More Than a Cowboy. Cathy McDavid

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      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.