More Than a Cowboy. Cathy McDavid
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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