He startled at the sight of Miss Willoughby hurrying down the hall, papers fluttering in her hand while heat seared his collar. “Oh, Finn, I truly apologize for the delay, but the mayor was in one of his chattier moods.” Her pace slowed as her eyes flicked from his sheepish grin to Liberty’s pale face, a crimp of concern creasing her brow. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, we’re all done here and on our way home.”
Relief washed over the schoolteacher’s face as she unleashed a grateful sigh. “Oh, good! I was so worried, but it sounds like you two made some good progress.”
Tipping his hat, he couldn’t resist a smirk over his shoulder, deflecting the wild beat of his pulse with a leisurely wink. “Yes, ma’am, I believe we did.”
CHAPTER TEN
“If it takes every breath in my body, he is not going to win!” Liberty glared across the Poppys’ rolling meadow where Finn McShane wielded a hammer on behalf of the ladies of The Brass Rail Saloon. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the girls fawn all over him and Milo while the two men built the saloon façade they volunteered to make for the Brass Rail’s booth. Their laughter echoed in the valley, making Libby wish she had whacked that insufferable rogue silly the moment he’d kissed her in City Hall.
Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she slapped red paint on the side of her schoolhouse booth with way too much force. And she would have whacked him, too, if he hadn’t shocked the everliving sense out of her. Making her too stunned to move. Too breathless to speak.
Too attracted to stop.
The vile memory accosted her all over again, causing her pulse to sprint and her cheeks to burn. She smacked the side of the booth Kitty’s brother had built for them, splattering red paint all over her work dress. “Honestly, I don’t know what the women of this town see in him—he’s nothing but a cocky womanizer.”
Kitty’s low chuckle did nothing for the heat in Libby’s face. “Come on, Libs, if you can’t see what the women in this town see in Griffin McShane, I suggest you have Dr. Thompson fit you for spectacles.” She paused on the other side of the booth with a red-soaked paintbrush in hand, chest expanding with an appreciative sigh. “Rumor has it that Finn’s kisses can melt a girl into a puddle.” She shot Libby a wink. “At least according to Jo Beth.”
Okay, Libby was pretty sure her face now matched the side of her booth. She commenced to fanning herself with her paintbrush, flicking paint specks all over the ground and herself. “That’s because he’s probably kissed every female in the blessed county,” she muttered, wishing she could blame her shallow breathing on the muggy day.
“Welllll … he sure hasn’t kissed me,” Kitty said with a cagey smile, her gaze darting to the back of the booth where Martha was just finishing up with white trim. “How ’bout you, Martha? Has Finn ever kissed you?”
Libby was grateful when her notoriously shy friend turned the exact shade of the booth, deflecting some of the warmth Libby felt in her own face. “Merciful heavens no!” Her freckles suddenly bleached near white as the paint on her brush. “Makes me plumb dizzy just thinking about it.”
Kitty homed in on Libby, the twinkle in her friend’s eyes assuring her she was up to no good. “So … what about you, Libs?” She waggled her brows. “Has Finn ever kissed you?”
Heatstroke claimed her on the spot, much as Finn had two weeks before, scorching her body—and her memories—all over again.
“I knew it!” Kitty brandished her brush like a threat, the gleam in her eyes not boding well for the awful secret Libby worked so hard to hide. “That’s why you begged Martha and me to go to the last two planning meetings with you, isn’t it? And that’s why you’ve been as skittish as a doe whenever the man even looks your way. I swear you turn seven shades of red if he teases you instead of cutting him down to size like you used to in school.”
Kitty set her brush across the bucket of paint sitting on the ground and faced Libby head-on, hands on her hips. “Liberty O’Shea, I have been your best friend since you moved to Virginia City, and you have never kept a secret from me before, so I want to know right now …” She dipped her head to peer into Liberty’s downcast eyes, obviously softening her tone when she saw a glaze of tears. “Did Finn McShane kiss you?”
Libby’s lashes flickered closed, the recurring thought of Finn’s lips on hers branding her for life.
“Oh my stars, he did, didn’t he!”
Libby’s lids slowly lifted to face the music, staring at Kitty as if she were in a daze while Martha scrambled over to join them, the whites of her eyes spanning wider than Kitty’s.
“Liberty O’Shea!” Kitty demanded with a stamp of her foot, “why didn’t you tell us that Finn McShane kissed you?”
Kitty’s volume jolted Liberty out of her trance, heart slamming against her ribs as her gaze darted around to see if anybody had heard. “Kitty Faye Jones, hush!” Liberty rasped, cheeks flaming all the more when she caught Finn glancing their way. “Sweet mother of pearl, why don’t you just announce it from the bandstand?”
Huffing out a noisy blast of air, Kitty dragged Liberty behind their booth and pinned her with two paint-stained hands as she gave her a little shake. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!” she whispered loudly, clearly peeved to have been denied the juiciest morsel of news in their young lives. “When on earth did it happen and for heaven’s sake, how? And most importantly …” Kitty’s lips squirmed into a wicked smile. “How was it?”
Liberty was certain the blood in her cheeks had crawled clear up to her bangs, a perfect match for her auburn hair. She put a hand to her eyes, still embarrassed over the whole sordid scene.
The same sordid scene she dreamed about every single night.
“It happened at the second planning meeting a few weeks ago,” she whispered, the very memory even making her hands sweat. “When Miss Willoughby ran late and Finn was being a stubborn mule about every little thing.”
“And we both know he was the only one, right?” Kitty and Martha giggled in unison, prompting Liberty to lift her hand from her eyes and give them a glare.
Ignoring Kitty’s comment, she continued on. “The next thing I know, he jumps up and charges to the door like one of Mr. Wilson’s prize bulls, and I had to fight fire with fire, didn’t I? So I blocked the door, refusing to let him leave till we finished the meeting.”
“Of course you did,” Kitty said with a grin, “until he kissed the fire right out of you, suddenly making you meek as a lamb whenever he’s around.”
“Horse puddles!” Liberty hissed, occupying herself with flicking paint specks on the grass while her lips jabbed into a scowl. “I just refuse to waste anymore breath on that mule of a man than necessary because he doesn’t listen anyway,” she said with a glower in said mule’s direction. She attempted to sidetrack the inquisition with a sudden keen interest in their booth, squinting as she circled to assess. “Just a little more paint, I think, and we should be done, ready to mount the school bell.”
“Ohhhh nooooo you don’t!” Kitty jerked her back with a hook of her arm, brows arched high in question, along with Martha’s. “You still haven’t told us—how was it?” she breathed.
There was no way Liberty would ever admit just how much Finn’s kiss had affected her. Mercy, she could barely admit it to herself! Determined to sidestep further curiosity—and the awful truth of the situation—she marched right back over to her side of the booth with a firm press of lips, slapping more paint on with a vengeance. “Awful! I have no earthly idea what Jo Beth or any girl in this town sees in Griffin McShane. Frankly, the man leaves me cold,” she fibbed, fingers crossed and carefully hidden in the folds of her splattered work dress.
“Cold.” Kitty crossed her arms with a suspicious dip of brows, her tone reflecting more disbelief than query.
“Yes, ‘cold,’” Liberty repeated with an extra thwack of the brush. “Icier than snowcaps in a Nevada blizzard, if you must know. Pert near shivered the rest of the night.”
She swallowed hard.
Not exactly a lie …
Kitty chuckled. “I’ll bet you’re not the only one shivering, not with that ‘cold’ shoulder you’ve been giving him the last few weeks.”
“Which I fully intend to continue,” Liberty said, putting on the finishing touch before stepping back to study it with a critical eye. “Until the man turns blue with frostbite.”
“Brrrr,” Kitty said with a teasing chatter of teeth, wiping her brush with a rag. “So between his frostbite and your cold shoulder, maybe Martha and I need to wear coats and gloves to the next meeting. You know, just to stay warm?”
Unable to thwart a grin, Liberty shook her head, repacking their painting supplies in the wood wagon she’d had since she was a small girl. “No need, ladies, because although the man leaves me cold, his bull-headed personality always manages to keep my temper warm, so I assure you, there will be more than enough heat.”
“Well, I’m certainly counting on that,” Kitty said with a wink, “because what’s a Fourth of July planning committee without a few sparks?”
Libby cut loose with a grunt. “I can promise you right now there will be no sparks, my friend, because I refuse to let that man rile me anymore than he already has.”
“An easy enough promise to keep if Martha and I are around,” Kitty said with a sly smile, “but what about when the two of you are alone?”
An involuntary shiver skated Libby’s spine, which she quickly deflected with a bold thrust of her chin. “We won’t be—ever again, not if I can help it.”
“But what if you can’t?” Martha worried her lip. “I mean, there are bound to be times when Kitty and I won’t be there, Libs, so what are you going to do?”
“Ruffle his feathers, no doubt, till he kisses her again.” Kitty grinned.
“Absolutely not!” Libby said with complete conviction. “The day I allow myself to be alone with that rogue ever again will be the day I ride Bessie backwards down the middle of Main Street.” She snatched the handle of the wagon with a confident smile, determination squaring her shoulders while she gave them a wink. “In my bloomers.”
“Hey, Liberty Bell, wait up!”
The sound of the rogue’s voice caused a low groan to leak through Libby’s lips along with all of her bravado.
Finn loped across the field in his typical easy manner, shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze. Slowing, he stopped in front of Liberty, muscles slick with sweat as he lifted his hat to wipe his damp brow with the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. “Forgot to tell you Mrs. Poppy invited us to dinner tomorrow night to discuss the layout and final setup of the barn.”
Liberty stared, mouth hanging open, allowing only one hoarse word to escape. “Us?”
A bead of sweat trickled down his neck onto a bronzed chest lightly sprinkled with hair, producing some sweat of her own on the palms of her hands. “Yes, ‘us,’ Liberty Bell—you and me,” he said with a patient smile, “because we’re the committee co-chairs, remember?”
Sweet angel of mercy, as if I could forget!
“We’re supposed to be there by six, so I’ll pick you up at 5:30.”
“No! I mean … I’d rather meet you there, if you don’t mind,” she said in a rush, heart hammering in her chest. “I prefer to walk.”
“Suit yourself,” he said in a slow drawl. His eyes never strayed from hers as he slowly buttoned his shirt with that maddening half smile that told her he knew exactly how nervous she was. “But I insist on escorting you home, because I may be a ‘mule-brained skunk,’” he said with a lazy tip of his hat, “but I’m a skunk with manners.” He turned and strolled back to his bevy of admirers without a glance back, and all Libby could do was stare, all blood effectively drained from her face.
“Come on, Libs,” Kitty said with a loop of Libby’s arm while Martha took over the wagon, “you don’t look so good, sweetie, so let’s get you home.”
“What on earth am I going to do?” Her whisper was little more than a croak as she allowed her friends to lead her away, mind as numb as her body.
Towing the wagon, Martha offered a look of sympathy over her shoulder as Kitty hooked a supportive arm to Libby’s waist. “The only thing you can do, Libs,” Kitty said with a gentle squeeze, the sympathy in her tone unable to mask a tinge of a tease. She winked. “Saddle up Bessie.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“So, Griffin—how is the festival planning coming along?”
Finn glanced up from his third piece of cherry pie, pretty sure a cherry pit just lodged in his throat. Up till now, the dinner at the Poppys’ had been nothing but pleasant. The mouthwatering smell of cherry pie still warm from the oven lingered in the air, complemented by equally warm conversation with the two people he admired most in the world. A summer breeze tickled eyelet curtains, ushering in the cool of evening along with the scent of honeysuckle in a cozy kitchen where he’d enjoyed sustenance over the years, spiritual and otherwise. Sensing a sudden stiffness in Liberty as she sipped tea across the table, he grabbed his own cup and quickly downed it, clearing his throat with a polite smile. “Just fine and dandy, Mrs. Poppy, right on schedule and smooth as silk.”
The planning, that is. The relationship with his co-chair? He wolfed down the rest of his pie in one massive gulp. More like burlap rolled in cockleburs.
“Good, good. And, Liberty dear—do you agree?” Mrs. Poppy cocked her head in question, tilting her trademark donut bun of silvery-white hair more cockeyed than usual. Practically a grandmother to Finn, the elderly woman calmly drank her tea, offering a secret smile that matched a suspicious sparkle in her blue eyes.
Liberty’s head shot up, as skittish as a prairie dog in a barrel of bobcats. Her gaze met Finn’s, and he took satisfaction in the blush that stained her cheeks, reminding him how pretty she was when she wasn’t yammering to get her own way. A lump bobbed in that creamy throat of hers that had always reminded him of a stately swan. Chewing on the edge of a nervous smile, her teeth tugged on those lush lips like Finn so longed to do. “Uh, yes, Mrs. Poppy, it appears Mr. McShane and I have everything under control.”
Except our feelings for each other, Finn mused with a familiar hint of regret, studying Liberty as she launched into a thorough overview of everything they’d accomplished so far. Watching her now—her face flushed with excitement and eyes aglow with passion over the subject at hand—Finn couldn’t help but wish some of that powerful passion could be directed his way. He’d always been attracted to her, of course—something he took great pains to hide—but over the last month of working with her so closely, he’d gained a new respect that only deepened the draw. Beneath that fire-red hair and trigger temper beat a heart of compassion for others, a do-or-die allegiance to the underdog, something Finn felt strongly about too. Which only reinforced the attraction.
True, her overly vocal obsession with women’s rights had riled him at first, but when he learned his mother’s cousin lost her family’s home to “a no-good deserter of a husband,” he quickly changed his mind. The low-down skunk had returned to sell the house right out from under the poor woman, leaving her and her children out on the streets. That sort of travesty could have happened to his mother and him as well, he realized, based on the lack of property rights for women. Suddenly Finn saw Liberty’s “dad-burned cockamamie goals” in a whole new light—along with the woman who held them. The very woman who had never, ever been attracted to him and made no bones about it.
Until “the kiss.”
A slow smile eased across his lips. From that moment on, he’d noticed a definite skittishness in her whenever he was around, almost as if that one kiss had tamed the spitfire in her, at least where he was concerned. Since then, she’d been almost demure, guarded, armed with the protection of her two best friends to make sure he didn’t get too close. His mouth tamped into a tight line. And doggone-it, he wanted to get close! To sample once again the sweet taste of lips that had ruined him for other women, reveling in the passion and fire that ha
d always drawn him like a moth to flame.
A hint of melancholy eased his facial muscles as he absently fiddled with the fork on his plate. An old codger from his days on the transcontinental railroad once told him male moths dive into a candle flame because they think it’s a female looking for a mate, but they just end up fried to a crisp. Finn’s mouth took a slant. He certainly could attest to that. The very fire and fervor that kindled this hopeless attraction to Liberty O’Shea was the same fire and fervor that singed him every time he got too close.
His gaze flicked up to take in how her auburn hair gleamed in the lamplight. Or how the musical sound of her laughter filled the Poppys’ intimate kitchen with a contentment sweeter than Mrs. Poppy’s pie. Against his will, a fierce longing curled in his chest. He’d always suspected his affection for Liberty went deeper than just the race of his pulse. But it wasn’t until she walked into his office that fateful day that he realized for him, the attraction was so much more. Stubborn and hot-headed to a fault, she was also more passionate and exciting than any woman he’d ever known, and completely devoted to the common good, no matter the cost. To him, she was the essence of true “liberty”—beautiful and bright, wild and free, infusing her heart and soul into everything she loved.
And sweet mother of mercy, how he wished that were him!
He unleashed a silent sigh while Mrs. Poppy peppered Liberty with questions, his thoughts trailing to the improbability of he and Liberty ever falling in love. In her eyes, he’d always be nothing more than salt in her wound, a cocky womanizer who’d been the bane of her existence. And he supposed that’d been true at one time, before Pastor and Mrs. Poppy had gotten a hold of him and taught him about true faith. Since then, no matter how many ladies he’d squired about town, other than kisses, he’d followed the straight and narrow. As difficult as it had been, he’d learned to steer clear of his former carnal nature when it came to women and focus more on his land.
For Love of Liberty Page 8