Page 29 of For Love of Liberty

No debt.

No butting heads with the woman he loved.

Unlike now. He flashed some teeth Liberty’s way as he escorted Martha back to the table, wishing he didn’t have to play this game. But then on the other hand—he grinned—who knew jealousy could feel so dad-burned good?

“Thank you, ladies, for the dances,” he said as he returned Martha to the refreshment table, chuckling outright when Liberty turned her back on them to drown several dirty cups in a wash bucket.

“It was fun, Finn, so thank you,” Kitty responded while Martha managed a shy nod, “but it looks like there’s still one girl you haven’t danced with yet.” She nudged Liberty’s shoulder, and Finn chuckled when Liberty elbowed her in return with a little too much force.

“Last square dance of the night, folks,” the lead fiddler called, “so grab your partner for ‘Turkey in the Straw.’”

“So what do you say, Miss Bell—ready to take a whirl?”

And, oh, she “whirled” all right—like a prairie twister ready to tear him apart, limb by limb. Slapping her hands to her hips, she cauterized him with a glare thinner than a blade of prairie grass and just as sharp. “I wouldn’t dance with you if you threatened me at gunpoint, Finn McVain, so why don’t you go ply your charms elsewhere?” With a spin of her heel, she refocused on washing cups, accidentally bumping Kitty in the process. “Sorry, Kit,” she muttered.

A grin tickled Finn’s lips. Either the woman was one fine actress, playing along with a stage-worthy imitation of their prior feud, or flat-out jealous, neither of which bode well for his boots if he actually got her out on the floor. “Well, I left my gun at the door as requested, Miss O’Shea, so I can’t threaten you, but Mrs. Poppy did suggest that the co-chairs partnering for the final square dance would be most fitting.”

“You want fitting?” She swung back around, dishwater flying everywhere when the cup in her hand flung with the motion. “I think nailing your boots to the floor with you in them would be ‘fitting,’ Mr. McPain, but I’m not going to do that either.”

He took a quick step back, wiggling his toes for good measure. “Aw, come on, Libs,” he said in a softer tone, employing his fail-proof, little-boy smile, “let’s give the people a show.”

“A show?” Those green eyes spanned wide as she splayed a hand to her bodice. “Why certainly, Mr. McShane, I’ll be happy to give them a show! Just let me clean up a bit.” Putting the cup down, she turned away to repin a few stray curls from an alabaster neck he so craved to taste, then smoothed a palm down the skirt of her dress like he so longed to do.

Ker-splash!!

Finn blinked, completely caught off-guard by dirty water sluicing down his face onto his favorite shirt. Liberty stood there with an empty bucket in her hand and a smirk on her face while the raucous sounds of “Turkey in the Straw” boomed to the rafters.

“Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, turkey in the straw, what do you say?”

Giggles rose from Kitty and Martha as he swiped a sleeve across his wet face, about as speechless as that blasted turkey in the dad-burned blasted hay.

Liberty stared him down with heat in her eyes. “Because if you think I’m going to dance with you, mister, you are all wet, so go drip somewhere else.” Slamming her empty bucket down, she snagged a towel and balled it up, pelting it at his chest before glancing at her friends. “Martha, Kitty—if you’d be kind enough to scatter hay on the wet mud, I’d be much obliged. Obviously I need more water.” She seized the bucket and sparing him one last nasty look, stormed through the wall of quilts and out the back door.

“Good heavens, Finn,” Kitty said with an innocent flutter of lashes, “what on earth did you do to light a fire under our Libby like that?”

“Can’t say, ladies, but I can tell you this ...” Smile tight, Finn plucked the towel from the floor and swabbed his shirt and vest, grateful the crowd was focused on the rousing dance instead of on him. Tossing the towel on the table, he slapped his Stetson on and strode toward the back door. “I sure in the devil plan to do it again.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Woman, you are a handful. The back barn door squealed closed behind Finn as he squinted in the dark. But I am more than up to the challenge. Barely waiting for his eyes to adjust, he barreled toward Mrs. Poppy’s pump at the back of the house, pretty sure Liberty would go there rather than the well out in front. He smiled at a passel of kids sailing on rope swings, then nodded at older townsfolk rockin’ on the front porch. Lanterns lit up the lawn for games of checkers around wood stumps while lines of people waited at the far treeline beside outhouses built especially for the festival.

Rounding the corner of the back porch, he paused, Mrs. Poppy’s pump deserted in the moonlight, silent and still. Head cocked, he scanned both garden and yard, straining to hear over the trill of tree frogs and the faraway sound of the hoedown.

“Blue blazes, Libby, where the devil are you?” he mumbled to himself, well aware he didn’t have much time before he needed to get back. Closing his eyes, he halted, focusing hard on sounds in the backyard.

And then he heard it. The faintest hitch of someone crying, coming straight from the Poppys’ personal outhouse at the far corner of the yard. A faint sniffle harpooned straight through his heart, and guilt immediately doused any frustration she’d riled with the stupid bucket of water. With as much stealth as he could muster, he made his way to the shed and quietly tapped on the door. “Libby, I know you’re in there, so will you open up please?”

“Go away, I don’t want to dance.” The nasal pout in her voice made him smile.

Head bowed, Finn butted a shoulder to the door. “Good, because neither do I. I want to talk.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk either, Finn McShane, so just go away.”

“Can’t,” he said with a heavy sigh that sealed his fate. “Because those tears you’re crying are tearing me up.”

She sniffed. “Why? Because you’re guilty as sin?”

He expelled a noisy breath, wishing with everything in him he could just court her the way that he wanted. “No, darlin’, because I’m pretty darn sure I’m in love with you.”