Page 18 of For Love of Liberty

“Horse puddles!” Liberty hissed, occupying herself with flicking paint specks on the grass while her lips jabbed into a scowl. “I just refuse to waste anymore breath on that mule of a man than necessary because he doesn’t listen anyway,” she said with a glower in said mule’s direction. She attempted to sidetrack the inquisition with a sudden keen interest in their booth, squinting as she circled to assess. “Just a little more paint, I think, and we should be done, ready to mount the school bell.”

“Ohhhh nooooo you don’t!” Kitty jerked her back with a hook of her arm, brows arched high in question, along with Martha’s. “You still haven’t told us—how was it?” she breathed.

There was no way Liberty would ever admit just how much Finn’s kiss had affected her. Mercy, she could barely admit it to herself! Determined to sidestep further curiosity—and the awful truth of the situation—she marched right back over to her side of the booth with a firm press of lips, slapping more paint on with a vengeance. “Awful! I have no earthly idea what Jo Beth or any girl in this town sees in Griffin McShane. Frankly, the man leaves me cold,” she fibbed, fingers crossed and carefully hidden in the folds of her splattered work dress.

“Cold.” Kitty crossed her arms with a suspicious dip of brows, her tone reflecting more disbelief than query.

“Yes, ‘cold,’” Liberty repeated with an extra thwack of the brush. “Icier than snowcaps in a Nevada blizzard, if you must know. Pert near shivered the rest of the night.” She swallowed hard.

Not exactly a lie …

Kitty chuckled. “I’ll bet you’re not the only one shivering, not with that ‘cold’ shoulder you’ve been giving him the last few weeks.”

“Which I fully intend to continue,” Liberty said, putting on the finishing touch before stepping back to study it with a critical eye. “Until the man turns blue with frostbite.”

“Brrrr,” Kitty said with a teasing chatter of teeth, wiping her brush with a rag. “So between his frostbite and your cold shoulder, maybe Martha and I need to wear coats and gloves to the next meeting. You know, just to stay warm?”

Unable to thwart a grin, Liberty shook her head, repacking their painting supplies in the wood wagon she’d had since she was a small girl. “No need, ladies, because although the man leaves me cold, his bull-headed personality always manages to keep my temper warm, so I assure you, there will be more than enough heat.”

“Well, I’m certainly counting on that,” Kitty said with a wink, “because what’s a Fourth of July planning committee without a few sparks?”

Libby cut loose with a grunt. “I can promise you right now there will be no sparks, my friend, because I refuse to let that man rile me anymore than he already has.”

“An easy enough promise to keep if Martha and I are around,” Kitty said with a sly smile, “but what about when the two of you are alone?”

An involuntary shiver skated Libby’s spine, which she quickly deflected with a bold thrust of her chin. “We won’t be—ever again, not if I can help it.”

“But what if you can’t?” Martha worried her lip. “I mean, there are bound to be times when Kitty and I won’t be there, Libs, so what are you going to do?”

“Ruffle his feathers, no doubt, till he kisses her again.” Kitty grinned.

“Absolutely not!” Libby said with complete conviction. “The day I allow myself to be alone with that rogue ever again will be the day I ride Bessie backwards down the middle of Main Street.” She snatched the handle of the wagon with a confident smile, determination squaring her shoulders while she gave them a wink. “In my bloomers.”

“Hey, Liberty Bell, wait up!”

The sound of the rogue’s voice caused a low groan to leak through Libby’s lips along with all of her bravado.

Finn loped across the field in his typical easy manner, shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze. Slowing, he stopped in front of Liberty, muscles slick with sweat as he lifted his hat to wipe his damp brow with the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. “Forgot to tell you Mrs. Poppy invited us to dinner tomorrow night to discuss the layout and final setup of the barn.”

Liberty stared, mouth hanging open, allowing only one hoarse word to escape. “Us?”

A bead of sweat trickled down his neck onto a bronzed chest lightly sprinkled with hair, producing some sweat of her own on the palms of her hands. “Yes, ‘us,’ Liberty Bell—you and me,” he said with a patient smile, “because we’re the committee co-chairs, remember?”

Sweet angel of mercy, as if I could forget!

“We’re supposed to be there by six, so I’ll pick you up at 5:30.”

“No! I mean … I’d rather meet you there, if you don’t mind,” she said in a rush, heart hammering in her chest. “I prefer to walk.”

“Suit yourself,” he said in a slow drawl. His eyes never strayed from hers as he slowly buttoned his shirt with that maddening half smile that told her he knew exactly how nervous she was. “But I insist on escorting you home, because I may be a ‘mule-brained skunk,’” he said with a lazy tip of his hat, “but I’m a skunk with manners.” He turned and strolled back to his bevy of admirers without a glance back, and all Libby could do was stare, all blood effectively drained from her face.

“Come on, Libs,” Kitty said with a loop of Libby’s arm while Martha took over the wagon, “you don’t look so good, sweetie, so let’s get you home.”

“What on earth am I going to do?” Her whisper was little more than a croak as she allowed her friends to lead her away, mind as numb as her body.

Towing the wagon, Martha offered a look of sympathy over her shoulder as Kitty hooked a supportive arm to Libby’s waist. “The only thing you can do, Libs,” Kitty said with a gentle squeeze, the sympathy in her tone unable to mask a tinge of a tease. She winked. “Saddle up Bessie.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN