Page 37 of For Love of Liberty

“Clara, you’ve outdone yourself tonight, dear.” Pastor Poppy tucked into the dessert with gusto, a contented smile spanning his face. “I do believe this is your best yet.”

“I have to agree, Mrs. Poppy,” Finn said, licking the icing off of his fork. And I like the addition of the icing, ma’am, almost better than your original recipe.

“Oh, drat!” Mrs. Poppy sprang up from the table.

Finn’s face fell as he blinked at the older woman. “Uh … don’t get me wrong, ma’am. I like your original recipe a lot, too, and so does everyone else, apparently, since you win every year.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Mrs. Poppy pushed her chair in with a pointed look at her husband before bestowing a sweet smile on Finn. “I’m not offended that you like this version better, Finn,” she explained, “I just remembered Horace forgot to bring in the mint for our tea and I forgot about the ice cream I made especially for tonight.” Hurrying over to pump more water into the teapot, she put it back on the boil, then plucked an empty mason jar off her counter along with a lantern. She returned to where her husband was helping himself to a second piece of cake. “Your stomach can wait, Horace—but our tea and ice cream cannot.” Tugging him up with an apologetic smile at Libby that didn’t quite ring true, she handed him the lantern with a nod toward the door. “Liberty, Finn—please forgive us, but we’ll be right back, so you two just go ahead and visit a while, all right?”

—

No! Finn launched to his feet like a blasted Chinese skyrocket, chair clattering loudly against the wooden planks of the floor. He was pretty darn sure what Mrs. Poppy had up her sleeve, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet. The last thing he wanted was to hob-knob with Liberty O’Shea right now, not with this splinter of hurt still festering in his heart. He shoved his chair in and strode to the door, swiping the jar right out of her hand. “No, let me gather the peppermint for you, ma’am, while you and the pastor stay and visit with your guest.”

A shadow of a smile twitched on the old woman’s lips as she snatched the jar back, silver brows spiking high. “Tell me, Finn—do you even know what peppermint looks like?”

He swallowed hard, heat ringing his collar. “Uh no, ma’am, but all I have to do is pinch the leaves and smell it, right?”

Smile maternal, Mrs. Poppy patted Finn’s cheek with a look of affection, but the suspicious twinkle in her gaze told him he was a goner. “Thank you, you sweet boy, but Mr. Poppy and I have trouble finding it in the dark ourselves, much less sending someone who doesn’t know where it is in my huge garden or how to pick it the way I like.”

Pastor Poppy slapped Finn on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Give it up, Finn, you won’t win, trust me. I’ve been trying for over fifty years, son, so I’d advise you to just sit down and enjoy more cake.”

The screen slammed, and Finn just stared out the door for several painful seconds, unwilling to turn around lest he lose some of his anger. And he couldn’t afford to. Oh, he had every intention of eventually courting Liberty if God directed him that way, but not before he made his point. The woman he married needed to know the full meaning of the Scripture, “the tongue is a fire,” and Finn figured a bit of cold shoulder and time would go a long way in educating her. Liberty was a feisty, headstrong little thing who could sure set him on fire—both temper and body—and he wasn’t about to give her the chance to do either right now. His mouth thinned with resolve.

Inside of marriage or not.

Because as much as he loved his mother, he vowed he’d never allow a woman to trip his temper like she had with his father, always nagging and butting heads over every little thing. That didn’t absolve his father from drinking, infidelity, and abandonment, certainly, but deep down Finn couldn’t help but believe it was a factor in the destruction of their marriage. And he’d be horsewhipped and hung up to dry before he’d ever let that happen to him.

Without a word, he opted for a chair across the table from Liberty instead of next to her like before and immediately reached for the cake. Cutting a piece, he glanced up with a tight pinch of lips, one brow jagging high as he extended the cake her way.

“Please,” she said quietly, pushing her plate forward so he could serve her. “I suspect this is next year’s winner for sure.” Rising, she offered a tiny smile, contrition soft in her eyes. “I could use more tea. How ’bout you?”

He gave an abrupt nod and sliced another section for himself while she retrieved the teapot. Ignoring her as she poured, he shoveled more cake in his mouth, staring straight ahead while he chewed.

“Finn …” Her whispered plea matched the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder, paralyzing him mid-chew. “Will you forgive me—please?”

His eyelids weighted closed as he swallowed, the scent of lilacs leaching his anger. Laying his fork down, he pushed away from the table with a stiff fold of arms. “Of course I forgive you, Libby, but what you said”—he peered up at her, wondering how he could both love and hate the fire she possessed—“it wounded me to the core, and to be honest, I’m not all that sure we’re right for each other.”

A muscle spasmed in her throat, and he fought the urge to jump up and take her in his arms. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

This was way too important.

She rounded the table to pour her own tea, then returned the teapot before she sagged into her chair, eyes fixed on the cup in her hands. “I deserve that, of course, and I apologize for losing my temper and for what I said, but”—she glanced up, a bit of the fire back in her eyes—“you could have told me you broke it off with Jo Beth.”

He cocked a brow. “Would you have believed me?”

Her chest rose and fell in a shaky sigh as she caught the edge of her lip with her teeth.

“I didn’t think so.” The twitch in his temple told him his anger was alive and well as he took a glug of his tea, cup wobbling in the saucer when he slammed it back down. “So instead of talking it out with me, you go for the throat, Libby, with a tongue as sharp as a bowie knife, gutting me to the core.”

She had the grace to blush.

He leaned in, desperate to make her understand.

Desperate to make it work.

“Libby, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman, but my parents fought like two cocks in a cage, drawing blood every single time. They sliced each other up with their words and actions until my father ran off with another woman, leaving our family in shreds.” Drawing in a deep gulp of air, he slowly straightened, some of his frustration seeping out in a lumbering sigh. “And frankly, Libs, I don’t want that for myself, and I sure don’t want that for us.”

“Me either, Finn,” she whispered, green eyes moist with regret.