More Than a Cowboy. Cathy McDavid

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ