For Love of Liberty (Silver Lining Ranch Series Book 1)

by Julie Lessman

  A grin pulled at her lips. “You know, this could actually be fun—getting paid to chair the festival. I mean, I’ve always loved it—the booths, the baking contest, the dance, the parade.”

  “And don’t forget the fireworks,” Milo said with a smile, folding her signed contract and tucking it in his pocket.

  Liberty clasped her hands together, suddenly as giddy as a toddler staring at spider flashes of fire in a dark and smoky sky. “Oh, yes, the fireworks,” she breathed, heart near bursting like the gunpowder rockets that would spiral to the stars. “There are few things I love more than fireworks.”

  A lazy grin tipped Milo’s mouth as he handed her several more sheets. “That’s good. Here’s the lead on a story I’d like you to tackle, along with the festival notes Viola typed up for this year and last. You know, just to give you ideas before the meeting at City Hall tonight at seven.”

  Liberty jumped to her feet and took the sheets before extending her hand across the desk. “Thank you so much, Mr. Parks, for entrusting me with such an exciting project.”

  Milo pumped her hand with gusto, the glimmer in his eye no doubt matching the sparkle in her own. “My pleasure, Liberty—I think you’re the perfect person for the job, especially given your love of fireworks.”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” she agreed with matched enthusiasm, “fireworks are one of my most favorite things in the whole, wide world.”

  “That’s real good to hear,” he said with a broad grin that was instantly followed by a wink. “’Cause I guarantee you, Miss O’Shea—you’re going to see plenty.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Whoa, boy.” Finn slowed his horse’s brisk gait as they neared City Hall, his painted palomino obviously intent on barreling through town to Finn’s acreage instead. Couldn’t blame him, though—Finn spent every free moment working on his land, clearing trees or building his cabin. Reining Lightning in, he slid off the saddle and tied him to the post outside of City Hall, a small but impressive brick building at the edge of town where all city business was conducted. Lightning nickered as light peeked out of a bank of windows on either side, illuminating scrubby-looking bushes and a wagon wheel crawling with trumpet vine.

  With a click of his tongue, Finn fished two apple cores from his pocket and fed it to his best buddy, the remains of a rushed dinner after working his land for several hours. Returning home at dusk, he’d barely had time for a quick washup and shave before bolting out again, stomach rumbling over the smell of pot roast his mother had made. “Save me a plate,” he’d said on his way out the door, bussing his mother’s cheek along with his sister’s. Following a quick tousle of both his little brothers’ shaggy hair, he’d grabbed two apples on the way. “And don’t wait up—Milo and I have a lot of planning to do after the meeting.”

  Looking for more handouts, Lightning nudged Finn’s chambray shirt, which was thankfully free of the awful tie he was forced to wear during the day as a representative of the V&T. He was a simple man with simple tastes, one who preferred faded denim and dusty cowhide boots to fancy suits and spit-polished shoes. But he’d learned to bite the bullet and dress the part of a dandy if he wanted to own his land free and clear sooner rather than later. During the day, that is. The nights were all his to dress and live as he liked, chipping away at all that stood in the path of his dream to own the largest cattle spread in Nevada.

  “Don’t worry, little buddy,” he said softly, as much to himself as the fawn-and-white-colored animal he’d trained from a colt, “patience is a silver mine all its own, so there’s more treats ahead.” With one final scratch behind Lightning’s ear, Finn slowly mounted the wooden steps to the fancy double doors the mayor’s wife just had to have. Passing a hand through his damp hair, he reached for the brass knob, lips tipping in a smile at the sound of Miss Willoughby’s good-natured bickering with Deputy Poke.

  The squabbling filtered down a narrow hall from the back of the building, their long-standing feud always reminding him of a married couple. He grinned and shook his head as he made his way to the public meeting room. Leroy Poke needed to wake up and court the schoolteacher good and proper, even if it meant the end of her teaching career.

  “Well, it’s about bloomin’ time one of the co-chairs showed up,” Harvey Sullivan groused, the barrel-chested sawmill owner who was always thirty minutes early everywhere he went. “Thought I had the wrong blasted night.”

  “Oh, frog spit, Harvey Sullivan,” Mrs. Poppy said with a heft of a chubby chin, silver and snow-white hair piled high in a donut bun as lopsided as her sweet smile. Married to Pastor Horace Poppy for over fifty years, Clara Poppy was as eccentric—and outspoken—as they came, but a mainstay in Virginia City. And one of the few who could put “Sully” in his place. Her knitting needles were flying, clacking right along with Harvey’s ill-fitting dentures, a clicking habit old Harv had whenever he was impatient. Which was pretty much all of the time.

  “Meetings start at eight,” she said, “and Griffin is ten minutes early, so just button up, young man.” Her blue eyes sparkled as she flashed a bright smile at Finn, her moon face so full, there was nary a wrinkle despite her seventy-five years. “Evenin’ Griffin. You got that land cleared yet?” she said with a sassy wink. “Kinda hankerin’ for a wedding, young man, so it may as well be you.” A twinkle lit her rheumy blue eyes as she peeked up from her knitting. “Been praying real hard one of you young bucks would get a move on and settle down.”

  Finn laughed, the sound bouncing off the plastered walls along with several male chuckles, including Pastor Poppy’s, who patted his wife’s arm. “Better run for your life, son. When Mrs. Poppy puts her mind to prayer, there’s no stopping her or the Almighty.”

  Tossing his Stetson on the empty seat beside him, Finn shifted one of the chairs in the first row and straddled it, grinning ear to ear. “That’s okay, Pastor. Gotta feeling those prayers are gonna be answered by old Milo soon enough.”

  “Well, pop another pearl onto St. Peter’s Gate,” Mrs. Poppy said with a girlish giggle, “he did seem to be awfully cozy with Bettie Boswell at the ice cream social, as I recall.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Finn said with a devious smile, figuring his best friend deserved a little payback after siccing Liberty O’Shea on him last week. He measured a thin strip of air with forefinger and thumb. “The boy’s this close to popping the question, so you best focus all those prayers on him.”

  Emitting a tiny squeal, Miss Willoughby palmed her hands in prayer mode, brown eyes dancing as much as Mrs. Poppy’s. “Oh, that’s so exciting,” she said with a dreamy look. “Nothing makes me happier than a wedding!”

  “Mmm … hear that, Deputy Poke?” Mrs. Poppy turned her sights on the poor deputy, whose freckled face turned redder than the field of poppies in the old woman’s backyard. She jiggled silver brows. “Wilhelmina loves weddings …”

  The slam of the front door saved poor Miss Willoughby, whose deep blush bypassed Deputy Poke’s by several shades, the timely arrival of more meeting attendees a welcome diversion. Virginia City’s mayor burst into the room with all the force of a 12-pound Howitzer. His deep voice boomed as puffs of smoke billowed from a Cuban cigar while his secretary and an entourage of others followed close behind. Although short in stature, Mayor Charlie Tuttle cut a fine, if somewhat bulky, figure in a single-breasted frock coat and silk vest.

  Marching right up to a table with a makeshift podium and two chairs at the front of the room, he glanced at his pocket watch before pounding his gavel. “Let’s start this meeting, shall we?” He peered at the group of people occupying the first two rows, eyes in a squint. “Where’s your co-chair, Finn?”

  Finn righted his chair to face the front with the others and sat, leg cocked on his knee and hands latched behind his neck. “Said he might be detained a few minutes, Mayor. Something about a proposal he was putting together for J.T., or some such nonsense.”

  Mrs. Poppy’s chuckle was rich and low. “You sure it wasn’t for Miss Boswell?”
>
  Finn gave her a wink. “Could be.”

  Slam! Several pair of footsteps clattered down the hallway before Milo rushed in with a satchel over his shoulder and a briefcase in his hand. “My apologies, Mayor, but J.T. was on one of his jaw benders, which is why both of us are late.”

  Both of us? Finn’s eyes narrowed at the swish and peek of a skirt behind Milo’s broad frame, and his blood instantly ran cold. Oh, no, he wouldn’t …

  “Why, good evening, Liberty,” Mrs. Poppy said with a pleased lift of brows. Her knitting needles paused for the very first time as she glowed at Liberty O’Shea with a smile brighter than the blasted candles in the chandelier overhead. “I didn’t know you were on the planning committee.”

  Liberty nodded her hellos to everyone while Finn forced himself to breathe. She awarded Mrs. Poppy with a hug and her most affectionate smile. “Mrs. Poppy! So good to see you again, and yes, Mr. Parks hired me at the Enterprise, so he’s solicited my help for the festival.”

  While Liberty chattered on with Mrs. Poppy and Miss Willoughby, Finn shot Milo a look that should have singed his friend’s ears, but Milo only grinned and plopped down in the seat beside him. “Evenin’, Finn.”

  “Don’t evenin’ me, Parks. What the devil is she doing here?” he hissed under his breath.

  “She’s assisting me, old buddy, and you.”

  Finn stifled a grunt. “I don’t want her anywhere near me, much less assisting me, you clown, and you know that.” He fought off a shiver, as much from her proximity as the notion of dealing with the woman’s prickly nature.

  Bam! Bam! Bam! “Looks like everyone’s here,” the mayor said with a noisy bang of his gavel, “so let’s get this train on the tracks and chugging full speed ahead, eh, Finn?” He chuckled, obviously amused by his attempt at humor, which Finn didn’t share in the least. “But before I introduce our co-chairs, let me say that as the richest city in America, we have an obligation to put on a Fourth of July celebration that will blow the socks off everyone in town.”

  He gave the audience a wink. “Not to mention the government dignitaries who will be in attendance and the city’s esteemed investors from our sister city, San Francisco. That said, this year I’m looking for bigger and better to celebrate the kickoff into Virginia City’s tenth year as a city. I want this year’s charity fundraiser to beat all those we’ve had in the past, so let’s not be shy with suggestions, all right?” He homed in on Milo. “I trust you have last year’s notes and records of expenses and profits?”

  Milo hefted the saddlebag in the air. “Yes, sir, right here. Also, my assistant, Liberty O’Shea, was kind enough to put together a preliminary schedule of events, just as a starting point, of course, with copies for everyone.”

  “Excellent, Milo, and a nod of appreciation to Liberty for pitching in.”

  A pretty blush dusted Liberty’s cheeks as she offered a nervous smile, rising to hand out a typed schedule to each person in the room. She ended with Finn, whose paper somehow slipped from her hand to land on the floor. “Whoops … sorry, Mr. McShane,” she said in an innocent tone that he seriously doubted.

  I’ll just bet you are. Finn managed a stiff smile as he retrieved his copy.

  “I’d like to thank our two co-chairs Milo Parks and Finn McShane for volunteering so much of their time to this worthy effort. And to Pastor and Mrs. Poppy for allowing us to use their farm as our venue. Then, of course, to Harvey Sullivan for providing all the lumber needed for booth and float construction, and to my own secretary, Miss Mimi Baker, for recording the minutes of tonight’s meeting. And finally, I applaud each of you fine citizens for becoming involved in what I hope will be the highlight of our year. Without further ado, I turn the floor over to our co-chairs to get the ball rolling.” The mayor moved to tap the back of both Finn’s and Milo’s chairs. “Gentlemen, if you’ll take over center stage, Mr. Parks can start us off.”

  As the numbers man, Milo wasted no time reviewing the details of last year’s festival, the pros, the cons, the expenses, the profits, and how those profits were spent. From there, Finn took over, systematically discussing each item on a detailed meeting list he’d put together earlier in the week. Following a vote on whether to retain, delete, or add to prior activities, he then offered creative suggestions for new fundraisers, sparking a lively debate. Within an hour and a half, budgets were set and committee chairs established, along with a jam-packed July third and fourth two-day agenda. From a talent show, picnic auction, hayride, and baking contest, to a bake sale, horse race, potluck dinner, barn dance, and fireworks, the stage was set for a Fourth of July festival second to none.

  With a quick glance at his checklist to make sure he’d covered every detail, Finn finally tucked it back in his pocket with a satisfied smile. “Well that about covers everything on my list, so anybody have anything to add before we wrap up for the night?”

  “Ahem.” Milo rose with a gruff clear of his throat, avoiding eye contact with Finn. “Actually, the newest member of the Territorial Enterprise, Miss Liberty O’Shea, has some new and pretty exciting ideas she’d like to share, so I’m going to turn my chair over to her.”

  Finn’s body went to ice as Liberty rose with a stack of papers clutched to her chest, her presence at the podium freezing the smile on his face as stiff as sagebrush in a Nevada blizzard.

  “Thank you, everyone, for your time because I know we’re all anxious to go home, but I promise I’ll make it brief.”

  Brief. Smile about to crack, Finn scorched Milo with a mental threat. Like Parks’ life is about to be ...

  “I applaud Mr. McShane for some excellent ideas that I think will provide a very decent start to our fundraising efforts.”

  Decent start? Finn’s gaze swung from lacerating Milo to gaping at the petite woman beside him, who stood with shoulders square and head high like it was one of those blasted spelling bees in which they’d always butted heads.

  “I cannot express just how proud I am of our great city and how honored I am to be on this committee. Not only is Virginia City one of the largest cities in the West, but she is also one of the most important, a beacon of civic leadership and a true trailblazer. I believe a city with that level of power and prominence should have a fundraiser to match, don’t you? With that in mind, I’ve taken the liberty”—she paused to render a shy smile to an audience who seemed rapt with attention—“no pun intended—to put together a proposal that will garner community support well beyond picnic auctions and bake sales, as wonderful as those activities may be.”

  She offered Finn a token nod before she handed out her flyers, returning to the podium to elaborate on each point with the same poise and efficiency she’d always demonstrated in school. Her excitement appeared contagious given the sparkles of interest in everyone’s eyes.

  It was everything Finn could do to keep his jaw from dangling, the litany of truly remarkable ideas bruising his cheeks with a heat that torched both his temper and his pride. From the creation of a festival memorial catalog with ads placed by local merchants, to a “Merchant of the Year” award based on highest donation, the little brat made his own efforts look like child’s play. Her idea of a themed booth contest was sheer genius, where both the public and businesses could promote a cause or product to the residents of Virginia City, visiting dignitaries, and hundreds of visitors from all over the state.

  From distributing flyers to stores all over Nevada, to posting ads in various newspapers across the state and those nearby, she’d covered promotion of the event as well, every jot and tittle with her usual annoying precision. Even Finn had to admit the ideas were nothing short of brilliant. Especially the award for the winning booth, where the winner not only received a cash prize, but won the title of king or queen of the festival as well, with their own float in the parade.

  Oh, and a front-page feature article in the Enterprise to further promote the winner’s own business or cause.

  Finn’s teeth ground tight. And he had no doubt wha
tsoever if Liberty came in first, the V&T would come in last, because she’d surely stir up more grief for both the railroad and for him.

  IF she won …

  Which meant he and the V&T had to make darn sure she didn’t …

  “And finally, I hope I’ve saved the best for last …” She reached into her portfolio for a scroll of paper.

  Finn blinked. Blue blazes, there’s MORE???

  Pausing to inhale deeply, Liberty cast a tentative look around the room, her manner nervous as she clutched the scroll to her chest, teeth tugging at that lush lower lip. “I have no doubt that when this Fourth of July festival fundraiser is over, the memories will live on forever for each and every one of us.” She lifted a hand to touch a finger to her temple with a shy smile. “Up here. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if something more tangible would live on as well? Something we could see with our eyes and cherish with our hearts?”

  Bodice expanding with another intake of air, she slowly unrolled the scroll. Several gasps parted from the ladies’ lips as Liberty held up an exquisite watercolor painting of a modest town square. Comprised of a desert rock and paver courtyard smack dab in front of City Hall, it was simple but impressive. A stately pine tree graced the far center while two smaller Nevada flowering bushes in terra cotta planters flanked a park bench on each side of the square. In the midst of it all a flagpole stood proudly with an American flag furling in the breeze, and Finn’s throat immediately swelled with pride.

  “As you can see from the painting, I propose a modest beginning for a town square to which we can add every year with flowers or trees or even a grandstand for future city functions. With our desert wealth of flagstone rocks and bushes, the cost would be minimal, but the pride and beauty it could bring”—she paused for effect, her voice almost pulsing with excitement—“would be monumental. This year we could shoot our festival fireworks off in the hill beyond, providing an excellent vantage point from which to watch, and we can even decorate the pine at Christmas. This is only my humble suggestion of what the square could include, of course, subject to committee input. But I’ve already spoken to Zeb Miller and his sons, and they’ve offered to build the square at cost beginning immediately if the board approves a plan,” she finished with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.