More Than a Cowboy. Cathy McDavid

a large glass.” Mercer beamed at the woman. For someone who had just devastated his long-lost daughter with upsetting news, he didn’t look particularly distressed.

      Or was he? People often put on a show to hide their true feelings. Deacon knew that better than most. He was putting on a show right now.

      “And for you?” the waitress prompted.

      “Iced tea.” After the past few minutes, Deacon could really use something stronger.

      He’d always liked Liberty, though she’d been barely more than a kid when he worked at the arena. He himself had been a skinny, awkward high school senior. She was kind to him when others weren’t. More than that, she’d defended him after the accident involving the bulls. Her mother and older sister, Cassidy, on the other hand, had only accusations for him. False ones.

      Mercer waited until their waitress had left to resume their conversation. “She’ll go straight to Sunny, naturally.”

      “You sound like you’re counting on it.”

      He chuckled, more to himself than out loud.

      Deacon didn’t bother perusing the menu. He’d lost his appetite. Instead, he powered up his tablet. “It might have been better for us to approach your ex-wife first.”

      “I don’t think it’ll make a difference. Sunny knew I’d return eventually.”

      The sum she owed Mercer was indeed considerable. Six figures. Most people wouldn’t have waited all those years to collect. Deacon considered his client’s motives. Would Mercer have returned to Reckless if Liberty hadn’t contacted him out of the blue, suggesting he might be her biological father?

      Somehow, Deacon didn’t think so. Mercer definitely had an agenda. Deacon couldn’t fault the man. He himself had a private agenda and Mercer retaining him as his attorney fit perfectly into his plans.

      It was why, as much as he liked Liberty and was attracted to her, he chose to take on Mercer as a client over any potential relationship with her. He hoped he didn’t regret his decision.

      “Have you had a chance yet to draw up the demand letter?” Mercer inquired after their beverages arrived and the waitress took his dinner order.

      Deacon scrolled through a document on his tablet. “I’m still reviewing the terms of your property settlement with Sunny. The language is a little ambiguous in some places.”

      “It was written a long time ago.”

      “Did you ever attempt to collect your share of the arena revenues?”

      “Nah.” He dismissed Deacon’s question with a frown. “Didn’t need it. I’ve done just fine for myself.”

      Deacon guessed the older man was probably comfortable. Experienced bucking stock foremen earned decent wages, and Mercer Beckett was considered to be one of the best. It stood to reason. Decades earlier, he’d been one of the best bull riders in the country.

      Why then the sudden interest in seeking his share of the revenues? It wasn’t greed or financial need. And how did Liberty figure into it? Deacon’s natural curiosity was piqued.

      “I’ll have a draft of the demand letter done first thing in the morning.”

      “Good.” Mercer nodded approvingly. “I’d like for us to visit the Easy Money as soon as possible with the letter in hand. What time can I come by your office in the morning?”

      “Nine. Be prepared, Mrs. Beckett’s attorney will most likely request changes.”

      “Such as?”

      “An extension. It’s what I’d recommend if I were her counsel.”

      “I won’t give it to her.”

      “You might rethink that,” Deacon said. “She doesn’t have that kind of money. I’ve already checked into her finances.”

      Mercer and Sunny’s divorce agreement was atypical, to say the least. In exchange for paying no child support, Mercer let Sunny keep all the revenue from the Easy Money Rodeo Arena, an amount far exceeding any child support he would have been required to pay. Even after his son, Ryder, came to live with him two years after the divorce, and later when their daughter Cassidy turned eighteen and Mercer was entitled to the money, he didn’t take a single cent.

      Some might say his were the actions of a decent guy. Except now Mercer was coming after Sunny for all the back and possibly future payments. It was a puzzling contradiction.

      “I want her to feel like she has no choice.”

      Deacon decided to be blunt. “Can I ask why?”

      The older man winked. “So she’ll take the partnership agreement we’re going to offer her instead.”

      “Partnership agreement?”

      This was the first Mercer had mentioned any such thing. Deacon should have seen it coming.

      “I’m going to be a part of my daughters’ lives. Sunny won’t allow it unless she has no choice. The arena and the money she owes me are my way in.” His eyes softened, crinkling at the corners. “She’s stubborn. And willful.”

      Deacon was hardly a romantic, so his sudden revelation came as a bit of a shock. “You still love her.”

      “Never stopped.”

      “You want her back.”

      “Always have. But there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell until now.”

      “Mercer, I’m not sure a forced partnership and using Liberty is the right course of action for winning over your ex-wife. If she’s as stubborn and willful as you say—”

      “She’ll come around. Sooner or later. Until then, co-managing the arena will give me a reason to see her every day and get to know my daughters.”

      “Good luck with that.” From what Deacon knew of Sunny Beckett, Mercer had his work cut out for him.

      Mercer’s meal arrived. While he ate and Deacon finished a refill of his iced tea, they discussed the terms of the partnership agreement.

      “We need to see copies of the arena’s financial statements before finalizing any agreement,” Deacon said. “The last five years at least.”

      “Sunny will have them. She’s a whiz when it comes to the books and money. It’s one of the reasons we were able to build the arena up from practically nothing.”

      Deacon maintained a neutral expression. Mercer’s drinking almost drove the arena into the ground. Sunny was clearly one sharp businesswoman. She’d built up the arena from practically nothing—twice.

      “First order of business,” Mercer eagerly announced, “is to increase the bucking stock operation. Sunny has let most of it go since the accident.”

      Mercer knew about the accident with the bull and that the blame had been pinned on Deacon. He’d told Deacon in their meeting yesterday that he didn’t care about a youthful mistake. Plenty of more experienced bucking stock handlers made worse mistakes than that.

      When Deacon insisted on his innocence, Mercer’s response had been simply, “All the better.”

      “You can’t purchase new bucking stock without her consent,” Deacon said.

      “What if I use my own money?”

      “She’ll still have to consent. That’s how most partnership agreements are worded.”

      “Change the wording.”

      Deacon typed another note into his tablet. “Her attorney will fight it.”

      “Don’t know until we try.”

      Before, Deacon would have seen Mercer’s confidence as cocky and arrogant. Now, he knew the reason behind it. The man was in love