Page 34 of For Love of Liberty

“But he finally did, right?” Liberty cast him a hopeful look.

Milo turned away to tunnel fingers through his hair, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Yeah, he finally did, but not without a whole lot of fancy finagling, I can tell you that.”

A slow grin eased across Liberty’s face. “I can finagle,” she said with a chew of her lip, “and I smell a whole lot better than you.”

His laughter rang out as he looped an arm to her shoulders. “That you do, Libs, and you can light a fire under that boy faster than anybody I’ve ever seen. But I’ll tell you what, Miss O’Shea, when you two finally do get together?” He gave her a wink while he ushered her to the barn, shaking his head along the way. “It’ll be Fourth of July every bloomin’ day of the year.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Finn—you’re early!” Mrs. Poppy pushed the screen open, her smile as wide as the door she held, inviting him into a house that smelled like cinnamon sticks and lemons. Despite his frustrated mood, his mouth instantly watered for a slice of her prize-winning cake. Her pink cheeks puffed with pleasure as she waved him in, the signature silver topknot bouncing as she bustled down the hall. “Are the fireworks over already?”

They are for me. He forced a smile as she glanced his way, determined to curtail his nasty mood with the two people in his life who deserved it the least. “Naw, they just started, lighting up that new town square like high noon, so I imagine it’ll be a while.” He peered into the parlour as he followed her, Stetson in hand. “Is the pastor around?”

Her usual sparkle dimmed as she led him into the cozy kitchen where her table was all dressed up with her best lace tablecloth and a pitcher of poppies. Two candles flickered in anticipation of company, along with her antique oil lamp, which due to the crimp in her brow, now glowed far more than its hostess. “Why, yes, of course, Finn. I just sent him out to the garden to fetch some peppermint for our tea.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Is something … wrong?”

Everything. “No, ma’am, nothing to fret about. I’m just looking for a piece of advice from both you and the pastor.”

“I see.” It was clear from the gentle slope of silver brows that she did see, most likely, reading his mind as if she were blood. And they may as well be. Pastor Poppy had stepped in as a father figure when Finn’s own father had abandoned him, teaching him how to be the man he so wanted to be. No telling where he’d be today without the Poppys’ influence and rock-solid faith. A faith that had not only saved his sorry soul, but his life as well, guiding him, teaching him.

Redeeming him.

And literally saving him from a fate worse than death.

Becoming my father’s son.

Finn paused to put a hand to his eyes. The pain of Libby’s attack was still brutally fresh, despite the half cord of wood he split on his land in record time during the potluck and talent show. Those had been Libby’s responsibilities for the festival, so he knew he wouldn’t be missed.

Especially by her.

But every crack of the ax had splintered the wood like her words had splintered his soul, convincing him that no matter how much he wanted her, they were no good for each other. She was a bolt of lightening to the solid and secure timber of his life, a life he had built from the ground up after his father had destroyed both his hope and his family. Yes, she electrified him with her passion and purpose like no other woman ever had. But somehow she always left smoldering ruins in her wake, singeing his temper like no one else ever could.

Like tonight.

Comparing him to his father had unleashed a fury so strong, his first thought was to douse his temper with that 80-proof rotgut they served at the Brass Rail. He unleashed a grunt. Some called it “coffin varnish,” and they weren’t far wrong, but Finn hadn’t had an urge to partake for over two years now since the Poppys had given him a reason not to. That is, until the woman whose love and respect he craved kicked him in the gut.

“You are nothing but a low-down, no-good womanizing varmint just like your father, Finn McShane, cheating and stealing from innocent women before you leave them high and dry.”

Talk about coffin varnish!

“Finn.”

He glanced up, startled that he’d obviously drifted off given the steaming cup Mrs. Poppy had set at his usual place at the table. She patted the back of his chair with a tender look. “You sit right here with a cup of my special poppy-seed tea—it’ll calm you, son. I’ll go get Horace, all right?” She squeezed his shoulder when he sat down, her gentle touch as comforting as her tea.

How many cups had he consumed right here at this table over the last few years, he wondered, soothing his body as much as the Poppys’ faith had soothed his soul. Too many to count, he knew, and yet never was there a more critical time than tonight.

“Finn, my boy!” Pastor Poppy held the door for his wife when they entered the kitchen a few moments later, the smile on his face unable to mask the concern in his eyes. “We weren’t expecting you and Liberty for another hour or so.”

Finn rose and nodded. “Yes, sir, but I’m in need of some advice from the two smartest people I know, so I hope you don’t mind that I came early?”

“Oh, pish-posh!” Mrs. Poppy said with a wave of her hand, hurrying over to pour cups of tea for the pastor and herself. “You are welcome here anytime, any day, Griffin McShane, and well you know it. Now, sit and tell us what’s put that frown on your face?”

Finn took a sip of his tea and set it back down, peering up beneath beetled brows. “It’s Liberty.”

“Why, of course it is, you sweet boy,” Mrs. Poppy said with a gentle pat on his back. “You’re in love with her, for heaven’s sake, so naturally you’re going to be out of sorts until you up and marry the girl.”

She may as well have knocked him back in the chair—he gaped all the same. “Holy thunder, ma’am, sometimes I think you are out-and-out clairvoyant, how you see things nobody else can see.”

Her lips pursed in a knowing smile. “You mean like the disdain you pretend to have for Liberty when all the time you’re lovesick to the core?” She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Griffin McShane, so you can’t fool me. I see straight through your bickering to how much you care for the girl, for heaven’s sake.”