deacon is my attorney,” Mercer said.

“Your attorney?”

“I’ll explain.” He took over, directing them to a table rather than a booth.

Liberty followed him, her confusion mounting. Why did Mercer need legal counsel? And why bring his counsel to their meeting?

“What’s going on? Tell me,” she insisted the moment they were seated, Mercer to her left and Deacon across from her. Was that intentional? In the wide-open restaurant, she felt cornered.

“Liberty,” Mercer began slowly, “I’m so glad you contacted me. Learning you’re my daughter, well, it’s just about the best news I’ve ever had.” He paused, appearing to choose his words carefully. “The thing is, your mother and I have a complicated history. And a long-standing business arrangement.”

“Business arrangement?”

“I own half of the Easy Money. Not only that, your mother owes me a considerable amount of money. I’m here to meet you and to get to know you. But I’m also here to collect what is rightfully mine. Deacon has agreed to represent me. While I don’t want to bring a lawsuit against your mother...”

Liberty had trouble understanding the rest of what Mercer said. It was hard to hear him above the roar of her world crashing down around her.

* * *

DEACON WATCHED LIBERTY’S BACK as she all but bolted from the restaurant, his gut twisting into a tight knot. The meeting went exactly as he’d expected it would: not well.

He’d told Mercer when they met at his office yesterday that springing his true intentions on Liberty right from the get-go wasn’t the best move. Mercer had been adamant. He and Liberty had both been denied the truth for years. He refused to start out his relationship with her by following in her mother’s footsteps.

Deacon understood. He also felt sorry for Liberty. She must be reeling. He’d go after her if he could and...do what? Tell her he wished things were different? That he’d been taken by her from the moment they met again his third day back and wanted to ask her out, only he hadn’t found the courage? Too late now. Mercer was his client and dating his daughter was out of the question.

Instead, he suggested, “Should you check on her?”

Mercer considered before answering. “Might be better to give her some time. If she’s as much her mother’s daughter as I suspect, she’s not ready to listen.”

Deacon decided to let Mercer be the judge. Through the large window, he watched Liberty’s SUV leave the parking lot and considered stopping by the Easy Money later.

Their waitress sidled up to the table and distributed menus. “Will the young lady be returning?”

“I don’t think so.” Mercer’s tone was noncommittal.

“Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“You still have that fresh-squeezed lemonade?”

“Got a fresh pitcher in the cooler.”

“I’ll take a large glass.” Mercer beamed at the woman. For someone who had just devastated his long-lost daughter with upsetting news, he didn’t look particularly distressed.

Or was he? People often put on a show to hide their true feelings. Deacon knew that better than most. He was putting on a show right now.

“And for you?” the waitress prompted.

“Iced tea.” After the past few minutes, Deacon could really use something stronger.

He’d always liked Liberty, though she’d been barely more than a kid when he worked at the arena. He himself had been a skinny, awkward high school senior. She was kind to him when others weren’t. More than that, she’d defended him after the accident involving the bulls. Her mother and older sister, Cassidy, on the other hand, had only accusations for him. False ones.

Mercer waited until their waitress had left to resume their conversation. “She’ll go straight to Sunny, naturally.”

“You sound like you’re counting on it.”

He chuckled, more to himself than out loud.

Deacon didn’t bother perusing the menu. He’d lost his appetite. Instead, he powered up his tablet. “It might have been better for us to approach your ex-wife first.”

“I don’t think it’ll make a difference. Sunny knew I’d return eventually.”

The sum she owed Mercer was indeed considerable. Six figures. Most people wouldn’t have waited all those years to collect. Deacon considered his client’s motives. Would Mercer have returned to Reckless if Liberty hadn’t contacted him out of the blue, suggesting he might be her biological father?

Somehow, Deacon didn’t think so. Mercer definitely had an agenda. Deacon couldn’t fault the man. He himself had a private agenda and Mercer retaining him as his attorney fit perfectly into his plans.

It was why, as much as he liked Liberty and was attracted to her, he chose to take on Mercer as a client over any potential relationship with her. He hoped he didn’t regret his decision.

“Have you had a chance yet to draw up the demand letter?” Mercer inquired after their beverages arrived and the waitress took his dinner order.

Deacon scrolled through a document on his tablet. “I’m still reviewing the terms of your property settlement with Sunny. The language is a little ambiguous in some places.”

“It was written a long time ago.”

“Did you ever attempt to collect your share of the arena revenues?”

“Nah.” He dismissed Deacon’s question with a frown. “Didn’t need it. I’ve done just fine for myself.”

Deacon guessed the older man was probably comfortable. Experienced bucking stock foremen earned decent wages, and Mercer Beckett was considered to be one of the best. It stood to reason. Decades earlier, he’d been one of the best bull riders in the country.

Why then the sudden interest in seeking his share of the revenues? It wasn’t greed or financial need. And how did Liberty figure into it? Deacon’s natural curiosity was piqued.

“I’ll have a draft of the demand letter done first thing in the morning.”

“Good.” Mercer nodded approvingly. “I’d like for us to visit the Easy Money as soon as possible with the letter in hand. What time can I come by your office in the morning?”

“Nine. Be prepared, Mrs. Beckett’s attorney will most likely request changes.”

“Such as?”

“An extension. It’s what I’d recommend if I were her counsel.”

“I won’t give it to her.”

“You might rethink that,” Deacon said. “She doesn’t have that kind of money. I’ve already checked into her finances.”

Mercer and Sunny’s divorce agreement was atypical, to say the least. In exchange for paying no child support, Mercer let Sunny keep all the revenue from the Easy Money Rodeo Arena, an amount far exceeding any child support he would have been required to pay. Even after his son, Ryder, came to live with him two years after the divorce, and later when their daughter Cassidy turned eighteen and Mercer was entitled to the money, he didn’t take a single cent.

Some might say his were the actions of a decent guy. Except now Mercer was coming after Sunny for all the back and possibly future payments. It was a puzzling contradiction.

“I want her to feel like she has no choice.”

Deacon decided to be blunt. “Can I ask why?”

The older man winked. “So she’ll take the partnership agreement we’re going to offer her instead.”

“Partnership agreement?”

This was the first Mercer had mentioned any such thing. Deacon should have seen it coming.

“I’m going to be a part of my daughters’ lives. Sunny won’t allow it unless she has no choice. The arena and the money she owes me are my way in.” His eyes softened, crinkling at the corners. “She’s stubborn. And willful.”

Deacon was hardly a romantic, so his sudden revelation came as a bit of a shock. “You still love her.”

“Never stopped.”

“You want her back.”

“Always have. But there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell until now.”

“Mercer, I’m not sure a forced partnership and using Liberty is the right course of action for winning over your ex-wife. If she’s as stubborn and willful as you say—”

“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.

Liberty might have sent him packing, too. Especially when he didn’t stop drinking immediately afterward. “He must regret what happened,” she said to Cassidy.

“If he does, he sure as heck never told me.”

Liberty’s sister always sided with their mother when it came to Mercer. With good cause, Liberty supposed. As far as Cassidy was concerned, Mercer’s past sins were unforgivable. Whereas Sunny hardly ever mentioned him, Cassidy seized every opportunity to speak ill. Daddy’s little girl hadn’t ever gotten over her hurt and resentment at his going from perfect father to raging alcoholic. Also fear. His drinking and actions while under the influence had scared her.

From what Liberty was able to determine, both her siblings had once adored their father. Ryder’s devotion, however, hadn’t ever wavered despite Mercer’s drinking problem. At fourteen, when he could legally choose which parent to reside with, he left Reckless and joined Mercer in Kingman, a town nearly a full day’s drive away.

Cassidy’s adoration of Mercer had soured. Liberty suspected their mother’s refusal to discuss him only hardened the shell surrounding her sister’s heart.

“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 convenient?”

“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. Deacon 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?

Sunny’s eyes widened and her jaw went visibly slack.

Cassidy leaped from her chair. “You’re crazy!”

Mercer wasn’t the least bit put off by her rage. “Just hear me out before you go getting your panties in a twist.”

“Who are you to—”

“We all know you don’t have the money,” he said, cutting Cassidy off.

“I can get it,” Sunny interjected.

“How? A loan against the arena? Can’t do that without my signature.”

“A line of credit at the bank.”

“Which would be secured by the arena and also require my consent.” Mercer turned to Deacon for confirmation.

“Most likely.” Taking his cue, he withdrew the draft partnership agreement from the envelope.

“I own half this arena, Sunny. You can’t prevent me from managing it with you. What I’m proposing is that we do it with a mutually acceptable agreement in place rather than as hostile partners.”

Deacon almost chuckled at hearing Mercer use the term he’d coined earlier that morning in his office.

“What are the terms of this agreement?” Sunny asked cautiously.

“Mom! You can’t be serious.” Cassidy glared at Mercer.

“I haven’t said yes.”

Deacon gave Sunny credit. She was indeed a smart businesswoman, exploring her options with a level head.

What did Liberty think? he wondered. The rigid set of her shoulders led him to believe she wasn’t exactly tickled about the prospects of her father joining forces with them. But, unlike her sister, she kept her opinion to herself.

Reaching around her, Deacon passed the draft partnership agreement to Sunny. The demand letter remained in the envelope. They wouldn’t need it if Sunny consented.

As he withdrew his arm, Liberty turned. They were inches apart. She stiffened but didn’t glance away. Neither did he. Not for several seconds. She was so pretty, and those blue eyes...

Deacon went back to leaning against the file cabinet before he did or said something stupid. This, he decided, could turn out to be a long, long afternoon.

Sunny silently skimmed the documents. After a moment, she tapped the papers into a neat rectangle and cleared her throat.

“Can you excuse us for a few minutes? I’d like to talk to Mercer alone.”

“M-Mom,” Cassidy sputtered. She appeared on the verge of a meltdown.

Liberty, on the other hand, couldn’t exit the office fast enough. Deacon had to flatten himself against the file cabinet in order to let her pass. As she did, he noticed her earrings. Gold dangling things that made no sense for a working cowgirl.

Great. Yet another thing to like about her. Liberty flouted conventionality.

“Mercer?” Clearing his throat, he asked, “Would you like me to stay?”

“No need.” His client exuded pleasure. This turn of events must be fitting nicely into his plans.

Deacon waited for Cassidy to precede him out of the office. When a last-ditch silent plea didn’t sway her mother, she stormed off. Mercer closed the office door behind Deacon.

The reception area was empty. He debated sitting and waiting. His gut told him the meeting between the two exes was going to take a while. He decided to check on his horses and then maybe walk the arena grounds. Mercer would call Deacon’s cell phone if he needed something.

There were easily fifty head of horses in the main barn. Many of them nickered and stretched their necks over their stall door to investigate. It wasn’t mealtime but handouts were always a possibility.

Deacon stopped at the stalls housing his horses. Huck, a young bay gelding with, in Deacon’s opinion, potential to be the best cutting horse on the property, greeted him with a lusty snort.

“Hey, boy.” Deacon patted the horse’s long, smooth neck. In the stall beside him, Confetti pawed the ground, demanding her equal share of attention. “Just wait. You’re next.”

The spotted Appaloosa mare was his first choice for team penning. She had a natural instinct when it came to calves and could turn on a dime.

“Deacon!”

At the sound of his name, he pivoted.

Liberty stood not ten feet away. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” He lowered his hand. “Not about the agreement. That’s confidential—”

“Why are you doing this?”

She didn’t appear inclined for a stroll, so he remained standing there, the horse nudging his arm in a bid for more attention. “I’m an attorney. Your father came to me seeking representation, and I don’t exactly have an abundance of clients.”

Because of her mother’s treatment of him after the accident. The unspoken words hung in the air.

“Are you out for revenge?” she demanded.

“I wouldn’t stoop that low.”

“Then why?”

“This isn’t personal, Liberty.” Only it was.

“You can’t deny your resentment toward my family is going to affect your dealings with my father.”

“I promise you it won’t.” If anything, his attraction to her was more likely to impair his judgment. “Like it or not, this is ultimately between your parents. Neither of us will have much to do with the outcome.”

“What do you think will happen?”

He’d put his money on Mercer. What he said, however, was, “I can’t speculate. But I will tell you this. I don’t believe for one minute your father wants to ruin the arena or your mother’s finances.”

“And you’re really not out to get my family?”

“No.”

That seemed to satisfy her, and she walked away.

Watching her go, Deacon suffered another, more wrenching pang of guilt.

Revenge didn’t motivate him. It was redemption and exoneration. Deacon would prove his innocence in the accident one way or the other, and he wasn’t opposed to using his position as Mercer’s attorney to accomplish it.

He only hoped Liberty and her family didn’t get hurt in the process.

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?”

Chapter Four

“Awful late for a ride, isn’t it?”

Ignoring Mercer, Liberty slipped the cinch strap through the buckle, pulled tight and fed the prongs into the holes. The mare shifted her weight, adjusting to the saddle and cinch.

“Though I suppose it does stay light till past eight these days,” he said, his tone casual as his gaze searched the horizon. “But it might rain again. Those dogs of yours are going to get wet.”

Three of the ranch dogs had followed Liberty and were lying against the barn wall in a small patch of shade, their tongues lolling and their sides heaving as they panted.

“Won’t be the first time.”

She didn’t care if the skies opened and released a torrent. She was not staying here a minute longer. Besides, she always carried a slicker in her saddlebag, along with matches, a flashlight, tarp and twine.

“What do you want, Mercer?”

He stepped closer, well into her personal space. Liberty tried not to react. Her fingers moved quickly, checking snaps and ties and stirrup lengths.

“To apologize.” Removing his cowboy hat, he swept a hank of gray hair from his forehead.

“For what?” There were so many infractions to choose from.

He placed a hand on the mare’s nose, murmuring reassurances when she snorted. “She’s a dandy. Yours?”

“Mine.”

Liberty had tethered her mare to a hitching rail outside the tack room. From her vantage point, she could see the entire arena.

The place was alive with activity. The fierce but short rainstorm had cooled the temperature enough that people were arriving in droves. Cowboys practicing their calf-roping or steer-wrestling skills, pleasure riders exercising their horses and barrel racers attempting to improve on their times.

“You have a good eye.” Mercer studied the mare from nose to tail. “Is she well broke?”

“Broke enough.”

He chuckled.

“If you’re through, then—”

“Give me a minute, okay? You’re not the easiest person in the world to have a conversation with.”

A sob rose inside her. She swallowed before it escaped. “Maybe because the first time we met you told me you were threatening my mother with a lawsuit.”

“Deacon has already read me the riot act over that.”

He did? Liberty just assumed Mercer had spoken on his attorney’s advice. “Well deserved.”

“That man likes you.”

“Which, unless I’m wrong, has nothing to do with your apology.”

“No, but as his client, I don’t want—”

It was Liberty’s turn to cut him off. “You have nothing to worry about.” And he didn’t.

Grabbing a hoof pick off the railing, she bent and lifted the mare’s front foot, bracing it above her knee. The mare’s muscles tensed, then she tossed her head in an angry jerk. Though improving daily, she still didn’t like having her hooves cleaned.

“You’re a lot like your mother.” Mercer replaced his hat on his head. “And like me, too. I’m thinking you inherited the best from both of us.”

“I’m not anything like you.”

“You know good horseflesh when you see it.” He patted the mare’s rump. “And, from what I’m told, you have a natural way with anything on four legs.”

As if to prove his point, one of the dogs stood, bowed in a deep stretch, then came over to sit beside her and gaze up with adoring eyes. Liberty barely refrained from groaning with exasperation.

“Always had a fondness for dogs myself.” Mercer slapped his thigh. All three dogs responded by mobbing him for attention.

Traitors, Liberty thought grumpily, and moved to the mare’s back hooves.

“I should have been more tactful when I told you about your mother and I and the arena.”

Liberty stopped to glare at him. “That’s what you’re apologizing for? A lack of tactfulness.”

“I’m not sorry I came back.”

“What about using me to get at Mom?”

“I prefer to think of it as killing two birds with one stone.”

“Oh, my, God.” She emphasized each word. “You are the most self-centered, self-serving individual I’ve ever met.”

“I love your mother.”

“You what!” The hoof pick fell from Liberty’s grasp. She retrieved it with limp, clumsy fingers.

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