“Oh, you’ll know,” Mrs. Poppy said with a laugh, glancing at the watch pinned to her bodice before she jumped up to pull dessert plates from the cupboard. “Because the Lord may speak in a still small voice, Griffin McShane, but trust me.” She tossed him a smile while she put the tea back on the boil. “The impact is deafening.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Legs as wobbly as her stomach, Liberty smoothed her skirt with sweaty hands as she stood on the Poppys’ front porch, finally mustering the courage to knock on their screen door. “Please don’t let him hate me,” she whispered, pretty sure Finn had changed his mind about ever courting a hothead like her.
“Liberty, hello! And, goodness, you’re early too.” Mrs. Poppy scuttled down the hall from the kitchen, where a light glowed like the woman before her. She giggled. “As was Finn, so it must be my prize-winning cake that lured you both in.”
“Without question,” Liberty said with a shy smile. That and the handsome young man eating it with me. She cast a nervous glance at Finn’s horse who chewed on clover next to the front porch, then slipped through the screen door Mrs. Poppy held open, her heart beating a little too fast to suit. The same handsome young man she hadn’t seen since she’d lambasted him earlier in the day.
“Well, I baked a special cake especially for you and Finn, I’ll have you know, just to say thank you for all the hard work you both put in for our fair town.” She shot a grin over her shoulder as she hurried down the hall. “Our co-chairs deserve it warm, right out of the oven—with ice cream!” She tugged Liberty into the kitchen that always seemed so welcoming with its eyelet curtains fluttering in the breeze and cast-iron stove bubbling with wonderful smells. Liberty peeked at Finn, and the hard clamp of his mouth twisted her stomach. Welcoming, yes.
Except for tonight.
“Look who I found out on the front porch,” Mrs. Poppy said with a husky chuckle, “the prettiest co-chair of the bunch.”
“No argument there,” Finn said with a hard smile as he slowly rose from the table.
Mrs. Poppy steered Liberty to the chair right next to Finn’s and nudged her down. “Now, you sit right here, young lady, and I’ll fix you a calming cup of poppy-seed tea to go with my special lemon-mint poppy-seed cake, all right?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Liberty whispered, not daring to look Finn’s way.
“Liberty, congratulations to you and Finn for a job well-done on the best festival our town has ever had.” Pastor Poppy retrieved dessert plates laden with napkins and utensils from the counter while his wife poured Liberty a fresh cup of tea.
Jumping up to assist, Liberty took the plates from him to distribute with shaky hands, well aware of Finn’s cool stare boring a hole right through her. “Thank you, Pastor Poppy, but we certainly couldn’t have done it without you and Mrs. Poppy, that’s for sure, so the lion’s share of the thanks goes to both of you.”
“So tell me, Liberty and Finn,” Mrs. Poppy said, pulling potholders out of a drawer with a smile a whole lot warmer than the one on Finn’s face, “now that the festival’s almost over, I’ll bet you two are going to miss working so closely together, aren’t you?”
“Doubt it.” Finn’s sullen response was so low, Liberty knew it was for her benefit alone.
“Believe it or not, ma’am,” Liberty said slowly, sneaking a peek Finn’s way, “I will miss working with Mr. McShane because he was always such a …”—a hint of mischief twitched on her lips—“challenge.”
“Me?” Finn leaned in to sear her with a look.
Liberty couldn’t resist a tiny smile while she nibbled the edge of her lip. “As I’m sure you already know, he can be pretty … stubborn.”
“Ha! That’s the jackass calling the donkey a mule if ever there was.”
Mrs. Poppy’s laughter floated through the air along with the smell of fresh-baked poppy-seed cake as she pulled it out of the oven. “Yes, I do believe the pastor and I can attest to seeing a bit of the mule here and there over the years.”
“Here and there?” Liberty’s brows shot high as she put a hand to her mouth to shield a giggle. “Goodness, Mrs. Poppy, when I leave our meetings, I literally fall into bed because the man plumb wears me out.”
“Uh, that would be from all your yammering, Miss O’Shea, which I can attest saps every ounce of energy I have.”
Liberty slid him a shy peek, cheeks suddenly warm. “Well, maybe not all your energy …”
“Here we go …” Potholders in hand, Mrs. Poppy delivered the cake to the table. The heavenly smell rumbled Liberty’s stomach, an unwelcome reminder she’d had no appetite at the potluck. “Hot out of the oven!” She proceeded to cut healthy pieces and slather them with glazed icing that watered Liberty’s mouth.
One bite and Liberty almost moaned, eyelids drifting closed while she savored the best cake she’d ever tasted.
“Clara, you’ve outdone yourself tonight, dear.” Pastor Poppy tucked into the dessert with gusto, a contented smile spanning his face. “I do believe this is your best yet.”
“I have to agree, Mrs. Poppy,” Finn said, licking the icing off of his fork. And I like the addition of the icing, ma’am, almost better than your original recipe.
“Oh, drat!” Mrs. Poppy sprang up from the table.
Finn’s face fell as he blinked at the older woman. “Uh … don’t get me wrong, ma’am. I like your original recipe a lot, too, and so does everyone else, apparently, since you win every year.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” Mrs. Poppy pushed her chair in with a pointed look at her husband before bestowing a sweet smile on Finn. “I’m not offended that you like this version better, Finn,” she explained, “I just remembered Horace forgot to bring in the mint for our tea and I forgot about the ice cream I made especially for tonight.” Hurrying over to pump more water into the teapot, she put it back on the boil, then plucked an empty mason jar off her counter along with a lantern. She returned to where her husband was helping himself to a second piece of cake. “Your stomach can wait, Horace—but our tea and ice cream cannot.” Tugging him up with an apologetic smile at Libby that didn’t quite ring true, she handed him the lantern with a nod toward the door. “Liberty, Finn—please forgive us, but we’ll be right back, so you two just go ahead and visit a while, all right?”
—
No! Finn launched to his feet like a blasted Chinese skyrocket, chair clattering loudly against the wooden planks of the floor. He was pretty darn sure what Mrs. Poppy had up her sleeve, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet. The last thing he wanted was to hob-knob with Liberty O’Shea right now, not with this splinter of hurt still festering in his heart. He shoved his chair in and strode to the door, swiping the jar right out of her hand. “No, let me gather the peppermint for you, ma’am, while you and the pastor stay and visit with your guest.”
A shadow of a smile twitched on the old woman’s lips as she snatched the jar back, silver brows spiking high. “Tell me, Finn—do you even know what peppermint looks like?”
He swallowed hard, heat ringing his collar. “Uh no, ma’am, but all I have to do is pinch the leaves and smell it, right?”
Smile maternal, Mrs. Poppy patted Finn’s cheek with a look of affection, but the suspicious twinkle in her gaze told him he was a goner. “Thank you, you sweet boy, but Mr. Poppy and I have trouble finding it in the dark ourselves, much less sending someone who doesn’t know where it is in my huge garden or how to pick it the way I like.”
Pastor Poppy slapped Finn on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Give it up, Finn, you won’t win, trust me. I’ve been trying for over fifty years, son, so I’d advise you to just sit down and enjoy more cake.”
The screen slammed, and Finn just stared out the door for several painful seconds, unwilling to turn around lest he lose some of his anger. And he couldn’t afford to. Oh, he had every intention of eventually courting Liberty if God directed him that way, but not before he made his point. The woman he married needed to know the full meaning of the Scripture, “th
e tongue is a fire,” and Finn figured a bit of cold shoulder and time would go a long way in educating her. Liberty was a feisty, headstrong little thing who could sure set him on fire—both temper and body—and he wasn’t about to give her the chance to do either right now. His mouth thinned with resolve.
Inside of marriage or not.
Because as much as he loved his mother, he vowed he’d never allow a woman to trip his temper like she had with his father, always nagging and butting heads over every little thing. That didn’t absolve his father from drinking, infidelity, and abandonment, certainly, but deep down Finn couldn’t help but believe it was a factor in the destruction of their marriage. And he’d be horsewhipped and hung up to dry before he’d ever let that happen to him.
Without a word, he opted for a chair across the table from Liberty instead of next to her like before and immediately reached for the cake. Cutting a piece, he glanced up with a tight pinch of lips, one brow jagging high as he extended the cake her way.
“Please,” she said quietly, pushing her plate forward so he could serve her. “I suspect this is next year’s winner for sure.” Rising, she offered a tiny smile, contrition soft in her eyes. “I could use more tea. How ’bout you?”
He gave an abrupt nod and sliced another section for himself while she retrieved the teapot. Ignoring her as she poured, he shoveled more cake in his mouth, staring straight ahead while he chewed.
“Finn …” Her whispered plea matched the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder, paralyzing him mid-chew. “Will you forgive me—please?”
His eyelids weighted closed as he swallowed, the scent of lilacs leaching his anger. Laying his fork down, he pushed away from the table with a stiff fold of arms. “Of course I forgive you, Libby, but what you said”—he peered up at her, wondering how he could both love and hate the fire she possessed—“it wounded me to the core, and to be honest, I’m not all that sure we’re right for each other.”
A muscle spasmed in her throat, and he fought the urge to jump up and take her in his arms. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
This was way too important.
She rounded the table to pour her own tea, then returned the teapot before she sagged into her chair, eyes fixed on the cup in her hands. “I deserve that, of course, and I apologize for losing my temper and for what I said, but”—she glanced up, a bit of the fire back in her eyes—“you could have told me you broke it off with Jo Beth.”
He cocked a brow. “Would you have believed me?”
Her chest rose and fell in a shaky sigh as she caught the edge of her lip with her teeth.
“I didn’t think so.” The twitch in his temple told him his anger was alive and well as he took a glug of his tea, cup wobbling in the saucer when he slammed it back down. “So instead of talking it out with me, you go for the throat, Libby, with a tongue as sharp as a bowie knife, gutting me to the core.”
She had the grace to blush.
He leaned in, desperate to make her understand.
Desperate to make it work.
“Libby, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman, but my parents fought like two cocks in a cage, drawing blood every single time. They sliced each other up with their words and actions until my father ran off with another woman, leaving our family in shreds.” Drawing in a deep gulp of air, he slowly straightened, some of his frustration seeping out in a lumbering sigh. “And frankly, Libs, I don’t want that for myself, and I sure don’t want that for us.”
“Me either, Finn,” she whispered, green eyes moist with regret.
Her tears dismantled more of his anger, and upending his tea, a calm settled over him as he reclaimed the seat beside her. “Libby,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his, “I love you, I do, but I think we both need to step back and take some time. You know, to pray about it and make sure we’re a good fit.”
She peeked up beneath dark lashes spiked with tears, and he smothered a groan, heat spiraling through his belly when he glanced at those pink lips, moist with invitation. “I don’t think the ‘fit’ is the problem, Finn,” she said softly, a pretty blush dusting her cheeks as her gaze dropped to his mouth.
He quickly distanced himself several inches with a loud screech of his chair, not about to let feminine wiles railroad him into moving too fast. He gulped more tea. No matter how potent those blasted wiles might be.
Liberty scooted closer, eyes soft with affection. “I love you, too, Finn, and I promise to work on my temper—”
“Good,” he said with a gruff clear of his throat, his heart already on the thaw.
“If you work on yours …”
His jaw dropped. “Mine?” He shot up, more steam coming out of his ears than Mrs. Poppy’s teapot on full boil. Blue blazes, it was his poor excuse for a father who had the temper—not him, and nothing made Finn want to spit fire more than that blasted comparison. Not when he’d spent a lifetime trying to purge it from his mind. Holy thunder, he hadn’t even realized he still had a blasted temper till she came back to town. He jumped up to storm over to the stove, suddenly craving a whole pot of Mrs. Poppy’s tea. “You mean the temper I don’t have unless you trigger it?”
“Yes, that temper,” she emphasized, nodding her thanks when he topped off her cup. “Goodness, my temper wouldn’t even be a problem if you weren’t such a bully.”
“Me?” Finn gaped as he banged the teapot back onto the stove, marching back to stare her down with hands moored low on his hips. “I wouldn’t be a bully if you weren’t so pushy in the first place, Miss Bell, always wrestling for control.”
Liberty blasted from her seat to glare right back, ramming a petite finger against his chest for good measure. “And I wouldn’t have to wrestle for control in the first place if you’d just treat me with the same courtesy and respect you do with a man, giving ear to my ideas instead of dismissing me as a mere woman.”
Finn couldn’t help it—he grinned, her fire never failing to disarm and lure him in. “But that’s just it, Libs,” he said softly, his gaze straying to her mouth as he took hold of her wrist, “you’re not a man, and I have never been happier of anything more in my life. And heaven knows you are definitely no mere woman.” He slowly reeled her in, eyelids shuttering closed as he bent to give her way more than an ear.
Oooomph! Two tiny palms slammed against his chest, jolting his eyes open. “Hold it right there, buster!” she said with a no-nonsense glint in her eyes, “you are not sidetracking me this time, Finn McShane. We have serious problems here, mister, and we need to resolve them.”
Huffing out a groaning sigh, Finn gouged stiff fingers through his hair. “Fine, you’re right—we do need to resolve our differences. And, yes, I will admit that as much as I squawked about it, you had some pretty good ideas for making the festival a success. So you have my word that I will try to keep more of an open mind where you and your opinions are concerned.”
“Thank you,” she said in a considerably less agitated tone as her palms finally relaxed against his chest, their slow slide down his shirt leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “And I will try to rein in both my temper and my tongue if you work on being less of a bully.”
His mouth crooked as he slipped an arm to her waist, drawing her close once again. “Agreed if you work on being less pushy and demanding—”
“Demanding?!” Her body stiffened as she attempted to push him away once more. “I’ll give you ‘demanding,’ you mule-headed—”
Her protest faded into his mouth as he jerked her close and kissed her hard, the taste of Libby O’Shea far better than any award-winning cake. He buried his head in her neck with a loud groan. “Libby, I love you—why are we fighting?”
He felt the shift of her throat as she swallowed, her breathing as shallow as his. “Because we’re so good at it?” Her voice was a breathless rasp.
“We are, no question, sweetheart, but we are so much better at this …” He nuzzled her earlobe before skimming his mouth back to hers, their moans merging
when he deepened the kiss.
“Ahem …” The gruff clear of a throat blasted them apart like a stick of dynamite.
Heat roared into Finn’s cheeks as he further distanced himself from Libby with several additional steps back, the knowing smile on Pastor Poppy’s face doing nothing for Finn’s composure. “Uh, pardon us, sir, but we were just discussing our future together.”
“I see,” he said with a wink at Libby that only served to deepen the bloom in her cheeks. Chuckling, he set the lamp on the counter along with a crock of ice cream while Mrs. Poppy rinsed off the mint from her mason jar, the smiles on their faces prompting the same on Finn’s. “A good discussion, was it?”
Finn glanced at Libby, who nibbled the edge of her lip while her face flamed near as bright as her hair. He grinned. “Yes, sir, it was, although we definitely have some work ahead of us.”
Mrs. Poppy dropped several mint leaves into her teapot, her face beaming like the full moon out the kitchen window. “Oh my, I am so excited! I’ve had a feeling about you two youngsters from the very start, so I am delighted to hear you’ve worked things out.” She slapped her palms together in prayer mode, eyes sparkling more than the candlelight flickering in their tea. “So … you’ve decided to court?”
Finn’s gaze collided with Libby’s, and he grinned ear to ear. “I think that’s safe to say, ma’am, although we do plan to take it slow.”
The pastor’s laughter filled the cozy kitchen as he took his seat, diving back into his cake without missing a beat. “Any slower, my boy, and you two could be married by morning.”
Finn blinked. It was a contest over which generated more heat—his neck or Libby’s face.
“Now, Horace, hush—you’re embarrassing our guests.” Mrs. Poppy offered a conciliatory smile while she doled out more cake. A soft gasp popped from her mouth. “Oh my stars—I almost forgot about the ice cream—again!”
Retrieving a scoop from a drawer, she quickly delivered the crock to the table with a proud lift of her chin. “The perfect treat to celebrate a courtship! And, I’ll have you know, made with special poppy seeds all the way from Spain, sent by Horace’s missionary friend.” Her brow wrinkled the slightest bit. “Of course, I almost ruined it when I dropped the whole silly bottle into the mix, but I tasted it, and it really has a lovely little crunch to it, so I hope you like it too.” Her face broke into a bright smile that chased all the worry lines away. “So tell me, Finn,” she asked as she plopped a large spoonful of ice cream onto his cake, “are you going to ask Libby’s father for permission to court her?”
For Love of Liberty Page 15