Page 26 of For Love of Liberty

“Oh, you’re just impossible,” she shouted back, head high as she marched out of his office. “This festival can’t come soon enough to suit me, I can tell you that.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” a feminine voice said sharply from behind, and Libby spun around to see Jo Beth in front of Miss Delilah’s desk. She pinned Libby with a superior glare as she swished past with her nose in the air. “Everyone knows how you’ve badgered poor Finn throughout this entire process, so I guarantee, Liberty O’Shea, you won’t be the only one relieved when it’s done.” Her voice suddenly melted into warm honey as she placed a possessive hand on Finn’s arm. “Finn, Mama made all of your favorite dishes for my birthday dinner before the dance, so be sure to come hungry.”

Finn’s gaze flicked to Libby and back, his firm tone clearly at odds with the ruddy rash bleeding up the back of his neck.

“Sorry, Jo Beth, but I have festival responsibilities to attend to before the dance.”

“But it’s my birthday,” she said with a pout in her voice, “and you promised to help make it the best celebration ever, remember? Besides,” she said with a haughty glance over her shoulder, “Liberty won’t mind because everyone knows she likes to run the show.”

Finn gave a gruff clear of his throat. “I wish I could, Jo Beth, but I’m co-chair—”

“Humpf. If that’s what you want to call it.” Libby’s voice rose in volume, all prior patience and understanding regarding Jo Beth suddenly going up in smoke along with her temper. “Frankly, I’m used to you shirking your responsibilities, Mr. McShane,” she snapped, enough sparks burning in her eyes to rival the fireworks display planned in the new town square. “So what’s one more?”

“See?” Smile smug, Jo Beth hooked her arm through Finn’s, the look of adoration on her face enough to make Libby lose her lunch. “Now we can celebrate my birthday as planned.”

As planned.

“Jo Beth, I’m really sorry, but I can’t—”

“Oh, sure you can!” Libby marched to the door, grappling for the knob while her fury rose faster than the blood in her cheeks. Smile stiff, she turned, her notorious rivalry with Finn coming in awfully handy as she jutted her chin to scorch him with a glare. “You’re more hindrance than help half the time anyway, so be my guest, please. After all, you did promise Jo Beth, Mr. McShane,” she said, horrified at the unexpected moisture that stung at the back of her lids, “and we all know you don’t break promises.” She slammed the door hard, hand shaking as she swiped at her eyes.

Just hearts.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“You know, Libs, you’re awfully crabby for someone who just organized the most successful fundraiser Nevada has ever had.” Serving lemonade at the checkered-clad refreshment table at the back of the barn, Kitty nodded toward a split-log plank dance floor crowded with people. Intimately lit by a host of glowing lanterns strung high in the rafters like stars in the sky, ladies in frilly bonnets and finery danced with cowboys in their Sunday best. Minus spurs, guns, and hats, of course—one of the few battles Libby had actually won with Finn McShane.

Expelling a noisy sigh, Libby was well aware that her best friend was right—she was crabby. She breathed in the magic of the Poppys’ cozy barn. The earthy scent of hay, cider, and newly hewn cedar tables and benches warmed her as much as the array of lanterns illuminating a sea of smiling faces. Her body fairly buzzed with the lively sounds of banjos and fiddles—Finn’s choice, of course—but she’d won on the violin and cello, all harmonizing beautifully with the laughter of adults and the giggles of children. She absently tapped her toe to the music provided by a host of bearded musicians on the log-slatted stage, almost wishing she had said yes to the various men who’d asked her to dance. But she had too much to do, so she opted to enjoy it all from afar.

She slid a secret look Finn’s way while he laughed with Jo Beth.

But apparently not far enough.

Rib cage expanding, she tried to dispel the niggle of a headache with another deep inhale. The strain in her temples eased somewhat as she took in the sweet smell of sawdust and pipe tobacco. She sighed. Unfortunately it occasionally mingled with the faint hint of horses and too many men in a crowded barn. She wrinkled her nose, hating to admit Finn had been right. The pretty wall of quilts she’d pinned on a clothesline to cordon off supplies at the rear door had obviously restricted airflow. Her gaze narrowed as Finn whispered in Jo Beth’s ear.

By thunder, I’d like to restrict a little airflow right about now …

Lips compressed, she turned her attention away from Finn, expelling a weary sigh. Oh well, in spite of the somewhat overly ripe masculine smell, no question that today—the first day of the festival, July 3rd—had gone off like clockwork. From the baking contest, picnic auction, and full day of fun and games at the booths, to this evening’s bake sale and barn dance at the Poppys’, each appeared to be a rousing success. And never had the town seen a more dazzling array of booths! A satisfied smile inched its way across Libby’s lips as she thought of their schoolhouse education booth. It was wildly popular, from bobbing for apples and mini spelling bees, to games of tic-tac-toe and gallows on the makeshift blackboard. Not to mention the best candy apples Libby ever made.

Her annoyance at Finn over Jo Beth resurfaced when she remembered how everyone had raved about Finn’s booth as well. The show-off actually managed to tow a real steam engine to the field with Milo’s help and a team of horses, on loan from the V&T. Not only had the judges gushed over Finn’s resourcefulness, but everyone fawned over the “brilliance” of giving tours through a real engine car. Mothers were thrilled their children could learn how a steam engine actually worked while children were awestruck over the chance to tug on the whistle and billow steam into the air. Finn had become an instant hero as usual, awarding horsey rides to the children waiting in line and perilous smiles to their mothers. Libby’s headache kicked up a notch.

Rubbing a pain in her temple, she once again forced her attention away from the frustration of Finn to the truly outstanding festival the town had put on. From dignitaries and out-of-town visitors, to townsfolk anxious to show off their hometown pride, everything was in place for a Fourth of July festival like no other. All capped off tomorrow, of course, with a horse race, booth contest, potluck, talent show, parade, and the best fireworks display in the West.

So why am I so crabby?

She stifled a grunt as she chanced another peek at Finn while he danced with Jo Beth for the third blasted time, and had no doubt whatsoever as to the cause for the burr in her saddle. Her co-chair was doling out dances to the ladies of Virginia City faster than she and Kitty could dole out lemonade, leaving a sour taste in Libby’s mouth that was anything but sweet.

More like cold and tart.

Jo Beth’s scarlet dress spun wide as Finn whirled her to the lively sound of “Yankee Doodle,” and Libby’s mouth went flat. He’d said he wanted to wait till after the festival to spare Jo Beth’s feelings, but it sure looked to Libby like he was sparing a whole lot more than that. The very thought sent the heat in her cheeks straight to her temper as she snatched up a cup of lemonade served in punch glasses on loan from ladies in the town. Tilting it straight up, she guzzled like it was the cornpone whiskey she’d banned from the festival grounds.

Because despite his ardent confession at the Poppys’ a month ago that he didn’t “even want to look at another woman,” and his secret attention and kisses ever since, Finn McPain was not only still seeing Jo Beth, he appeared to be enjoying it as well. When he’d told her he wanted to “take it slow” to spare Jo Beth’s feelings, she had thought him noble. Now after four weeks of pining for a former archenemy she hadn’t even liked in the beginning, it bordered more on …

Ignoble.

She stifled a grunt. And now here he was, dancing with everybody but her—from Mrs. Poppy and Miss Willoughby, to every other lovesick female in the room, age three to eighty-three. Yes, she was proud of the job they’d done with the festival, certainly, but the bald-faced truth was that from the moment Finn McShame had kissed her and declared his intentions, the man had put a hornet in her hat that she sorely wished she could sic right back on him. Because just seeing Jo Beth in the V&T office earlier in the week had unleashed a sting of jealousy so strong, it felt like a whole hive of hornets a buzzin’ in her brain. And to make matters worse, their private time before the final meeting had been invaded by anxious volunteers arriving early for setup, including a fawning Jo Beth.

Leaving Finn and Libby no time alone since.