Page 12 of For Love of Liberty

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 whatsoever 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.

Stunned silence reined for several seconds until Mayor Tuttle shot to his feet with a tremendous ovation echoed by everyone in the room. “Well, now, that’s one dandy of a presentation, young lady, if I say so myself. Finn, let’s take the vote and get this buggy rolling.”

Finn lumbered to his feet like an old man, his smile as tight as his gut. “Well now, I’d like to talk this through one moment, Mayor, before we go and bite off more than we can chew. While I agree that was one fine presentation by Miss O’Shea”—he managed a wooden nod at Liberty, whose patient air galled him all the more—“grand ideas like this require grand planning and way more man hours than we can afford with a sparse number of volunteers and a mere two co-chairs—”

“Uh … three co-chairs,” Milo said carefully, avoiding Finn’s eyes as he rose to his feet. He scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “Truth is, J.T.’s a little worried about me spending so much time away from the paper, so Liberty agreed to lend us a hand.”

A hand. Finn blinked when a memory flashed of that same “hand” pinching and pummeling his back while she kicked and thrashed over his shoulder.

“But …” Milo said with a quick raise of his palm, as if to quell Finn’s mood, “rest assured Liberty already has a detailed plan in place for each of the points in her presentation, so you can breathe easy, Finn.”

Breathe easy? Blue blistering blazes, he couldn’t breathe at all …

“Excellent plan, Co-chairman Parks,” the mayor said with a hearty shake of Milo’s hand, sealing Finn’s fate with a quick vote that confirmed both Liberty’s appointment as co-chair and her docket of ideas. The mayor then pumped her hand in a downright nauseating show of approval while everyone else in the room rushed to congratulate her like she was the bloomin’ Well’s Fargo wagon.

When the crowd finally thinned, Finn had no choice but to step up and take his medicine like a man. Searing Milo with a thin-lipped glare, he offered Liberty a shake of his hand. “Congratulations, Miss O’Shea, for stealing the show tonight. Should be interesting putting our heads together once again.”

The press of those perfectly pink lips assured him she was just as reluctant as he, her tone and smile as cool as his own. “I don’t believe we ever ‘put our heads together’ before, Mr. McShane—butt them together, yes—but little else. However, if they can drill through a mountain to mine silver, you and I can certainly drill through our prior differences to glean gold for our fair city.” A russet brow angled in warning. “As long as we limit all sparks to the fireworks, we should be just fine.”

“Fine?” Milo slapped Finn on the back, apparently secure in the assumption that Finn wouldn’t rip his tonsils out in front of the mayor and Liberty. “Nope, better than fine—you two will make a formidable team, eh, Mayor?”

“No question ’bout that,” Mayor Tuttle said with a broad smile, snatching his bowler from a chair while giving Finn a knowing wink. “Yesiree, young man, gotta feeling this little filly here is gonna keep you on your toes.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Finn mumbled as he snatched his own hat from the table, uttering a silent prayer for patience.

And on my knees.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Biscuit, dear?” Liberty’s mother passed the basket to Liberty’s best friend Kitty, her smile as warm as their cook Gertie’s buttermilk biscuits, hot out of the oven. At forty-five years of age, Maeve O’Shea was an older version of Liberty with auburn curls threaded with silver and restrained in a proper coif at the back of her head. She reached to squeeze Kitty’s hand. “It’s so nice having you over for dinner again, Kitty, although I wish Martha could have joined us too. It’s been a bit dull here since Liberty’s been away at school.”

“Likewise, I assure you, Mrs. O’Shea.” Kitty shot a broad smile at Liberty. “Especially the ‘dull’ part now that Libby’s back home.” She wiggled her brows. “Nobody stirs the pot like our Libby.”