Libby slipped her arm through Finn’s. “Goodness, Papa, I’d say it’s already won,” she said with a wide smile, “and once Finn helps women get the vote, he’ll never lose, isn’t that right, Senator Jones?” She beamed at the man Finn had claimed was a proponent for the suffrage resolution in the Nevada senate.
As if he hadn’t heard her question, the senator glanced at his pocket watch with a pinch of silver brows. “We should be going, Finn—the debate begins in ten minutes, and there’s a full house.”
The smile faded on Libby’s face as the senator completely ignored her question, turning instead to confer with her father and John Piper. She glanced up at Finn, and her stomach immediately swooped when he avoided her gaze with another check in the mirror. “Finn?”
“Mmm?” He gave a firm tug to both of his cuffs, turning sideways to assess the lay of his coat.
Moving to stand in front of him, she forced him to look her in the eyes with a palm to his chest. “Why didn’t Senator Jones answer my question?” she whispered for his ears alone, deathly afraid to hear the wrong answer.
Shooting a quick glance at the men across the room, Finn made great show of checking his watch. “He probably didn’t hear you, sweetheart, with everything on his mind.” He dismissed her with a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Libby, you best head on over to The Gold Hill now for dessert and tea with Maggie and your mother. Maggie said she’d park the rig in the back to wait for you, so just head down this hall the opposite way we came in and exit the back door, all right?”
Libby could feel her Irish rising, still miffed that she couldn’t attend this important event in Finn’s career despite his sensible rationale. “Debates tend to be overly rowdy and loud with a very unsavory element, darlin’,” he’d explained patiently, “and few women ever attend. So, it’s safer for you to enjoy your evening with Maggie and your mother.”
She huffed out a sigh. “I suppose, but it’s situations just like this, Finn, that makes me glad you’re a proponent for women’s rights.” She lifted on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. “Women need to be involved in the process, and I’m counting on you to help change that, so promise me you will.”
“I promise, Libby.” He caressed the side of her face, the intensity in his eyes calming her somewhat. “But you have trust me in the process to do what I think is best, all right?”
Swallowing her concern in a hard lump, she slowly nodded, convincing herself that Finn was on her side.
“Good.” He ducked to stare into her eyes with a somber look. “Never forget, darlin’, that I love you, and everything I do, I do for a reason, and always with you in my mind.” He brushed a gentle kiss to her mouth. “Say one for me, all right?”
“Of course.” She forced a smile as she moved to the door, nodding at the other men before silently slipping into the hall. She sucked in a deep breath and started for the back door, stopping halfway when she realized she’d left her reticule behind. Backtracking to the room, she froze at the mention of her name.
“Now, you’re sure Libby won’t be in the auditorium?” The sound of John Piper’s voice caused a sick feeling in her stomach.
But not as sick as Finn’s answer …
“I’m sure. She’s on her way to dinner at The Gold Hill, so everything is under control.”
Under control. Libby sank back to the wall outside the room, eyes flickering closed as her palms pressed hot against the wood paneling.
“It better be.” Her father’s voice was gruff. “Templeton has spent a ton of money in the last few weeks, and the race has tightened up, so the slightest slip-up can derail you completely. And rumor has it he’s stirring the troops regarding the suffrage resolution in both houses, so he’ll definitely be bringing that up. Libby doesn’t need to be anywhere near this debate because her views cannot factor into this election, Finn, is that clear?”
“Perfectly. And there’s nothing to worry about, Aiden. I’m in control here, not Libby, so she will be fine.”
“I hope so,” Senator Jones said in a tone as heavy as Libby’s heart. “We need to go.”
Nearly gasping for air, Libby darted into the closest room until the men passed by, their laughter echoing in the hall. She sagged against the door with a hand to her mouth, her body as shaken as the marriage she had hoped to have.
“I’m in control here, not Libby, so she will be fine,” Finn had said, but he was wrong.
She would never be fine again.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Maggie peeked into the crowded auditorium with a kink in her brow, wondering where on earth Aunt Libby was. The debate was ready to start, and the room was abuzz with activity, the laughter and salty language more like a saloon than a church basement.
Rising on tiptoe, she scanned the room more thoroughly, but other than a sprinkling of men’s wives here and there and a few saloon girls standing with Dash and Blaze at the back, the room was wall-to-wall men.
Her gaze suddenly connected with Blaze’s, and she immediately froze, the cold look in his eyes the same one he’d worn since she’d broken their courtship off three days ago. She attempted a feeble smile, but he only turned away to talk to one of the saloon girls, his jaw hard as rock.
Maggie sighed, the awful ache in her heart reminding her she could no longer stay at the ranch. It was just as well. The six months were up and the O’Shea’s would be moving back into their new house soon, so Maggie needed to move on too. As far from Blaze Donovan as she could possibly get so she could heal her heart.
But would it be far enough?
Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Maggie spun around, hand to her chest. “Oh my goodness, Aunt Libby, I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Your mother’s waiting out back for us in the rig.”
“You two go on, Maggie,” her aunt said, the red rims of her eyes giving Maggie pause. Libby’s gaze flicked to where Finn was shaking hands with his opponent on stage. “I lost my appetite, sweetheart, so I thought I’d just stay and watch the debate.”
Boom. Boom. Boom. A gavel pounded as Maggie tucked an arm to Aunt Libby’s waist. “Are you all right?” she whispered, giving her aunt a light squeeze.
Her aunt offered a sideways smile that wavered a bit too much for Maggie’s liking. “No, darling, but we can talk later, all right?”
Applause drew their attention back to the stage where Editor Milo Parks was welcoming everyone and introducing the two candidates. “And finally, I would like to thank Father Murray for the use of St. Mary’s auditorium for what I believe is a vital event in the history of our great city.” More cheers and foot-stomping resounded as Milo explained the format and rules for the debate.
“But where are you going to sit?” Maggie studied the room where every seat was taken, along with any standing room as groups of rowdy men lined the walls.
Libby nodded to a side back door. “I plan to listen in the hallway with the door cocked. I found a crate in the closet I can sit on,” she said with a pat of Maggie’s arm, “so you and my mother go and have a good time.”
“But we can’t leave you here all alone!” Maggie clutched her aunt’s hand before she could get away, suddenly losing her appetite as well.
Aunt Libby smiled and waved a hand toward the crowd, but there was no joy in her face. “I’m not alone, Maggie. I’m here with hundreds of mules who only want to silence a woman’s voice, but I don’t intend to let them.”
“Tonight’s debate will be a town-hall format,” Milo said from the stage, “in which the audience will have the opportunity to pose questions to the candidates following individual addresses by both. Mr. Templeton will have five minutes to speak first, followed by Mr. McShane, and we ask you to hold your applause to the end of each candidate’s speech. Shall we begin?” Motioning George Templeton to the podium, Milo smiled and shook his hand.
“Yes, let’s,” Aunt Libby said before depositing a kiss to Maggie’s cheek. “Hurry on, darling; I’ll be there as soon as I’m done.”
&n
bsp; “Oh no, I’m not going anywhere without you, Aunt Libby, and I’m pretty sure Maeve will feel the same. So, you just go and set up two more crates in the hall, and we’ll be there shortly.”
“Maggie, please, you don’t have to—”
But Maggie was already on her way, worried sick about what Aunt Libby might do. Explaining the situation to Maeve, both agreed that Libby needed company, so the three of them perched on crates in the hall with the door ajar while Finn’s opponent spoke first.
Considerably older than Finn, George Templeton was a cunning and politically savvy banker who, according to Aunt Libby, was not above spreading rumors to discredit his opponents. And, apparently, he had done just that in the last week according to Finn, cutting his lead with a rumor Finn wouldn’t share with her or Aunt Libby.
But it didn’t take long to discover what it was.
“During the seventies,” Templeton boomed, “Virginia City was heralded as the most important city between Denver and San Francisco. As one of the oldest settlements in the great state of Nevada, we were hailed as the richest city in the nation.” He paused to survey the audience, his silver hair gleaming in the light like the ambition in his eyes. “But no more. In the last ten years, we’ve seen a decline in our prosperity, a decline in our civil importance, and a decline in our traditions. Traditions that made our city great but which some”—he cast a smug look in Finn’s direction—“would now like to abandon for the sake of the minority.”
Dissent rumbled through the crowd as Templeton slammed a fist to the podium. “This great city was built on the backs of miners, railroad workers, and businessmen like myself, and I say it’s time we return to that grand era. An era when real men ruled with a silver fist, silencing those who would like to steal our voice.”
Most of the room shot up with thunderous whoops and whistles and stamping of feet. Maggie’s cheeks grew warm, painfully aware that she, Aunt Libby, Maeve, and likely a small scattering of other females, were some of the few people who didn’t agree.
When Finn took the podium, all three women watched through a wide crack of the door as murmurs and mumbling still thrummed beneath the applause. The tension in the room was as tight as Finn’s smile, and with a deep clear of his throat, the man whom Maggie had come to respect more than any other finally addressed the crowd.
Before Aunt Libby had made amends with her husband, she’d claimed Finn could charm fleas off a dog. Listening to the rumblings of the crowd, Maggie prayed he could do the same with men who spit chaw and had whiskey on their breath.
“It would seem my opponent here believes we should look back,” Finn said with a serious scan of the crowd, “but those who are mired in the past, have no vision for the future. A future that I believe should not only embrace the heritage of our past, but seek out the benefits of a grand future in step with a great nation that is doing the same.”
Clutching Libby’s hand in a white-knuckled grasp, Maggie could barely breathe, the air in her throat shallow and unsteady through most of Finn’s speech. But when he made his final statement, she was certain her lungs stopped altogether when both she and Libby gasped.
“And so, in summation,” he said with a sober search of the room, “I want to assure the constituency of Virginia City that first and foremost, my allegiance lies with every man in this city, and that as your mayor, my voice will be governed by your voice in all issues critical to you and our great municipality. Thank you.”
The room exploded in ovation as everyone shot to their feet, leaving Maggie, Libby, and Maeve sitting like statues in the hall. Hand still clasped in her aunt’s, Aunt Libby’s grip was as hard as stone and just as cold.
Not unlike, no doubt, the boulder Finn’s words had sent plunging into Aunt Libby’s gut. Maggie snuck a peek at her aunt out of the corner of her eye, alarmed at the pallor of Libby’s skin and the iron thrust of her jaw as she stared at the stage. Never had she seen a more passionate woman on behalf of women’s rights than her aunt, and she was certain the nerve quivering in Libby’s jaw did not fare well for her candidate of choice.
Maggie swallowed a knot of nerves.
Or “former” candidate of choice, if the crush of Libby’s hand meant what Maggie feared.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Milo settled the crowd with a warning bang of the gavel once again while the air remained as charged as the vibrations of his mallet. “A hearty thanks to both of our candidates for their eloquent words, and now we will hear from the audience. If you wish to ask a question, please raise your hand, and if you are called, please state to whom you wish to address your question or comment.”
Maggie’s stomach plunged when her aunt pushed through the half-open door, her hand shooting up like Milo’s gavel, poised to produce an even louder noise. But her worries were unfounded when Milo bypassed Libby over and over, calling on man after man to pose their questions despite Libby waving her hand.
When Milo concluded the audience-participation phase of the debate with a crack of his gavel, Maggie felt her chest slowly deflate in relief. It was no secret Aunt Libby had a hair-trigger temper, especially when it came to women’s rights, so Finn had obviously had the foresight to have Milo monitor all questions. The last thing Finn or Libby needed was a free-for-all shouting match that could destroy both their relationship and his career. Sucking in a deep draw of air, Maggie slowly released it again …
Until Libby snatched it away with a loud voice that siphoned all blood from her face.
And Finn’s.
“Excuse me, Mr. Parks,” her aunt said from the back of the room, “but I have a question for Candidate McShane, if I may.”
Flushing as red as Finn was pale, Milo offered a smile that was more of a grimace. “Sorry, Miss O’Shea, but we can only allow a limited number of questions, and I’m afraid our time is spent.”
Templeton gave a gruff clear of his throat, obviously trying to stifle a grin with a cough to his fist. “I certainly don’t mind staying a few minutes longer if Mr. McShane doesn’t. After all, who better to reveal the true heart of a man than the woman he plans to marry?”
Finn’s gaze collided with Maggie’s as she stood beside her aunt, shouts of assent ricocheting all over the room. His eyes burned into hers as he gave a slight shake of his head, begging her intervention.
Maggie clutched a palm to Libby’s arm, a plea in her voice as she leaned to whisper in her aunt’s ear. “Aunt Libby, please, let’s leave now before trouble breaks out.”
“I’m afraid it already has, darling,” Libby said with a stiff pat of Maggie’s hand, the firm clamp of her jaw not boding well for one of the candidates on stage. Pulling her arm from Maggie’s hold, she jutted her chin with a gaze as thin as the tight press of her lips. “And I’m afraid it’s wearing a red hat.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Blue blistering blazes—I’m dead. In the space of a single heartbeat, Finn was sure his collar shrank two sizes, pert near choking the air from his throat. The sight of Miss Liberty standing proud and tall in the back of the room like her namesake in New York turned his body to stone. He stared at his wife through a gaze as unblinking as any statue.
God help me.
Finn glanced from Maggie’s face to the back of Milo’s head, his best friend’s neck so scarlet, he was evidently having breathing problems too. “I am truly sorry, Miss O’Shea,” Milo said in a stern voice that had once put Libby in her place when she was in his employ years ago, “but the audience questions are—”
“Excuse me, Mr. McShane,” Libby interrupted in a loud voice as she walked down the aisle, her green-eyed gaze scorching a hole in Finn’s composure, “but did you or did you not promise to support women’s rights?”
A hush fell over the room as all eyes drilled into Finn while he upended his glass of water, the one on the table beside him that he hadn’t touched until now. Carefully setting the empty glass down, he cleared his throat with a firm square of shoulders, a sense of calm suddenly flowing into his mind like the water
had flowed into his body.
All at once the years fell away, and he was seventeen-year-old Griffin McShane once again, going head-to-head with fourteen-year-old Liberty Margaret O’Shea, the prettiest and smartest darn girl in the county.
And the most stubborn.
Finn had been the bane of her existence, taunting, teasing, and besting her in every school contest they had, never letting her know just how much she scattered his pulse. It had been sweet vindication back then, disarming, diffusing, and defeating her with his easy smile, confident air, and that maddening patience that had always driven her right up the wall.
Just like she did to him.
He managed a tight smile as he casually moved toward the podium, giving Milo a nod to let him know all would be well. True, it wasn’t a spelling bee or science fair they battled in tonight, but Liberty Margaret O’Shea McShane was going to lose all the same.
Posturing loosely folded arms on the podium, he met her steely gaze with a twinkling one of his own, blood pumping through his veins at the thrill of sparring with the little brat once again. He gave her a wink that blasted her cheeks with a blush pert near darker than her hat, unleashing snickers and titters all throughout the room. “Do you mind repeating the question please, Miss O’Shea? I’m not sure I heard it correctly.”
Her chin lashed up another full inch while her tone could have been dipped in acid. “I said,” she reiterated curtly, “did you or did you not promise me to support women’s rights?”
Finn idly scratched the back of his neck, face in a scrunch as he glimpsed John Piper’s and Senator Jones’s ashen faces. There was no way he could win if he gave Libby an honest answer or if he attempted to placate her and usher her out, not from the wildfire he saw in her eyes.
So, he opted to give the rowdies in the room a show instead. “Well, you know I’m not all that sure, ma’am.” He surveyed the audience with a lazy smile, slipping them a knowing wink. “A man can promise a whole lot of things in the heat of passion.”
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