Page 21 of For Love of Liberty

“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.”