grounds, giving the horses a brief cooldown.
Some of the horses belonged to the Becketts and were used by students at various skill levels. A few were privately owned and either boarded at the arena or were transported in for lessons by trailer. Liberty herself owned three horses, including one very young, very green mare she hoped to eventually use for equine endurance competitions.
She hadn’t been bitten as strongly by the rodeo bug as the rest of her family. Though she’d competed in barrel racing up through high school, her passions were team penning and trail riding. At every opportunity, at any time of year, she rode into the nearby hills and mountains, seeking the most obscure, roughest terrain she could find.
“Come on, Benjy,” she called, her patience all but used up.
It was her job to make sure her nephew took care of his horse, just like the rest of the students. Afterward, Tatum had volunteered to keep an eye on Benjamin until the family meeting was over. Her children were close in age to him and the four frequently played together.
Liberty was sure Cassidy’s intentions were to keep her son out of Mercer’s sights. To that end, Liberty would make certain they walked Skittles behind the barn. “This way, Benjy.”
The boy was far more interested in entertaining his fellow students and refused to listen to his taskmaster aunt.
Deacon appeared from nowhere and fell into step beside Liberty. “Mind if I tag along?”
Please, tell her it wasn’t so. “What do you want, Deacon?”
“If you must know, Mercer asked that I make sure you’re at the meeting.”
“He thinks I’ll miss it?”
“He knows you’re...miffed at him.”
“Miffed?”
“His words.”
“Well, he’s wrong.” Liberty walked faster. “I’m not miffed. I’m furious. And hurt. With good reason, I might add.”
Deacon easily kept pace. “Don’t judge your father too harshly, Liberty. His intentions are good.”
“Of course you’d say that, you’re his attorney.”
“Give him time. There’s a lot to sort out.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
They caught up with Benjamin at last. Skittles plodded along behind him, the reins dragging on the ground.
“Benjy, pick up the reins. What if Skittles runs off?”
“She won’t go nowhere.”
He was right, but that wasn’t the point.
“It’s a bad habit to get into. Horses are animals and unpredictable.” Liberty stood, her right foot tapping, and waited for her nephew to do as he was told. “Benjamin.”
Finally, he bent over and snatched the reins. As he did, his hat fell off. “Shoot!”
At least he hadn’t cussed. Benjamin was growing up around cowboys, and his language tended to be a bit riper than his mother liked.
Dropping the reins he’d picked up seconds earlier, he scrambled for the hat and again muttered, “Shoot.”
Deacon stepped forward, retrieved the reins and handed them to Benjamin. “That’s a fine mount you have there.”
The boy’s gaze went up...and up. He seemed to notice Deacon for the first time.
“Her name’s Skittles.” Benjamin accepted the reins from Deacon’s considerably larger outstretched hand.
Liberty’s heart beat erratically. This wasn’t going as planned. She’d wanted to keep her nephew out of sight and under wraps. Cassidy wouldn’t want him drawn into the situation with Mercer until everything was resolved. If it was resolved.
“I know,” Deacon said. “I remember her.”
“You do?” The boy’s eyes widened. “How?”
“I worked here a long time ago. Before you were born. Skittles was one of the horses the pickup men regularly used. I even rode her now and again.”
“Really? My mom says she’s old.”
“Older than you, for sure. But she’s a good horse. Treat her right, and she’ll be your best friend.”
Liberty’s nerves were about to tear her in two. She had to get Benjamin away before something happened.
“I’ll meet you at the house.” She took her nephew’s hand. “I promise to be at the meeting. You don’t have to babysit me.”
Before Deacon could answer, Liberty’s worst fears came true. The office door opened and, as if in slow motion, Mercer stepped outside, accompanied by her mother. His gaze went right to Benjamin, and he started forward. Sunny called after him, but he ignored her, making a beeline for Benjamin.
No, no, no! Liberty instinctively stepped in front of the boy. It was no use.
“Liberty.” Mercer was beaming by the time he reached them. “Is this my grandson?”
Benjamin looked up at her, his small brow knit with confusion. “Who’s he?”
The next instant, Cassidy rounded the corner of the barn and broke into a run. She wasn’t fast enough.
“Mercer, don’t,” Liberty said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“This might not be the best time,” Deacon added.
Mercer had eyes and ears only for Benjamin. He went down on one knee in front of the boy. As Cassidy skidded to a stop in front of them, he said, “How do you do, young man? I’m your grandfather.”
* * *
IN THE SPAN OF a single heartbeat, everything went from slow motion to lightning speed. Cassidy swooped up her son and hurried him to the office where, Liberty suspected, he’d be deposited in Tatum’s care. Mercer rose, disappointment written all over his face. Sunny called over one of the ranch hands and instructed, “Take care of Skittles for me, please.”
At that moment, droplets of rain started to fall.
“Shall we head into the house?” Deacon posed the question more as a statement. When Mercer hesitated, his gaze lingering on the closed office door, Deacon helped him along with a tilt of his head in the direction of the house. “I have an appointment after this.”
Mercer’s shoulders slumped. “Just wanted to meet my grandson.”
“You will. Later. Don’t push it.” Deacon’s voice was mild but firm.
The older man ambled toward the John Deere all-terrain Gator they used to drive between the house and arena. Sunny went, too.
Liberty watched the entire exchange with interest. Mercer’s acute disappointment appeared genuine. And Deacon...this was hardly the shy, keep-to-himself teenager she remembered. He’d taken control of what could have been an explosive situation with tact and authority.
Apparently, he wasn’t done. Before Liberty could object, he grasped her by the elbow and briskly steered her across the open area. “Come on.”
Since they wouldn’t be riding with her parents on the Gator—it held only two people—the only other choice was to walk. She’d assumed Cassidy would be the one making the two hundred yard trek with her. Not Deacon.
“What about my sister?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “She’ll be along shortly.”
No argument there. Cassidy wouldn’t forgo this meeting for anything, even a near disastrous run-in between Mercer and her son. Both sisters were eager to know what the future held for them.
Staring at Deacon’s fingers