Page 25 of For Love of Liberty

“No, he’s right, Mrs. Poppy. I have been exposed to more than pigweed and thistle since my mother adores her gardens, so we really can’t blame poor Mr. McShane if he can’t rise above the mundane.”

A muscle twitched in Finn’s sculpted face, and Libby couldn’t decide if the sweat beading his brow was from the heat of the day or the heat of his temper. “I’ll choose ‘mundane’ any day over ‘dead,’ Miss Bell, because I guarantee if you put roses in those pots, we’ll end up with dead sticks.”

“Not if Millie waters them twice a week,” Libby insisted, grateful the mayor’s secretary had volunteered to take on the task. “And the roses my mother is donating are already well established in pots, Mr. McShane, so they should transplant nicely.”

“Oh absolutely,” Miss Willoughby concurred with marked enthusiasm, her sentiments wholeheartedly echoed by Mrs. Poppy.

“Yeah, well I wish other things transplanted as nicely,” he muttered loudly, earning a warning glare from his former teacher. He threw his hands up in the air. “Looks like I’m outnumbered—again. Maybe I should just go back to work where I actually have some input.”

“Oh, now don’t be a crab, Griffin,” Mrs. Poppy said with a motherly pat of his arm, her soothing tone belied by a twinkle in her eyes. “You wouldn’t have input there either if you didn’t work alone, young man.”

“So, it’s roses in the pots and fancy wrought iron to decorate the wooden benches.” Libby checked those items off her list, dismissing Finn with a bright smile. “All agreed?”

“No,” Finn groused, “but does it matter?” He slapped his Stetson against his knee to clear it of dust before plopping it on his head. “Afternoon, ladies—I have real work to do.” Without so much as a glance her way, Finn tore off down the street toward the V&T.

“Mr. McShane, wait!” Libby called after she said her goodbyes to the ladies, hurrying to catch up with Finn. “We are not done here, sir.”

Finn wheeled around in the open doorway of the V&T, hand on the knob and a scowl on his face. “What is it now, Miss O’Shea?” he boomed, loud enough for Miss Delilah and everyone on the street and walkway to hear. “You’ve already taken up most of my lunch hour.”

“I’d like to discuss the park benches some more.” She nodded at several ladies who passed her on the boardwalk as she stopped before Finn.

“Of course you would,” he said in a near growl, charging into the V&T while a wide-eyed Delilah looked on. He paused at the door of his office to glare, hands on his hips. “Let me guess—now you want to add little lacey pillows with hearts and flowers on them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you mule.” Libby closed the front door behind her with a little too much force, sparing a strained smile in Miss Delilah’s direction before she followed Finn into his office. “I want to discuss how the V&T might benefit from possibly donating a bench or two.”

“For the love of mercy, Miss Bell, the V&T has already given its all to this festival, not to mention the excessive time of its director who’s been hounded to death by his co-chair.” He turned his back on her to storm to his desk, grumbling all the way.

“You want hounded?” Libby slammed his office door behind her with a rattle of the glass and marched right around his desk. “I’ll show you ‘hounded.’”

“Oh yes, ma’am, please—‘hound’ away,” Finn said in her ear as he butted her to the wall with a low groan, smothering her neck with kisses. “Heaven help me, I’ve missed you, Libby.”

Near melting, Libby matched his groan with a weak one of her own before she raised her voice several octaves, hopefully loud enough for Miss Delilah to hear through the closed door. “You’re going to miss more than that, Mr. McShame, if you don’t sit down right now and listen to me, so SIT!”

“With pleasure.” Finn grinned as he eased back on his desk, tugging Libby along while he pressed a kiss to her hair, arms securely around her waist. “So, speak to me, Miss O’Shea,” he whispered, thumb grazing the small of her back.

“Wellllllll …” Excitement bubbling inside, Libby toyed with the edge of Finn’s string tie with a shy smile. “I thought of a great way to pay for the four benches, Finn, but I wanted to check with you first before I proposed it to the rest of the committee.”

He crooked a dark brow, mouth veering off-center as he tugged on a lock of her hair. “What? Make V&T pay for them all?”

“Not all of them, silly,” she said with a soft giggle, “but whoever does donate a bench will have the honor of claiming it as their own with a brass plate right on top for all to see.” She tipped her head with a nervous chew of her lip. “So … what do you think?”

He drew her close to graze her lips with a slow and lingering kiss. “I think you’re flat-out adorable, Co-chair O’Shea, and I’m all for ‘claiming’ something as my own.” He burrowed his lips into the crook of her neck, skimming kisses all the way up to the soft flesh of her ear. “And I’m sure not talking benches,” he breathed, his words warm against her throat while he tenderly suckled her lobe.

“Focus, McShane!” she shouted in a near gasp, her breathing ragged as she prodded him back with a hazy smile. “So my idea—do you like it? The engraver at the newspaper said he could make the brass plates if you do.”

“I love it,” he said, depositing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “And the bench idea is nice too.” Giving her a tight squeeze, he stood to his feet and slowly ushered her to the door. “You need to scoot before somebody gets suspicious, but put the V&T down for one bench, Libs, and I’ll make Milo pick up another for the newspaper.”

“Excellent, Director Finn!” She reached for the door knob, smile radiant. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Sure you can,” he said softly, the heat in his eyes unleashing more than a little heat of her own. He gently nudged her against the wall with a half-lidded look that made her throat go dry, turning her bones to butter when he slowly tugged and toyed her mouth with his before delving in deeper. His voice was a husky rasp when he finally pulled away. “And someday soon, I hope.”

Breathless from the warmth purling through her body, she glanced up, voice far too frail. “How soon?”

His manner sobered considerably as he quietly slipped several curls over her shoulder, his gaze focused on his fingers rather than on her face. “I honestly don’t know right now, Libby, but I’m working on it, I promise.” He finally looked up, eyes tender. “I just think we need to give it a decent amount of time beyond the festival, so can you trust me a little while longer?”

Libby swallowed the disappointment clogging her throat. “Sure, Finn.”

“Thank you.” He bent to graze her forehead with a tender kiss. “Then I’ll see you early at our final meeting before setup, all right?” He moved to open the door, hand on the knob as he gave her a wink before his smile slashed into a scowl. “Fine—have it your way, Miss O’Shea,” he bellowed as he opened it wide, “you usually do.”