For Love of Liberty

by Julie Lessman

  He blinked, the shock in his eyes darkening from hurt into anger. A tic flickered in his cheek as he slowly removed her finger, his manner deadly calm. “Then I guess I best be on my way,” he said quietly, leaving a hole in Liberty’s chest when he turned and walked away.

  “You do that,” she shouted, not one bit concerned there were still people milling about. “You go on back to Jo Beth and her daddy’s money so you can ruin her life like you just ruined mine.”

  She slapped at the tears webbing her lashes, wondering why she felt so darn guilty.

  “Hey, Libs, where’s Finn going in such an all-fire hurry?”

  She turned on Milo Parks like a desert dust storm, ready to spew on Finn’s best friend like she just had on Finn. Eyes weighting closed, she forced herself to calm down, hand pressed to her stomach to keep from railing on her boss. “I don’t know and I don’t care,” she whispered, as furious over the tears blurring her eyes as she was at Finn.

  Cocking a hip, Milo nudged his hat up. “Well, you should, because he sure in the devil cares about you.”

  “Ha!” She clutched her arms to her waist, thrusting her chin to keep it from trembling. “Finn McShane only cares about two things, Milo Parks, and that’s his almighty bank account and breaking women’s hearts.”

  “That so?” Milo matched her stance with a loose fold of arms. “Then suppose you tell me why he didn’t win the contest?”

  Her jaw notched up several degrees. “The women of this town finally wised up?”

  “Nope.” Milo scratched the back of his head, gaze glued to hers. “He withdrew.”

  She blinked, then blinked again. “I don’t believe it. That prize money would go a long way in helping to pay off his almighty loan.” She flung an arm towards the V&T steam engine, nose scrunched as if she could still smell that blasted smoke. “He went to all that trouble to dazzle his admirers, so why in blue blazes would he withdraw?”

  “I don’t know—maybe ’cause he cares more for some hot-headed woman than he does the money? You tell me.”

  “Prairie Poop!” she shouted, not giving a flip who heard her swear. “Maybe you should ask the woman he plans to marry.”

  Milo leaned in with a hard gleam in his eyes, hands on his hips. “I-am.”

  Liberty swallowed hard, hands shaking as she balled them at her sides. “What are you talking about, Milo? He took Jo Beth home from the dance last night, right after he had the nerve to kiss me, when he was planning to propose to her all along.”

  Milo bent in, practically nose to nose. “Says-who?”

  Libby thrust a thumbnail to her mouth, chewing a sliver off before spitting it back out. “Jo Beth, of course. I overheard her tell Bettie that”—Libby plastered a hand over her heart with a toss of her head, mimicking Jo Beth with an exaggerated bat of her eyes—“‘I think that gorgeous man is finally going to propose.’” Another splinter of nail sailed through the air

  Milo pinched the bridge of his nose, smile flat and tone dry. “Of course.”

  “Well, he took her home last night, didn’t he?” Liberty countered with a purse of her lips, “and Nellie Sue told Kristi Lemp that Finn came in to buy Jo Beth a wedding ring just two weeks ago.” Liberty crossed her arms with great drama, her anger helping to temper some of her hurt. “So how do you answer that?”

  Milo gave a slow nod. “Yes, he took Jo Beth home last night because it was her birthday and he promised to celebrate it with her and her family months ago.”

  Pthu! Another shred of nail shot into the air. “Well, smarty-pants, how do you explain the wedding ring, then?” she challenged, staunch in her efforts to keep any and all tears at bay.

  Milo shook his head, lips skewed in disbelief. “You know, Liberty, you may have been valedictorian at Vassar, but when it comes to love, you can be pretty darn stupid.” He angled in, gaze sharp as he gave full vent to a scowl. “He bought a ring all right, Miss O’Shea, but not for Jo Beth.”

  A cold chill chased all blood from her face. She gulped. “F-for who, then?”

  “For you, you mule-headed woman. Blue blazes, Liberty—I didn’t even know the man liked you, much less planned to marry you! May as well whopped me with a dad-burned two-ton press—couldn’t have stunned me more. Told me just this morning he planned to propose after he paid off his loan, which if Jo Beth finds out he broke it off with her this morning to take up with you, may take a whole lot longer than he hoped.”

  An odd mix of joy and grief rolled in her stomach. “He … he broke it off with Jo Beth?”

  Milo’s lips took a twist. “Don’t know if they taught you this in that fancy school of yours, Libs, but bigamy is frowned upon in these here parts.”

  Liberty cupped hands to her mouth, heart suddenly light as air. “He wasn’t lying to me,

  then …”

  “Uh, no, because contrary to your long-held beliefs, the man is rather partial to the truth.”

  The truth. Liberty gasped. “Oh, no!” She peered up at Milo with frantic eyes. “I said awful things to him, Milo, hateful things about both him and his father.”

  A low groan slipped from Milo’s lips. “Sweet soul-saving mercy, Liberty, the man has spent his entire life trying to be everything his father wasn’t, desperate to erase the damage done to both his family and his name. And you throw it all in his face?”

  “I … I didn’t know …” she whispered, heart aching over the damage she’d done.

  “Well you do now, woman, so you need to fix it. But I’m warning you—it won’t be easy. I’ve been Finn’s best friend since we’ve been crawling in cow pastures, and the one time I compared him to his old man, he didn’t talk to me for nigh on three months.”

  “But he finally did, right?” Liberty cast him a hopeful look.

  Milo turned away to tunnel fingers through his hair, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Yeah, he finally did, but not without a whole lot of fancy finagling, I can tell you that.”

  A slow grin eased across Liberty’s face. “I can finagle,” she said with a chew of her lip, “and I smell a whole lot better than you.”

  His laughter rang out as he looped an arm to her shoulders. “That you do, Libs, and you can light a fire under that boy faster than anybody I’ve ever seen. But I’ll tell you what, Miss O’Shea, when you two finally do get together?” He gave her a wink while he ushered her to the barn, shaking his head along the way. “It’ll be Fourth of July every bloomin’ day of the year.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Finn—you’re early!” Mrs. Poppy pushed the screen open, her smile as wide as the door she held, inviting him into a house that smelled like cinnamon sticks and lemons. Despite his frustrated mood, his mouth instantly watered for a slice of her prize-winning cake. Her pink cheeks puffed with pleasure as she waved him in, the signature silver topknot bouncing as she bustled down the hall. “Are the fireworks over already?”

  They are for me. He forced a smile as she glanced his way, determined to curtail his nasty mood with the two people in his life who deserved it the least. “Naw, they just started, lighting up that new town square like high noon, so I imagine it’ll be a while.” He peered into the parlour as he followed her, Stetson in hand. “Is the pastor around?”

  Her usual sparkle dimmed as she led him into the cozy kitchen where her table was all dressed up with her best lace tablecloth and a pitcher of poppies. Two candles flickered in anticipation of company, along with her antique oil lamp, which due to the crimp in her brow, now glowed far more than its hostess. “Why, yes, of course, Finn. I just sent him out to the garden to fetch some peppermint for our tea.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Is something … wrong?”

  Everything. “No, ma’am, nothing to fret about. I’m just looking for a piece of advice from both you and the pastor.”

  “I see.” It was clear from the gentle slope of silver brows that she did see, most likely, reading his mind as if she were blood. And they may as well be. Pastor Poppy had stepped in as a f
ather figure when Finn’s own father had abandoned him, teaching him how to be the man he so wanted to be. No telling where he’d be today without the Poppys’ influence and rock-solid faith. A faith that had not only saved his sorry soul, but his life as well, guiding him, teaching him.

  Redeeming him.

  And literally saving him from a fate worse than death.

  Becoming my father’s son.

  Finn paused to put a hand to his eyes. The pain of Libby’s attack was still brutally fresh, despite the half cord of wood he split on his land in record time during the potluck and talent show. Those had been Libby’s responsibilities for the festival, so he knew he wouldn’t be missed.

  Especially by her.

  But every crack of the ax had splintered the wood like her words had splintered his soul, convincing him that no matter how much he wanted her, they were no good for each other. She was a bolt of lightening to the solid and secure timber of his life, a life he had built from the ground up after his father had destroyed both his hope and his family. Yes, she electrified him with her passion and purpose like no other woman ever had. But somehow she always left smoldering ruins in her wake, singeing his temper like no one else ever could.

  Like tonight.

  Comparing him to his father had unleashed a fury so strong, his first thought was to douse his temper with that 80-proof rotgut they served at the Brass Rail. He unleashed a grunt. Some called it “coffin varnish,” and they weren’t far wrong, but Finn hadn’t had an urge to partake for over two years now since the Poppys had given him a reason not to. That is, until the woman whose love and respect he craved kicked him in the gut.

  “You are nothing but a low-down, no-good womanizing varmint just like your father, Finn McShane, cheating and stealing from innocent women before you leave them high and dry.”

  Talk about coffin varnish!

  “Finn.”

  He glanced up, startled that he’d obviously drifted off given the steaming cup Mrs. Poppy had set at his usual place at the table. She patted the back of his chair with a tender look. “You sit right here with a cup of my special poppy-seed tea—it’ll calm you, son. I’ll go get Horace, all right?” She squeezed his shoulder when he sat down, her gentle touch as comforting as her tea.

  How many cups had he consumed right here at this table over the last few years, he wondered, soothing his body as much as the Poppys’ faith had soothed his soul. Too many to count, he knew, and yet never was there a more critical time than tonight.

  “Finn, my boy!” Pastor Poppy held the door for his wife when they entered the kitchen a few moments later, the smile on his face unable to mask the concern in his eyes. “We weren’t expecting you and Liberty for another hour or so.”

  Finn rose and nodded. “Yes, sir, but I’m in need of some advice from the two smartest people I know, so I hope you don’t mind that I came early?”

  “Oh, pish-posh!” Mrs. Poppy said with a wave of her hand, hurrying over to pour cups of tea for the pastor and herself. “You are welcome here anytime, any day, Griffin McShane, and well you know it. Now, sit and tell us what’s put that frown on your face?”

  Finn took a sip of his tea and set it back down, peering up beneath beetled brows. “It’s Liberty.”

  “Why, of course it is, you sweet boy,” Mrs. Poppy said with a gentle pat on his back. “You’re in love with her, for heaven’s sake, so naturally you’re going to be out of sorts until you up and marry the girl.”

  She may as well have knocked him back in the chair—he gaped all the same. “Holy thunder, ma’am, sometimes I think you are out-and-out clairvoyant, how you see things nobody else can see.”

  Her lips pursed in a knowing smile. “You mean like the disdain you pretend to have for Liberty when all the time you’re lovesick to the core?” She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Griffin McShane, so you can’t fool me. I see straight through your bickering to how much you care for the girl, for heaven’s sake.”

  “That’s just it, ma’am,” he said with another quick gulp of tea, “I’m not so sure it’s ‘for heaven’s sake.’”

  Pastor Poppy leaned in with a squint. “Why do you say that, Finn? You were as high as a hog in a halo after you and I talked privately this morning, determined to end it with Jo Beth no matter the risk to you or your loan.”

  Finn nodded slowly. “Yes, sir, I was, and I took it to heart when you said ‘true liberty is doing the right thing,’ even planning to propose to Liberty tonight with the rings that I bought.”

  The old man nodded slowly, a faint smile shadowing his lips. “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.”

  “And free to marry the right woman,” Mrs. Poppy added, the sparkle back in her eyes.

  Finn cuffed the back of his neck, gaze sober. “Yes, ma’am, but right at this moment, I’m not so sure Libby is the right woman, least not after the awful things she said to me this morning.”

  “All couples say awful things when they’re angry, isn’t that so, Horace?”

  Mr. Poppy studied Finn with a keen eye. “Yes, yes that’s true, Clara.” His gaze sharpened. “But I suspect this may go deeper than a few angry words, eh, Finn?”

  Finn expelled a weary sigh. “Yes, sir, it does, at least for me. You see Liberty said some pretty hateful things to me this morning, and I have no earthly reason why. Wouldn’t explain, just fired me up hotter than those red-hot Roman candles shooting up out of town square.” He kneaded the bridge of his nose with another heavy expulsion of air. “Haven’t lost my temper like that in a long, long while.” A shudder rippled through him. “Actually thought about going to the Brass Rail if you can believe that, which made me feel so low, so worthless, so much like …” His voice tapered off as muscles constricted in his throat.

  “Your pa?” The compassion in Pastor Poppy’s voice caused moisture to sting at the back of Finn’s lids.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly, shocked at just how much the thought scared the living daylights out of him. That Liberty could trigger that.

  Which meant, suddenly she scared the daylights out of him too.

  “What if I’m no good for her?” He glanced up, a dull ache in his chest as he stared at the pastor. “What if she’s no good for me? I mean nobody lights my temper up like that woman, and yet no one lights my life up like her either. But when she said what she did, compared me to my pa like that, it just got me to thinking, you know? About how we’re always butting heads about one thing or another and I … I just don’t know, Pastor.” He trailed into a vacant stare. “I don’t know if my love is strong enough to handle that.”

  “You’re afraid,” Pastor Poppy confirmed softly.

  Finn’s gaze jerked back, eyes wide. “You’re darn right I am, sir. Scared silly if you want to know, that we’ll wind up in a marriage where we end up hating each other.”

  “Just like your folks.” Mrs. Poppy’s quiet statement met its mark, piercing Finn’s heart with a fear he’d never acknowledged before.

  “Yeah,” he whispered, eyes lagging into another ten-mile stare. “Just like them.”

  “You know, Finn …” The pastor paused. “Perfect love casts out fear.”

  Finn cut loose with a grunt. “Yeah, well, our love is anything but perfect, sir.” He upended his tea.

  “No … but God’s love is, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.”

  Finn’s brows jabbed low. “Pardon me, sir, but is that an oxymoron?”

  Pastor Poppy laughed. “Not really,” he said with a pensive scratch at the nape of his neck. “Although I’m sure it sounds like it right about now.” He refocused on Finn with a probing stare. “It just means you’re a man of God now, Finn, and not in this alone anymore. You have God’s Spirit, His precepts, and His grace to help you do the right thing.” His mouth quirked. “Even when you do the wrong thing like lose your temper.”

  Finn stared, the truth of God’s Word warming his spirit like Mr
s. Poppy’s tea warmed his soul. “True liberty,” he whispered, the barest spark of hope flickering in his chest.

  “Yep.” Pastor Poppy raised his cup in a toast. “The kind that helps you love a human being no matter their frailties or your own.”

  “Or a hot-tempered woman,” Mrs. Poppy said with a giggle.

  “You mean a hot-tempered little brat.” Finn slid the old woman a sliver of a smile.

  “Whom you have forgiven, yes?” Pastor Poppy’s brow angled high.

  “Not yet, but I will.” Finn’s mouth took a slant. “Eventually.” He issued a grunt. “Although I won’t make it easy for her, sir, I can promise you that. Liberty O’Shea needs to learn to mind her mouth and her temper, and I’m just the man to teach her.” Huffing out a noisy sigh, he slashed his fingers through his hair. “Pardon my irritation, Pastor, but right now I’m still a little gun-shy as far as that woman is concerned.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Pastor Poppy said with a thoughtful nod. “In fact, given your concerns, it might be wise to slow the entire process down. You know, wait until you’ve paid off that loan before you make a decision about courting, like you originally planned to do.”

  The edge of Finn’s mouth kicked up. “Which might be a lot longer than I thought given the lemonade Jo Beth threw in my face.”

  “Oh my, I bet that put both of you in a sour mood,” Mrs. Poppy said with a giggle.

  Pastor Poppy smiled as he stirred more sugar into his tea. “No doubt about that, Clara. But you know what I mean, Finn—take time to get to know Liberty a little better. Then let God make the decision for you.”

  Finn ducked his head, eyes in a squint. “Pardon me?”

  The pastor chuckled. “I mean we’ll pray about it, of course, but then let nature take its course”—he winked—“and God.”

  Finn’s curious gaze flicked from Pastor Poppy to his wife and back. “‘Nature’ taking its course I can understand, sir, but I’m not exactly sure how that will help me know what God wants me to do.”