More Than a Cowboy. Cathy Mcdavid

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