More Than a Cowboy. Cathy Mcdavid

put his money on Mercer. What he said, however, was, “I can’t speculate. But I will tell you this. I don’t believe for one minute your father wants to ruin the arena or your mother’s finances.”

      “And you’re really not out to get my family?”

      “No.”

      That seemed to satisfy her, and she walked away.

      Watching her go, Deacon suffered another, more wrenching pang of guilt.

      Revenge didn’t motivate him. It was redemption and exoneration. Deacon would prove his innocence in the accident one way or the other, and he wasn’t opposed to using his position as Mercer’s attorney to accomplish it.

      He only hoped Liberty and her family didn’t get hurt in the process.

      Chapter Three

      Liberty pretended not to notice Deacon’s approach. Even if she wasn’t currently teaching a riding class of four-, five-and six-year-olds, she wouldn’t have acknowledged him. Not after the meeting yesterday.

      “That’s right, Andrea,” she called out. “Put your weight in your heels and keep your back straight. Pay attention, Benjy. Look ahead and stop making faces at your neighbor.”

      She suppressed a groan. Her nephew Benjamin was the self-appointed class clown.

      Nephew! Did Mercer know he had a grandson? He must, right? In all the turmoil of the past two days, Liberty hadn’t once stopped to consider her sister’s young son. Okay, she had. But that was before Mercer threatened her mother with a lawsuit.

      She’d naively assumed grandfather and grandson would be introduced over time and with plenty of preparation. Or not. The decision was Cassidy’s to make. Liberty had only wanted to meet her father. She hadn’t anticipated all hell breaking loose. And so fast.

      Deacon knew about Benjamin, had seen him around the arena. He’d probably discussed Benjamin with Mercer. Could that be why he was approaching the arena, his attention fixated on...what?

      Liberty’s gaze shot to her nephew. Too late now. She couldn’t very well send the boy away. That would only bring attention to him. No choice except to continue with the lesson and act normal.

      “Morning, Liberty.”

      Swell. He was addressing her. She should have moved to the center of the arena where she’d be out of earshot instead of standing along the fence.

      She turned her head a mere fraction of an inch. “Deacon.”

      He was early to the family meeting. Really early. Like, thirty minutes. He was evidently Mr. Prompt when it came to appointments. She’d gotten that much from the restaurant when they both arrived ahead of schedule. But a whole thirty minutes? And did he have to stand near the bleachers where the students’ moms and one dad were all seated?

      “Nice day,” he said nonchalantly, petting one of the ranch dogs that had crawled out from under the bleachers.

      “It’s hot,” she retorted, and returned to her class. “Dee Dee, even reins. That’s it.” Breathe, Liberty reminded herself. Relax. “All right now, I want everyone to trot in a circle. Then, on my cue, reverse and go in the other direction. Remember, no kicking your horse. Just a steady pressure with the insides of your calves.”

      Horse was a loose description. Two of the students rode ponies and another a small mule. All the mounts were dead broke and reliable as rain during the summer monsoon season—which, judging by the clouds accumulating in the northeast sky, might start any minute.

      Liberty liked teaching the younger children much better than the older ones. They were sponges, eager to learn and soak up all the knowledge she could impart. As they grew and gained confidence, they sometimes gave Liberty a hard time. Not that she let them get away with it. Rule number one during any lesson, child or adult: the instructor was in charge.

      Feeling a tingling on the back of her neck, she rubbed the spot. A few seconds later, the tingling returned. Deacon! He was staring at her again. She’d experienced the same sensation yesterday in her mother’s office.

      Then, he’d been standing right behind her. In the Flat Iron Restaurant, they’d been sitting side by side. Now, he was tracking her every move. The part of her that was still attuned to their mutual attraction went on high alert.

      He looked good. Taller than when he’d worked here as a teenager and broader in the shoulders. He had a way of making jeans and a Western-cut dress shirt look professional. And his hat—a dark tan Resistol—was pulled down just a touch. Enough to lend a bit of edge to his appearance.

      She fought the impulses charging through her. Deacon was her father’s attorney. He could be short, bald and ugly for all she cared.

      Oh, but he wasn’t. She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck again.

      The end of the lesson couldn’t come fast enough. Except, then they’d be having their “family meeting” in the house. Liberty and Cassidy would learn the details of the new partnership agreement between their parents and precisely what role Mercer would have in the operation of the arena.

      He was to be a permanent fixture in their lives. Assuming he didn’t grow tired of them and leave. Liberty had yet to come to terms with how she felt. She’d wanted to get to know the man who’d fathered her. Not, however, under these circumstances.

      The tangle of lies her mother had told was going to affect them all—possibly for years to come. Liberty tried not to judge her mother too harshly. She was having trouble with that. Her mother’s attempt to protect her—protect them—had backfired. Their livelihoods could even now be in jeopardy, depending on what Mercer wanted.

      She tried to remain optimistic. He might be an alcoholic—a reformed alcoholic and sober for many, many years—but that wasn’t the same as a serial killer or a rapist. And he must care about them and the arena. If not, he would have made things difficult for them long before now.

      She should have been told about him, Liberty thought with renewed frustration. Then, they wouldn’t be in this fix. Frankly, she didn’t know who to be angrier with—her mother, Mercer or Deacon. All had lied.

      All right, maybe not Deacon so much. He hadn’t been under any obligation to tell her he’d taken on her father as a client. But he might have prepared her when they were sitting together in the Flat Iron, their knees brushing...their eyes locked—

      “You’ve got a rebel on your hands.”

      Deacon’s voice shook her from her reverie in time to spy her nephew kicking his mount into a lope in order to overtake the girl ahead of him, breaking not one but two of her instructions.

      “Benjy!” she shouted, silently cursing herself for losing focus. “Trotting only.”

      “But I want to race,” the boy complained.

      “Maybe at the end of class, if you behave.”

      He pouted but did as he was told and pulled back on the reins, his small body bouncing up and down in the saddle as the horse’s gait slowed. Luckily, Skittles was just about the laziest horse at the arena and more than happy to forfeit the race.

      Ah, Benjamin. He was his mother’s child and liked nothing better than to test everyone’s patience. Liberty couldn’t say whether or not he resembled his father. Cassidy had taken a page from their mother’s book and refused to reveal the man’s identity. Liberty supposed her sister had her reasons, but without knowing them, she only felt sorry for the man who wasn’t getting an opportunity to be a part of his son’s life.

      What about Mercer? Did she feel sorry for him, too? He hadn’t gotten to be a part of his grandson’s life either. Or Cassidy’s. Or hers.

      Liberty bit down on her lower lip again. It was all so darn confusing.

      The lesson continued for another ten minutes. When it was over, she headed to the gate and opened