More like cold and tart.
Jo Beth’s scarlet dress spun wide as Finn whirled her to the lively sound of “Yankee Doodle,” and Libby’s mouth went flat. He’d said he wanted to wait till after the festival to spare Jo Beth’s feelings, but it sure looked to Libby like he was sparing a whole lot more than that. The very thought sent the heat in her cheeks straight to her temper as she snatched up a cup of lemonade served in punch glasses on loan from ladies in the town. Tilting it straight up, she guzzled like it was the cornpone whiskey she’d banned from the festival grounds.
Because despite his ardent confession at the Poppys’ a month ago that he didn’t “even want to look at another woman,” and his secret attention and kisses ever since, Finn McPain was not only still seeing Jo Beth, he appeared to be enjoying it as well. When he’d told her he wanted to “take it slow” to spare Jo Beth’s feelings, she had thought him noble. Now after four weeks of pining for a former archenemy she hadn’t even liked in the beginning, it bordered more on …
Ignoble.
She stifled a grunt. And now here he was, dancing with everybody but her—from Mrs. Poppy and Miss Willoughby, to every other lovesick female in the room, age three to eighty-three. Yes, she was proud of the job they’d done with the festival, certainly, but the bald-faced truth was that from the moment Finn McShame had kissed her and declared his intentions, the man had put a hornet in her hat that she sorely wished she could sic right back on him. Because just seeing Jo Beth in the V&T office earlier in the week had unleashed a sting of jealousy so strong, it felt like a whole hive of hornets a buzzin’ in her brain. And to make matters worse, their private time before the final meeting had been invaded by anxious volunteers arriving early for setup, including a fawning Jo Beth.
Leaving Finn and Libby no time alone since.
Catching her glaring, Finn actually had the nerve to toss her a wink, and Libby’s face flashed so hot, she snatched another lemonade and spun around, tempted to cool off with a douse instead of a drink. Draining the glass, she turned to slam it back down on the makeshift table, wobbling all the others Kitty and Martha had just filled.
“See? Crabby,” her best friend said again, tugging her away from the drink table. “You have turned down every man that has asked you to dance tonight, Libs, opting to hide out back here instead.” Bracing Libby’s arms, Kitty seared her with a probing look. “I’ve seen this kind of mood in you before, Liberty O’Shea, and somehow it always has to do with Finn, so confess.” Tone softening, Kitty wiggled her brows. “Did that boy try to kiss you again?”
Libby was sure Jo Beth’s dress had nothing on her when warmth whooshed into her face, red-hot.
“I knew it!” Kitty dipped her knees with a squeal and swallowed Libby up in a hug, pulling back with a mischievous grin. “That bad boy did, didn’t he?”
Mortified, Libby snuck a peek over her shoulder to where “that bad boy” was casually strolling toward their table in his best vest and string tie. Hands in his pockets, he flashed that annoying crooked grin that always tumbled Libby’s stomach.
“Evenin’, Kitty, Martha …” He paused to deliver a slow smile in Libby’s direction, eyes twinkling as his gaze lowered to her mouth with a husky drawl. “Libby.”
A hot retort teetered on the tip of her tongue, near as scalding as the fire in her cheeks.
“Why, there you are, Finn McShane,” Jo Beth’s mother interrupted, sidling over to loop an arm through Finn’s while her entourage of ladies’ guild members—all judges for the booth contest—gathered around. “I do declare—if your booth wasn’t the most creative and clever in the festival, I’ll eat my hat.” Mrs. Templeton delivered a butterscotch grin with a bat of her eyes.
Libby turned away to retrieve a fresh jug of lemonade, wishing Jo Beth’s mother would eat her feather hat.
And maybe choke a wee bit ...
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Templeton,” Finn said with that infuriating smile in a husky voice that could charm fleas off a dog. “I’m happy to say we had a pretty fair turnout, yielding a healthy donation for our town.” Glancing over his shoulder, he flashed a grin at Liberty, Kitty, and Martha. “Although I believe these girls here gave us a run for our money.”
Nose wrinkling, Mrs. Templeton averted her head slightly to offer a smile to Libby that was more of a smirk. “Yes, but I’m afraid my Harold choking on that apple from the dunking booth could possibly cost them some points in the contest.”
Libby’s eyes narrowed considerably. Suddenly she smelled a rotten apple.
“Oh and Finn,” Mrs. Templeton said with another flutter of lashes that reminded Libby a little too much of her daughter, “Jo Beth wondered if you might bring her a lemonade. I do believe you wore my girl plum out with so many dances, so she’s quite parched.”
I’ll show her parched. Libby swiped the jug, sloshing lemonade into empty glasses.
“My pleasure, Mrs. Templeton.” Finn promptly picked up two punch cups, handing Martha his payment before turning to go.
But not before sliding Libby another wink.
“Did you see that?” Kitty whispered loudly when Mrs. Templeton and crew had taken their leave. “Finn winked at you, Libs— again!” She tapped her toe with a firm fold of arms, a smile squirming on her lips. “I don’t think you’re telling me everything that’s going on here, because I sure don’t see that man winking at anybody else. Which is downright peculiar since everybody thinks he and Jo Beth are a horse hair away from courting.”
A horse hair away from courting.
Libby’s brows dug low. More like a horse’s behind … “First of all, Kit,” she said in a clipped voice, “Finn McShane is a shameless scoundrel who will flirt with anything in a skirt, so a wink from a man like that means absolutely nothing.” Her eyes thinned as she glowered in his direction. Except heartbreak. “And secondly, not only is he not courting Jo Beth, but he has no plans to do so.”
“And just how would you know that?” Kitty asked with a purse of a smile. “Unless he told you when he kissed you?”
“He didn’t tell me anything,” she fibbed, ignoring Kitty’s reference to a kiss while she seared Finn and Jo Beth with a steel-eyed squint. Except, obviously, a pack of lies. She huffed out a noisy sigh. “Look, Kitty, you told me yourself he’s been seeing Jo Beth more than anyone else for a long time now, so I just figured if he hasn’t made a move yet, I doubt he will.”
Kitty bumped a shoulder against Libby’s, a gleam of trouble in her eyes. “So, has he?”
Libby tore her gaze from Finn to blink at her best friend. “Has he what?”
“Made a move!” Kitty emphasized loudly under her breath.
A grunt rolled from Libby’s lips as she checked the watch pinned to her bodice. She snatched the cashbox from under the table, determined to avoid her best friend’s inquisition by collecting the money from the dessert table. “Apparently that’s a question for Jo Beth,” she bit out.
“Ah-hah!” Kitty blocked her way with a cheeky grin. “Apparently? Mmm … that sounds a little bit like sour lemonade to me, doesn’t it, Martha?”
Martha nodded shyly, teeth tugging her lip.
Kitty cocked her head to deliver a sly look. “You know—like maybe you’re a wee bit … jealous?”
“Of Jo Beth Templeton?” Libby gaped, eyes as round as the silver dollars in her cashbox. A lump suddenly bobbed in her throat when she realized that Kitty was probably right. Her eyelids shuttered closed at the absurd idea that she would ever be jealous over Finn McShane. But apparently the man had—once again—bamboozled her. Like all the pranks he’d played on her in school, he’d obviously done it again—won her trust so he could set her up for the fall. A weak groan scraped past her lips as she put a quivering hand to her eyes.
The fall.
And heaven help her, this time she’d fallen hard.
“Libs?” Kitty gently brushed hair from Libby’s face, her tone soft with understanding. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
<
br /> Tears sprang to Libby’s eyes as she stared at her best friend. “I never meant for it to happen, Kit,” she whispered, “but he’s been so nice to me ever since the night we had dinner at the Poppys’ when he told me he didn’t even want to look at another woman.”
“What?” The whites of Kitty’s and Martha’s eyes all but bulged in shock.
“And then, of course, there’s all those kisses he’s given me since …”
Her friends squealed in unison. “I knew it!” Kitty crowed, giving Libby a tight hug. “You’ve been walking on air since you went to the Poppys’ that night, so I just knew something happened.” Her brows dipped low. “Even though our best friend refused to divulge a single thing anytime we asked.”
“I’m sorry, Kit, Martha, but Finn swore me to secrecy because he said he wanted to let Jo Beth down easy after he broke it off.” Her eyes narrowed to slits as she watched Jo Beth sitting so close to Finn, the woman may as well sit on his blasted lap. “Which is exactly what I’d like to do right about now—let him ‘down easy.’” She grunted. “In a well filled with devil-tree thorns and cactus.”
“Ouch.” Kitty glanced Finn’s way, her gaze suddenly as flat as her smile. “I reckon he deserves it, though, with the way he’s been fawning over Jo Beth all night.”
“Well, not all night, Kitty,” Martha said in a timid voice, sympathy etched in her face. “Finn’s danced with pert near every woman here tonight, Libs, ’cept you, Kitty, and me.”
“Uh-oh.” Kitty nudged Libby’s arm. “Looks like he may be a fixin’ to correct that.”
Libby whirled around, knees all but giving way when she saw Finn striding toward them with two empty punch cups, looking more handsome than a womanizing coyote had a right. He set the cups down and doffed his Stetson. “Ladies—now that this shindig is almost over, I just realized I forgot to dance with the three prettiest girls here tonight.”
Libby fought the inclination to roll her eyes while Martha blushed. Even Kitty, for once, appeared to be tongue-tied.
Finn’s gaze roved from each of their faces and back with that slow, easy smile that always made Libby’s stomach a little too dizzy. Her lips tamped in a hard smile. Good. Maybe she could puke all over his rawhide boots.
“So, who’s willing to dance with a rakish but lovable cowboy?” Finn said in a husky drawl that was annoyingly reinforced by a flash of dimples.
Not me. Libby crossed her arms with resolve, grateful that at least she and her two sensible friends would turn this blackguard away, even if every other woman swooned at his feet.
“I will!” Apparently Kitty had found her tongue because she bolted around the refreshment station like Finn had just proposed, shimmying the lemonade in all the cups.
Libby’s jaw dropped as she watched her best friend scurry to Finn’s side, hooking her arm to his before shooting Libby a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Libs, but I haven’t danced once tonight since working the refreshment table, so I hope you don’t mind …?”
“Naw, she doesn’t mind, do you, Libs?” He had the audacity to wink, those hazel eyes twinkling with tease. “Because once I dance with Kitty and Martha, you might just get your turn, too, Miss Bell. After all, patience is a mighty attractive virtue, ma’am, so you can just thank me later.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Finn had an awfully tough time keeping his grin in check while he danced with Martha, the look on Liberty’s face enough to puff his chest out with pride. Pinched lips, clamped jaw, and gushing lemonade in cups like it was a drought in the Mohave.
Even though Libby was the celebrated mastermind behind Virginia City’s most successful and far-reaching fundraiser, his pretty co-chair appeared downright peeved. His grin broke through despite his best efforts. And he had a sneaking suspicion why.
The woman is flat-out crazy about me.
Smiling, he gave Martha an extra whirl at the end of their dance because deep down he was as giddy as a schoolboy that Liberty Margaret O’Shea apparently cared about him as much as he cared about her, sweet vindication after years of secret pining.
Of course, he hadn’t meant to make her mad when he’d danced with Jo Beth more than anyone else, but it was Jo’s birthday after all, and he’d long ago promised both Jo and Milo that he’d make sure it was a good one. Besides, Liberty had made it more than clear it didn’t bother her a whit.
“Whatever you need to do is perfectly fine with me, truly, so please take your time.”
A slow smile slid across his lips. Because she said she wasn’t jealous. “Not even a little.”
He grinned outright. Nope, more like a lot. And tonight when he’d danced with every girl in the place except her, on top of Jo Beth three times, he could feel that green-eyed glare singe the hairs on the back of his neck.
His mood tempered somewhat at the thought of causing Liberty distress, but this was their agreement, after all, and the only way to throw everyone off the track. Holy thunder, Mrs. Poppy just cornered him this morning, asking if he’d thought anymore about pursuing Liberty. Finn stifled a grunt. Was the woman serious? Day and night he “thought” about pursuing Liberty and then some, but he wanted to do it guilt-free, putting enough distance and time between him and Jo Beth to cushion Jo’s feelings and pay off the debt he owed to her father. And he was almost there. Between the prize money for the booth and the bonus Superintendent Yerington promised if V&T won, he and Liberty would be able to start out with a clean slate.
No guilt.
No debt.
No butting heads with the woman he loved.
Unlike now. He flashed some teeth Liberty’s way as he escorted Martha back to the table, wishing he didn’t have to play this game. But then on the other hand—he grinned—who knew jealousy could feel so dad-burned good?
“Thank you, ladies, for the dances,” he said as he returned Martha to the refreshment table, chuckling outright when Liberty turned her back on them to drown several dirty cups in a wash bucket.
“It was fun, Finn, so thank you,” Kitty responded while Martha managed a shy nod, “but it looks like there’s still one girl you haven’t danced with yet.” She nudged Liberty’s shoulder, and Finn chuckled when Liberty elbowed her in return with a little too much force.
“Last square dance of the night, folks,” the lead fiddler called, “so grab your partner for ‘Turkey in the Straw.’”
“So what do you say, Miss Bell—ready to take a whirl?”
And, oh, she “whirled” all right—like a prairie twister ready to tear him apart, limb by limb. Slapping her hands to her hips, she cauterized him with a glare thinner than a blade of prairie grass and just as sharp. “I wouldn’t dance with you if you threatened me at gunpoint, Finn McVain, so why don’t you go ply your charms elsewhere?” With a spin of her heel, she refocused on washing cups, accidentally bumping Kitty in the process. “Sorry, Kit,” she muttered.
A grin tickled Finn’s lips. Either the woman was one fine actress, playing along with a stage-worthy imitation of their prior feud, or flat-out jealous, neither of which bode well for his boots if he actually got her out on the floor. “Well, I left my gun at the door as requested, Miss O’Shea, so I can’t threaten you, but Mrs. Poppy did suggest that the co-chairs partnering for the final square dance would be most fitting.”
“You want fitting?” She swung back around, dishwater flying everywhere when the cup in her hand flung with the motion. “I think nailing your boots to the floor with you in them would be ‘fitting,’ Mr. McPain, but I’m not going to do that either.”
He took a quick step back, wiggling his toes for good measure. “Aw, come on, Libs,” he said in a softer tone, employing his fail-proof, little-boy smile, “let’s give the people a show.”
“A show?” Those green eyes spanned wide as she splayed a hand to her bodice. “Why certainly, Mr. McShane, I’ll be happy to give them a show! Just let me clean up a bit.” Putting the cup down, she turned away to repin a few stray curls from an alabaster neck he so craved to ta
ste, then smoothed a palm down the skirt of her dress like he so longed to do.
Ker-splash!!
Finn blinked, completely caught off-guard by dirty water sluicing down his face onto his favorite shirt. Liberty stood there with an empty bucket in her hand and a smirk on her face while the raucous sounds of “Turkey in the Straw” boomed to the rafters.
“Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, turkey in the straw, what do you say?”
Giggles rose from Kitty and Martha as he swiped a sleeve across his wet face, about as speechless as that blasted turkey in the dad-burned blasted hay.
Liberty stared him down with heat in her eyes. “Because if you think I’m going to dance with you, mister, you are all wet, so go drip somewhere else.” Slamming her empty bucket down, she snagged a towel and balled it up, pelting it at his chest before glancing at her friends. “Martha, Kitty—if you’d be kind enough to scatter hay on the wet mud, I’d be much obliged. Obviously I need more water.” She seized the bucket and sparing him one last nasty look, stormed through the wall of quilts and out the back door.
“Good heavens, Finn,” Kitty said with an innocent flutter of lashes, “what on earth did you do to light a fire under our Libby like that?”
“Can’t say, ladies, but I can tell you this ...” Smile tight, Finn plucked the towel from the floor and swabbed his shirt and vest, grateful the crowd was focused on the rousing dance instead of on him. Tossing the towel on the table, he slapped his Stetson on and strode toward the back door. “I sure in the devil plan to do it again.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Woman, you are a handful. The back barn door squealed closed behind Finn as he squinted in the dark. But I am more than up to the challenge. Barely waiting for his eyes to adjust, he barreled toward Mrs. Poppy’s pump at the back of the house, pretty sure Liberty would go there rather than the well out in front. He smiled at a passel of kids sailing on rope swings, then nodded at older townsfolk rockin’ on the front porch. Lanterns lit up the lawn for games of checkers around wood stumps while lines of people waited at the far treeline beside outhouses built especially for the festival.
For Love of Liberty (Silver Lining Ranch Series Book 1) Page 12