More Than a Cowboy. Cathy McDavid
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“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