Love's Silver Lining

by Julie Lessman

  Nope, make that winter, he decided when she swiftly pushed him away. In an icy, icy brook.

  “H-Hello, F-Finn,” she whispered, taking another step back, obviously to regain composure with a clamp of her arms. The lashes slowly lifted to pin him with an emerald gaze so distant, she may as well have been in New York. “You’re looking well, too,” she said quickly, taking another step back as her gaze dropped to his newly shined boots.

  “I’ve missed you, Libby,” he whispered, words rushing from his tongue as quickly as the longing that channeled through his bloodstream. He knew he shouldn’t have said it, but somehow seeing her again—that tentative chew of lush lips he still dreamed about and the stiff barrier of arms to her waist—made it feel like she had never left. Never stayed away.

  Never broken his heart.

  Like that stupid teapot, into a hundred pieces.

  Her head slowly lifted, eyes wary. “I suppose you’re here to see my father?” she asked, completely ignoring his statement. “Because I’m sorry, but we’re just sitting down to dinn—”

  “Finn, my boy—right on time!”

  Finn glanced past Libby while she whirled around, the look on Aiden’s face a whole lot warmer than the one on his daughter’s. He doffed his Stetson. “Evenin’ Aiden, Maeve.”

  “What d-do you mean, ‘right on t-time’?” Libby stuttered. “You didn’t invite him to dinner, did you?” she said in a harsh whisper, as if she didn’t want Finn to hear.

  “No, of course not,” Aiden said with a chuckle, making his way into the foyer with Maeve on his arm.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Libby’s shoulders actually sank in relief.

  “He invited us,” his father said, bypassing Libby altogether to extend a hand to Finn. “Sure appreciate your hospitality, Finn.” We’re all checked out and ready to go. Our bags are lined up right there against that wall.”

  Libby spun around to where Aiden pointed, nearly toppling into Finn’s chest once again, which prompted him to latch another hand to her arm. Which she quickly removed. “Please stop manhandling me,” she whispered, coaxing a smile to his lips when he remembered just how much fun he’d had manhandling a spitfire like her.

  Inside of marriage and out.

  “Libby, behave,” her mother said, hurrying over to give Finn a hug that warmed him to the bone. “Finn, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for your kind hospitality, but I fully intend to try.” She pulled back to pin him with a determined look, hands braced to his arms. “I understand your nieces lost their tutor this year, so rest assured that Libby and I will be happy to provide all the education they need.”

  “What?” Libby gaped, those amazing green eyes nearly eclipsed by white.

  Maeve patted Libby’s cheek. “It’s the least we can do, darling, with Finn providing lodging for us.”

  Libby spun to face Finn with a strained smile. “Thank you, Finn, for your kind hospitality to my parents, but Maggie and I will be staying here.” With a swish of her skirt, she side-stepped her mother like the poor woman was related to Finn.

  “Mr. O’Shea!” Donald Raymond Turley, Sr. strode into the foyer in a three-piece sack suit too small for his corpulent frame, vest buttons pulled tightly across his ample belly as he waved a paper in his hand. “It’s been our pleasure to serve you, sir, and we shall miss you and your family here at The Gold Hill Hotel.” He handed the paper over with a broad smile before acknowledging Finn with a pleased nod. “Your receipt, sir, paid in full. Evenin’, Finn.”

  “Evenin’, Don,” Finn said with a slight tip of his hat.

  Libby’s frantic gaze darted from her father to the hotel proprietor’s. “Mr. Turley, just so you know, Miss Mullaney and I will be retaining our room.”

  Donald paused, the smile fading on his face as he nervously adjusted his vest. “I’m sorry, Miss O’Shea, but I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said with a hard duck of his throat, gaze shifting to her father and back. “You see, we’re completely sold out.”

  “But how can that be? Miss Mullaney and I haven’t even checked out yet!”

  Don managed an impressive show of teeth despite the gleam of sweat on his brow. “Oh, no problem, Miss O’Shea. Your father has already handled all the checkout details, so you’re free to go.”

  Finn squelched a smile when Aiden smacked his cane on the hardwood floor with a loud thwack. “So, stop dawdling and go pack your bags, young lady, then rustle everybody else down so we can get a move on—I’m hungry.”

  “Oh, we’ll pack all right, Papa,” Libby said, “but we won’t be going to Mr. McShane’s.” She turned to march to the stairs, shoulders firm and head high. “Maggie and I will just check into another hotel.”

  “Uh … that might be a bit difficult, darlin’,” Aiden said with a sheepish scratch of his jaw. “Hear tell all accommodations are full up, isn’t that so, Mr. Turley?”

  “I’m afraid so, Miss O’Shea,” Don said with a straight face, and Finn could only shake his head. How he wished he’d had Aiden O’Shea on his side seventeen years ago when Finn had battled with his daughter time and time again.

  Libby pivoted on the first step, shock expanding her features. “I don’t believe it.” Her gaze swiveled to her mother. “Mama, are you going to let him blackmail me like this?”

  Maeve hurried over to give her daughter a quick hug. “Don’t think of it as blackmail, darling,” her mother said with a tender smile, “think of it as a father exercising his love for his daughter, all right? Now run along, sweetheart, and hurry everyone else down so we can get some food in Papa’s stomach.”

  Finn took a step forward, hat in hand. His gaze flicked from Maeve to her daughter with the semblance of a smile. “Maeve, I’d be happy to take Aiden and you and everyone else who’s ready to the ranch now and come back for Libby later if she likes.”

  “Perfect,” Aiden said with another thump of his cane. “Libby, send Gert and the blasted ferret down along with that bossy nurse if she’s ready, then Finn will be back for you later.”

  “If I’m still here,” Libby said with a staunch thrust of her chin.

  “Oh, you’ll be here, darlin’.” Aiden snatched his bowler off the rack by the door and placed it on his head with several firm taps. “Here tell the benches in the town square are a mite uncomfortable and noisy when the saloons let out.”

  Libby spun on her heel and yanked her skirt up as she stormed up the steps.

  “Oh, and take your time, Liberty Bell,” Finn called, unable to resist employing the nickname Libby hated to rile some sparks in those glittering green eyes. “I’m more than willing to wait.” Strolling over to the baggage, Finn hefted two valises and a hatbox in his hands as he gave Maeve and Aiden a wink. “After all, I’ve had seventeen years of practice.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “So, Maggie—do you ride?”

  Maggie looked up from her nearly full plate in Finn McShane’s elegantly rustic dining room, vaguely aware her host had asked her a question. She blinked several times, lids flickering as much as the candles in the carved wooden candelabras, barely able to sort out her thoughts quickly enough to respond. Her mind—and her plate—were too full of unique things she’d never experienced before.

  From squirrel stew and fried salt pork with gravy, to potato cakes and vinegar pie, she was totally agog over the bounty before her. Especially the warm and welcoming interplay of personalities around a table abuzz with chatter and chuckles. Totally mesmerized by the easy banter, she’d watched Finn rib Blaze and his brother Dash about besting them at target practice, two brothers who seemed more like Finn’s sons than nephews. Which made perfect sense, Maggie supposed, since Finn had told them on the ride to the ranch that he’d unofficially adopted his nieces and nephews after his sister passed.

  The two brothers appeared to be as opposite as Sister Fred and the girls at the Ponderosa Saloon. Fluid and easy with his smiles and compliments, Dash had dark sable hair and pale-blue eyes to Blaze’s sun-
streaked brown and turquoise blue. Where Blaze was tall and muscled, Dash was tall and lean, and yet a striking resemblance was more than obvious. Both had the same angular face dotted with deep dimples and the same full, wide lips, albeit Dash’s curved up in laughter and tease throughout the dinner while Blaze’s curved down.

  At least when he looks at me.

  Expelling a silent sigh, Maggie had turned her attention across the way, to where Mr. and Mrs. O’Shea laughed with Finn’s nieces. Seventeen-year-old Sheridan was a petite golden-haired imp who boasted the same mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes as Dash. She exuded a sweet sass that couldn’t quite hide an air of innocence carefully nurtured, no doubt, by an overly protective uncle and two big brothers.

  Her little sister Shaylee sat beside her, her freckled face, chestnut braids, and tomboy air making her seem far younger than the thirteen years she claimed. As fine-boned and petite as her older sister, Shaylee appeared as rough-and-tumble as Sheridan was feminine. Her exuberance for animals, bugs, and dirt stood in stark contrast to her sister’s burgeoning womanhood, obviously preferring dusty overalls to Sheridan’s pretty calico and ribbons. Where Sheridan seemed to revel in being a girl, Maggie got the distinct impression that Shaylee did not, perhaps due to the lack of female influence in her life until now. Although cute as a button, the young girl boasted the same pointed chin as her oldest brother, hinting at the streak of stubbornness Maggie had encountered in Blaze.

  A cackle to Maggie’s left indicated that even Gert was enjoying a rare laugh over Finn’s jesting, although scowls usually reserved for Aiden now seemed to be aimed at Finn’s cook, Angus McDougal. Wiry and witty, Angus had started out as a miner in Finn’s silver mine on the west quadrant of The Silver Lining Ranch. Until Finn discovered he’d also been a chuck-wagon cook.

  Once the mine prospered, Finn wasted no time turning Angus loose in his new, fancy kitchen. And now, Angus had boasted with a gap-toothed grin, he was as much a part of the family as Finn’s border collie, Scout, now curled up at Finn’s feet with Frannie snug in the middle. A contented sigh drifted from Maggie’s lips.

  A hodge-podge family that warmed her to the core.

  The moment the buckboard had rumbled past the log and stone entrance of the Silver Lining Ranch, Maggie was certain the whites of her eyes would be dust-dry by bedtime. Backdropped by majestic mountains dusted with snow, the dirt driveway was edged by a pretty log fence while it meandered through a vibrant meadow of wildflowers and stately ponderosa pines. Out of its midst rose the largest two-story log house Maggie had ever seen, tucked against the base of gently sloping hills. Beyond miles of wood-slatted fence dotted with cattle rose a profusion of pines from which the Sierra Nevada mountains soared to the sky, a majestic sentinel for Finn’s pastoral home.

  Beautifully landscaped with wild roses and a variety of flowering cactus, the house took prominence over an enormous barn recessed on the far right and a long, narrow log building on the left, referred to by Finn as the bunkhouse and mess hall. The sounds of a harmonica drifted on the breeze while cowhands milled about, most perched on a fence to watch a rodeo of sorts, Finn said, where round-up contests were held to pass the time.

  But when Finn had ushered them up the steps of the endless, log-hewn wraparound porch through the mammoth oak door with its intricate carving of Bar SLR, Maggie had been speechless. The magnificent hardwood entryway with its vibrant Navajo rug, exquisite paintings, and unique pottery had literally stolen her breath away. And now, amidst the laughter and love of this truly unconventional family, it would seem her tongue had been stolen as well.

  “Maggie?” Finn’s voice jolted her out of her reverie.

  Startling, she sheepishly looked his way, suddenly aware everyone else had finished their dinner. Her gaze snagged on Blaze, and heat pulsed in her cheeks when those blue eyes pinned her with a hint of a smirk. He lounged back in his thick log chair, muscled arm casually draped over its back post. The bold masculinity in his gaze was so potent, she quickly averted her eyes, pulse pounding along with her heart. “Please forgive me, Finn, for indulging in a wee bit of wool-gathering, but I honestly have never seen anything like this before.”

  “Like what?” Shaylee asked with a scrunch of freckles, her chestnut braid as disheveled as the dusty overalls she wore.

  “Oh, you know,” Maggie began, offering a tiny shrug. “So much noise and food and fun at the dinner table. You see, I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so dinners were always a somber affair.”

  “Holy frog spit—that sounds awful!” Shaylee said, face in a pucker as if she smelled something bad.

  “Shaylee—” Warning edged Finn’s tone.

  Maggie whirled to flash a smile his way. “No, it was awful, Finn,” she said with a giggle, suddenly feeling younger than Shaylee as she shared her grin with the rest of the table. “My stepfather was an associate judge on the New York Court of Appeals and demanded complete silence at meals, often glaring if my silverware dared to clink. It was so quiet, in fact, you could actually hear the clock tick in time with my stepfather slurping his soup.”

  “Oh my goodness, that is awful,” Mrs. O’Shea said with a sparkle in her eyes over the rim of her tea cup, “and here I thought Aiden was a horror at dinner.”

  Laughter rounded the table as Aiden seared his wife with a mock glare. “Only since you and that quack of a doctor force me to drink tea rather than coffee. And whenever your daughter is around, in case you haven’t noticed.” He nodded his thanks when Angus rose to retrieve the teapot from the sideboard, pouring more hot water for Aiden’s tea. “As you will all soon discover, I might add,” he said with a droll smile, “when she—and the sparks—arrive.”

  Maggie laughed and tackled more stew. “Well I welcome any and all sparks at the dinner table because it’s sure better then dining in a morgue.”

  Grinning, Sheridan leaned in with arms propped on the table, the lace trim on her blue calico dress puckering enough to reveal that Finn’s niece was definitely growing up. “Holy buckets of yawn, Maggie, I’d die of boredom!”

  “Almost did.” Maggie spooned her final bite of stew with a proud heft of her chin, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Till I suddenly developed a whole lot of colds—hacking, sneezing, and blowing my nose something awful.” She gave Sheridan a wink. “You can’t imagine how quickly ‘The Judge’ excused me to go to my room. Where”—her brows did a little dance—“either Mama or our cook, Elsie, would deliver a plate of fried chicken or whatever else we were having with all the trimmings.”

  “Gee Whillikers—did your mother have to be quiet too?” Shaylee’s brows tented in sympathy on a face smudged with dirt she’d obviously missed when Finn asked her to wash up before dinner.

  The smile on Maggie’s face stiffened as she reached for her coffee, taking a quick sip to dispel the tight feeling in her throat. “Yes, that is until she passed when I was nineteen,” she said quietly, determined to ward off the threat of tears that always arose whenever she thought of her mother.

  “Our condolences, Maggie—we didn’t know.” Finn’s voice was gentle enough to stoke the moisture in her eyes, much to Maggie’s regret. His tone was laced with compassion. “With losing my sister and the kids’ mother at such an early age, we certainly understand how difficult that can be.”

  “Yes, of course you would,” she said with a smile that felt as wooden as the table now littered with dirty dishes, “but things work out because your nieces and nephews had you, and I had Aunt Libby.” Her gaze flitted from the girls to Blaze and Dash and then finally to Finn, suddenly aware they had all lost someone they loved, another kinship with this unlikely family.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to meet Aunt Libby!” Shaylee gushed.

  Maggie smiled. “Well, she’s not really my aunt, of course, she’s my godmother. But I like to call her that because as my mother’s best friend, she stepped in as mother, big sister, and dear friend all in one.”

  “Well, she’s definitely our aun
t,” Sheridan said with a smile, blonde hair trailing her shoulders, “and I can’t wait to meet her too. When are you picking her up, Uncle Finn?”

  “She’s your aunt?” Maggie paused, the last spoonful of stew hovering before her mouth. She glanced around the table with a crease in her brow. “Aunt Libby’s related to you?”

  Glancing at his pocket watch, Finn pushed away from the table. “Right now, Sheridan, as a matter of fact.” His gaze settled on Maggie with a smile. “The girls just like to call her that because they’ve always wanted an aunt.”

  “But she is our aunt,” Shaylee insisted, “or at least she used to be because I saw your wedding picture hidden in your closet, Uncle Finn!”

  Maggie gasped while the spoon clattered onto her plate, splattering stew on her crisp, white shirtwaist. Gaping at Finn, she dipped her napkin into her water glass to blot at the stains, barely aware of what she was doing. “You and Libby were married?” she said in a near squeak, mind dizzy at the thought. She’d known there was bad blood between her godmother and Finn McShane, but her aunt had never told her why. But marriage! Sweet mother of Job—why hadn’t Aunt Libby told her? She blinked. And why hadn’t Mama?

  Sucking air through a clenched smile, Finn awkwardly cuffed his neck. “Yeah, well, it’s a mite complicated, Maggie, but suffice it to say it was a long time ago and an annulment was involved. Now I need to go fetch the lady in question, so maybe Mr. O’Shea can explain it to you.”