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

by Julie Lessman

  Until that blasted kiss changed it all …

  “So, Liberty,” Mrs. Poppy said as she poured more tea, a definite smile in her tone, “how are you and Griffin getting along? Still fighting like cats and dogs?”

  Liberty’s face leeched as white as the cream she’d just poured into her tea, gaze skittering from Mrs. Poppy to Finn and back. “Uh, just fine, ma’am,” she lied through her teeth, smile as stiff as the spoon she stirred in her cup.

  “Excellent!” Mrs. Poppy returned the tea kettle to the stove and sat back down, gaze twinkling as much as the dimples in her moon cheeks. “I think you and Griffin make such a lovely pair, dear, that I’m delighted you’re partnering as co-chairs for our committee. After all, who knows?” She took a sip of her tea, humor dancing in her eyes over the rim of her cup. “Maybe it will evolve into a partnership of a more permanent nature.”

  Finn bit back a smile when Liberty started to hack, her china cup rattling back to its saucer in a messy slosh of tea before she pressed a napkin to her mouth.

  Mrs. Poppy commenced to slapping Liberty’s back. “Goodness, dear, are you all right?”

  The scrape of Pastor Poppy’s chair proved to be a timely interruption. “Now, Clara, the young woman will be if you stop prying into her personal life, playing matchmaker again.” He pushed in his chair and carried his plate to the sink. “Finn, now that I’m fat as a tick, how ’bout we walk some of Mrs. Poppy’s fine food off with a trip to the barn to work on the layout?”

  “Yes, sir,” Finn said, standing to push in his own chair. “After a meal like that and three pieces of pie, I’d say that’s a given.”

  Liberty jumped up so quickly, her chair rattled. She immediately began collecting dirty dishes and utensils, completely focused on the task at hand. “Let me do the dishes, Mrs. Poppy, please,” she said, clearly avoiding Finn’s gaze. “You three head on over to the barn, and I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  Mrs. Poppy chuckled as she toddled to the sink, dumping dessert plates into a washtub. She set her teakettle on the far side of the cookstove to slowly warm the dishwater while she tossed an impish look over her shoulder. “Oh heavens, no! Goodness—you and Finn are the heart and soul of this fair, young lady, so your input is absolutely critical. Besides,” she said, snatching a broom from her pantry, “I’ll have plenty of time to clean up after you two leave, so let’s just mosey on over to the barn right now and get to work.” She hooked an arm through Liberty’s to lead her out the back screen door while Finn and Pastor Poppy followed.

  Liberty screeched to a stop on the back porch, cheeks as pink as some of the tea roses blooming in Mrs. Poppy’s garden. “Uh, I think perhaps I should excuse myself to use the necessary first, ma’am, but I’ll join you as soon as I can, all right?” Slipping from the woman’s hold, she darted down the steps and practically sprinted to the Poppys’ outhouse at the far edge of the yard.

  “Goodness, I hope she’s not feeling poorly,” Mrs. Poppy said with a pinch of brows, allowing Finn to usher her down the steps. “That would be awful if my dinner gave her indigestion.”

  Mr. Poppy’s chuckle drifted on summer air perfumed by roses and honeysuckle from his wife’s renowned garden. “I can assure you, my dear, if that poor girl does have indigestion, it wasn’t the dinner that caused it.”

  Finn laughed, so very grateful for these two people who had sown so much love and faith into his life. Breathing in the heady scents of Mrs. Poppy’s garden, he silently thanked God for providing such strong spiritual mentors. Their love and support bloomed as rich and lush as the riot of color and scents from the garden that surrounded their charming house.

  Famous for poppies cultivated from seeds Pastor Poppy brought back from a missionary trip to Asia, the garden was an exotic rainbow of poppies, roses, lavender, and other perennials and herbs. Nearing the peak of their bloom, the poppies offered a loose and lush look to the backyard in varying shades of white, pink, mauve, lavender, and maroon. To Finn, it was a feast for the senses with the heavenly merge of the faint hint of roses, pine, honeysuckle, and mint.

  “Your garden is lovely as usual, Mrs. Poppy,” Finn said with true appreciation, “with what appears to be a bumper crop of poppies this year.”

  Her little-girl giggle drifted in the perfumed air as he ushered her toward the barn, which thanks to Pastor Poppy’s faithful congregation, was one of the largest in the area. “Oh my, yes,” she said with a proud gleam in her eyes, “plenty of poppy seeds for my award-winning cake.” She halted and turned to face Finn dead-on, her smiling eyes suddenly narrowing the slightest bit. “But enough about my garden, Griffin McShane. I’m more interested in yours right now, young man.”

  Finn blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “Your garden, Finn,” she whispered, peeking over her shoulder as if to make sure Liberty wasn’t anywhere around. “Where I suspect your feelings for Liberty are sprouting faster than Jack’s beanstalk in the sky.”

  Finn’s mouth plunked open in shock.

  “And don’t you dare deny you have feelings for that young woman, Griffin McShane, because it’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

  “It is?” Finn slapped a hand to his nose, shocked that anyone could read him that easily when it came to Liberty. His mouth went flat. But then Milo had, so why should it be any surprise that the town’s notorious matchmaker had homed in on his secret, especially a woman who was more like blood?

  “Yes, it is, young man, and frankly, I want to know what you plan to do about it?”

  Cuffing the back of his neck, Finn kicked at a clump in the dirt, suddenly feeling more like fifteen than twenty-five. “Aw, Mrs. Poppy, Liberty and I just flat-out don’t get along. That woman is a flame to my fuse, so it’s never long before one of us gets burned.”

  Raising a finger, Mrs. Poppy leaned in with a no-nonsense squint that always made him sweat. “Fire is a precious commodity, young man, and don’t you forget it. Handle it carefully, and it will keep you warm for the rest of your life.” She shot another glance behind her before peering up with a probing glare, wagging that chunky finger in his face like a gun. “I’ve had this sixth sense about you and Liberty O’Shea ever since she pushed you in the pond out back for calling her ugly. But you didn’t really think that, did you?”

  Heat blasted Finn’s face as he stared at his boots. “No, ma’am, I guess I didn’t, but she was just so much fun to rile.” He looked up with a crooked grin. “A real spitfire, you know?”

  Pastor Poppy chuckled. “Yes, son, I surely do, because that’s exactly how my Clara was before the Lord opened my eyes to the most exciting and wonderful woman I ever met.”

  Hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his denim dungarees, Finn shrugged his shoulders with a melancholy smile. “I wish I could say that was the case with Liberty and me, but the woman outright despises me, sir.”

  Pastor Poppy scratched his ear, head cocked as he studied Finn closely. “Have you prayed about it, son? Because I would have missed the greatest joy I’ve ever known if I hadn’t prayed for God’s wisdom and direction.” He paused, eyes in a squint. “And something tells me it’s the same for you. I’ve watched the two of you grow up over the years, and seems to me there’s always been this spark between you, just like Clara says.”

  Finn shook his head, body tingling at the very thought. “Oh, there’s way more than a spark, sir,” he said with a chuckle, “but I just worry there’s too much friction for a truly meaningful relationship, you know?”

  Pastor Poppy hooked an arm to his wife’s waist. “Been my experience, Finn, that friction is what sets two hearts afire, like me and my Clara, isn’t that right, darlin’?”

  “Oh my stars, yes,” Mrs. Poppy said with a comical roll of eyes. “Goodness, the pastor and I butted heads so often, it’s a wonder neither of us got a concussion, although we did give each other plenty of headaches before we fell in love.”

  Finn laughed and shook his head. “Yes, ma’am, Libby and I have certainly given
each other our fair share, that’s for sure. But if I thought for one split hair of a second that Liberty and I could end up like you and Pastor Poppy, I would surely brave the flames of that woman’s wrath, I can tell you that.”

  “Well, do me a favor then, son,” the pastor said with a slap of Finn’s shoulder. “Ask the Good Lord for His opinion, why don’t you, then just follow the peace. Better a headache than a heartache at missing out on what the Almighty has in store. After all, you can always take willow bark for that headache, my boy, but heartache stays with a body for a long, long time.” He took his wife’s arm. “Come along, my dear—we’ve got a barn to tidy up.” Ushering his wife in, the two of them teased and chatted as they lit lanterns to stave off the darkness from the onset of dusk.

  Watching them, Finn couldn’t help but wonder if he and Liberty could possibly ever end up as happy as that. Squinting up at the rafters, he said that prayer Pastor Poppy suggested and instantly felt the tension in his body slowly leak out. Instead, it was replaced by a flicker of hope that burned as brightly as the Poppys’ lanterns all over the barn, casting a soft glow over Finn’s mood.

  “Fire is a precious commodity, young man, and don’t you forget it. Handle it carefully, and it will keep you warm for the rest of your life.”

  Finn grinned as he rolled up his sleeves, thinking there was nothing he’d rather do than “handle” that pretty stick of dynamite called Liberty O’Shea. His mouth tipped off-center. As long as she keeps me warm, that is. His thoughts sobered considerably.

  Instead of blowing up in my face.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You and Griffin make such a lovely pair …”

  Liberty gulped for surely the hundredth time, palms plastered to the inside of the outhouse door. Leaning against it, she waited for the frantic clip of her heart to subside. “Lovely pair, indeed,” she muttered with an unwelcome rush of warmth, the very idea giving her chills.

  And not the cold kind.

  Because the truth was, Finn wanted absolutely nothing to do with her, and frankly, she’d felt exactly the same way.

  Until that stupid kiss.

  She wrinkled her nose, the sudden heat purling through her as unwelcome as the rank odor of the privy. Chewing on the edge of her lip, she wondered how long she could hide out before someone came looking for her.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. “Dear, are you all right?” The concern in Mrs. Poppy’s voice almost unleashed a groan of guilt from the pit of Libby’s stomach.

  “Yes, ma’am, just a touch of indigestion, but I’m better now,” she said, unlatching the bolt before she swung the door wide.

  “Oh, I just knew it—my chili upset your stomach, didn’t it?”

  No, not the chili …

  “Oh crumb! I should have started over when the silly shaker lid for the red pepper fell into the pot.” The old woman’s silver brows crinkled in concern. “Would you like a bromide to settle your stomach?”

  Liberty inhaled a hefty draw of fresh air, the heavenly scent of Mrs. Poppy’s garden helping to calm her nerves. “No, ma’am, I’ll be fine, truly.” She slipped an arm through Mrs. Poppy’s with a forced chuckle. “But I would like to get over to that barn before Co-chair McShane makes all the decisions.”

  The moment they entered the tall wooden structure, Liberty felt her tension melt away like the candles in the lanterns. The smell of hay and horse and leather reminded her just how much she’d loved riding and grooming her Palomino, Bessie, when she was younger.

  “I’m afraid it’s going to take some tidying up,” Mrs. Poppy said with a rare crease in her forehead, “so we’ll have to make sure we have lots of help when we set everything up.”

  Eyes wide, Liberty slowly circled in one spot, hands clasped to her chest in complete awe. Often utilized for church and civil functions due to its large size according to Finn, the Poppys’ barn could almost be called “cozy.” The pinks and purples of dusk peeked through various slats of the walls beneath a massive beamed roof that somehow felt so intimate. “Oh, Pastor and Mrs. Poppy,” she whispered, “I’d forgotten how perfect this is! I was so busy building our booth last week, that I barely noticed when I ventured inside, but this is absolutely ideal for our dance!”

  “Why thank you, my dear, we certainly hope so,” the old woman said, hurrying over to light more lamps while Pastor Poppy dusted off an old table by the door with his broom. “And with the benches borrowed from church and the stage and dance floor you plan to build, I think this will not only make a lovely venue for the dance, but for the talent show too.”

  “Oh, it certainly will!” Liberty breathed in the sweet smell of hay while she flung her arms out and twirled, as if the packed mud floor were a dance floor in one of New York’s finest hotels. Clasping her hands in delight, she turned her attention to Finn, the affectionate look on his face putting a hitch in her pulse. “The carpentry volunteers are scheduled to begin building the stage tomorrow, correct, Mr. McShane?”

  His light brown eyes softened to the color of warm caramel as a faint smile shadowed his lips. “It’s Finn, Libby, remember?” he said, tossing a smile Mrs. Poppy’s way as if to elicit her help in relaxing Liberty’s reserved manner. “Formality seems so out of place in a barn, don’t you think? Especially when two people are working closely together, week after week?”

  “Absolutely,” Mrs. Poppy piped up in no-nonsense assent. “For goodness’ sake, Liberty, you’ve known Griffin since you two were battling in spelling bees, so there’s no need for formality here, young lady.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Libby said with a quiet sigh, addressing Finn once again in a voice definitely shyer than before. “So our carpentry schedule begins tomorrow, Finn, is that correct? With completion slated for the last week of June?”

  “Yes, Liberty, that’s what we’re shooting for.” Offering a decidedly warmer smile, Finn proceeded to point out where he thought the stage should be built, walking out its length before asking Libby her opinion. Of course the two quibbled amicably over dance floor placement and size. But by the time they’d discussed additional hay-bale seating in the loft and dickered over placement of tables for the bakery contest, they were laughing and getting along like never before. The sun had long since set, filling the barn with cozy candlelight shadows and the music of crickets and frogs. So much so, in fact, that Liberty almost didn’t want the evening to end.

  Pastor Poppy peered up at the loft, eyes in a squint. “Finn, I’m not too sure how many bales of hay there are up there, so if you could check for me, I’d be much obliged.”

  “Oh, and while you’re up there,” Mrs. Poppy was quick to add, “maybe you and Liberty can shift any bales close to the edge for seating so we have that all done?”

  Finn grabbed a lantern and headed to the loft ladder. “Good idea,” he said, slowly inching up with the lamp in hand. “But no need for Liberty to help, ma’am. That’s second-cutting alfalfa we hauled up there as I recall, which is way too heavy for a girl.”

  “Says who?” Liberty stared up with hands on her hips, the glow of the evening fading a hair at the memory of high school battles, when Finn used to taunt her for being the weaker sex.

  Finn paused to glance down, a smile twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Libby, trust me. Milo and I helped store these bales last year, so I know each and every one weighs pert near more than you—almost eighty pounds.”

  “Trust you?” Liberty mounted the first slat with a determined glint in her eye, a hint of jest gracing her tone. “You’ll pardon me if that’s a concept I’m not familiar with, Finn. But I assure you what I lack in strength, I will more than make up in grit and gumption.”

  “No doubt about that,” Finn said with a shake of his head, smile notwithstanding.

  Bracing her hands to the ladder, she carefully slipped a dainty boot to the first rung, a knot ducking in her throat before she haltingly tackled the second. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Co-chairman Finn,” she said in a voice as shaky as her legs, �
��but I’m not someone who shirks from a challenge.”

  Finn grinned. “No, ma’am, you’re not,” he said with a chuckle as he continued to mount the ladder.

  She paused to watch on the second rung, completely mesmerized by broad shoulders that tapered into slim hips and a compact backside, an observation that toasted her cheeks hot when Finn caught her staring. Mortified, she quickly refocused on the rung before her, sucking in a deep draw of air before expelling it again in a raspy quiver.

  “It’s okay, you can do it,” Finn said from above, not a trace of tease gilding his comment. “I promise you—there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Liberty gulped as she took another tentative step, peeking up at the man who rattled her nerves more than the stupid ladder.

  Wanna bet?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I am not afraid of heights. I am not afraid of heights. Liberty halted halfway to fortify with more air, fingers pinched as white as her face, no doubt, from her death grip on the ladder.

  “You don’t have to do this, Libs.” Finn’s voice was soft, obviously for her ears alone as he crouched at the top. Apparently he was recalling his awful challenge to her his senior year to climb a tree during recess, paralyzing her until Miss Willoughby demanded he help her back down.

  “Yes, I do,” she whispered, more for herself than for him, the tender look in Finn’s eyes doing nothing for her concentration. “I need to conquer my fear of heights once and for all.”

  And my fear of Finn McShane? A reedy breath seeped through her clenched teeth as she slowly crawled up, rung by tortuous rung.

  Do broncs buck?

  “Well, we best get busy with these two brooms, Pastor Poppy,” Mrs. Poppy said. “If these youngsters can climb into that loft to do manual labor, I suppose the least you and I can do is start sweeping out this barn.” She continued to chatter away down below, but Liberty could barely hear for the pounding of blood in her ears—both from her annoying fear of heights and the fact that Finn reached down to hook her waist, drawing her into the loft.