Page 19 of For Love of Liberty

“So, Griffin—how is the festival planning coming along?”

Finn glanced up from his third piece of cherry pie, pretty sure a cherry pit just lodged in his throat. Up till now, the dinner at the Poppys’ had been nothing but pleasant. The mouthwatering smell of cherry pie still warm from the oven lingered in the air, complemented by equally warm conversation with the two people he admired most in the world. A summer breeze tickled eyelet curtains, ushering in the cool of evening along with the scent of honeysuckle in a cozy kitchen where he’d enjoyed sustenance over the years, spiritual and otherwise. Sensing a sudden stiffness in Liberty as she sipped tea across the table, he grabbed his own cup and quickly downed it, clearing his throat with a polite smile. “Just fine and dandy, Mrs. Poppy, right on schedule and smooth as silk.”

The planning, that is. The relationship with his co-chair? He wolfed down the rest of his pie in one massive gulp. More like burlap rolled in cockleburs.

“Good, good. And, Liberty dear—do you agree?” Mrs. Poppy cocked her head in question, tilting her trademark donut bun of silvery-white hair more cockeyed than usual. Practically a grandmother to Finn, the elderly woman calmly drank her tea, offering a secret smile that matched a suspicious sparkle in her blue eyes.

Liberty’s head shot up, as skittish as a prairie dog in a barrel of bobcats. Her gaze met Finn’s, and he took satisfaction in the blush that stained her cheeks, reminding him how pretty she was when she wasn’t yammering to get her own way. A lump bobbed in that creamy throat of hers that had always reminded him of a stately swan. Chewing on the edge of a nervous smile, her teeth tugged on those lush lips like Finn so longed to do. “Uh, yes, Mrs. Poppy, it appears Mr. McShane and I have everything under control.”

Except our feelings for each other, Finn mused with a familiar hint of regret, studying Liberty as she launched into a thorough overview of everything they’d accomplished so far. Watching her now—her face flushed with excitement and eyes aglow with passion over the subject at hand—Finn couldn’t help but wish some of that powerful passion could be directed his way. He’d always been attracted to her, of course—something he took great pains to hide—but over the last month of working with her so closely, he’d gained a new respect that only deepened the draw. Beneath that fire-red hair and trigger temper beat a heart of compassion for others, a do-or-die allegiance to the underdog, something Finn felt strongly about too. Which only reinforced the attraction.

True, her overly vocal obsession with women’s rights had riled him at first, but when he learned his mother’s cousin lost her family’s home to “a no-good deserter of a husband,” he quickly changed his mind. The low-down skunk had returned to sell the house right out from under the poor woman, leaving her and her children out on the streets. That sort of travesty could have happened to his mother and him as well, he realized, based on the lack of property rights for women. Suddenly Finn saw Liberty’s “dad-burned cockamamie goals” in a whole new light—along with the woman who held them. The very woman who had never, ever been attracted to him and made no bones about it.

Until “the kiss.”

A slow smile eased across his lips. From that moment on, he’d noticed a definite skittishness in her whenever he was around, almost as if that one kiss had tamed the spitfire in her, at least where he was concerned. Since then, she’d been almost demure, guarded, armed with the protection of her two best friends to make sure he didn’t get too close. His mouth tamped into a tight line. And doggone-it, he wanted to get close! To sample once again the sweet taste of lips that had ruined him for other women, reveling in the passion and fire that had always drawn him like a moth to flame.

A hint of melancholy eased his facial muscles as he absently fiddled with the fork on his plate. An old codger from his days on the transcontinental railroad once told him male moths dive into a candle flame because they think it’s a female looking for a mate, but they just end up fried to a crisp. Finn’s mouth took a slant. He certainly could attest to that. The very fire and fervor that kindled this hopeless attraction to Liberty O’Shea was the same fire and fervor that singed him every time he got too close.

His gaze flicked up to take in how her auburn hair gleamed in the lamplight. Or how the musical sound of her laughter filled the Poppys’ intimate kitchen with a contentment sweeter than Mrs. Poppy’s pie. Against his will, a fierce longing curled in his chest. He’d always suspected his affection for Liberty went deeper than just the race of his pulse. But it wasn’t until she walked into his office that fateful day that he realized for him, the attraction was so much more. Stubborn and hot-headed to a fault, she was also more passionate and exciting than any woman he’d ever known, and completely devoted to the common good, no matter the cost. To him, she was the essence of true “liberty”—beautiful and bright, wild and free, infusing her heart and soul into everything she loved.

And sweet mother of mercy, how he wished that were him!

He unleashed a silent sigh while Mrs. Poppy peppered Liberty with questions, his thoughts trailing to the improbability of he and Liberty ever falling in love. In her eyes, he’d always be nothing more than salt in her wound, a cocky womanizer who’d been the bane of her existence. And he supposed that’d been true at one time, before Pastor and Mrs. Poppy had gotten a hold of him and taught him about true faith. Since then, no matter how many ladies he’d squired about town, other than kisses, he’d followed the straight and narrow. As difficult as it had been, he’d learned to steer clear of his former carnal nature when it came to women and focus more on his land.

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.”