Page 38 of For Love of Liberty

Her tears dismantled more of his anger, and upending his tea, a calm settled over him as he reclaimed the seat beside her. “Libby,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his, “I love you, I do, but I think we both need to step back and take some time. You know, to pray about it and make sure we’re a good fit.”

She peeked up beneath dark lashes spiked with tears, and he smothered a groan, heat spiraling through his belly when he glanced at those pink lips, moist with invitation. “I don’t think the ‘fit’ is the problem, Finn,” she said softly, a pretty blush dusting her cheeks as her gaze dropped to his mouth.

He quickly distanced himself several inches with a loud screech of his chair, not about to let feminine wiles railroad him into moving too fast. He gulped more tea. No matter how potent those blasted wiles might be.

Liberty scooted closer, eyes soft with affection. “I love you, too, Finn, and I promise to work on my temper—”

“Good,” he said with a gruff clear of his throat, his heart already on the thaw.

“If you work on yours …”

His jaw dropped. “Mine?” He shot up, more steam coming out of his ears than Mrs. Poppy’s teapot on full boil. Blue blazes, it was his poor excuse for a father who had the temper—not him, and nothing made Finn want to spit fire more than that blasted comparison. Not when he’d spent a lifetime trying to purge it from his mind. Holy thunder, he hadn’t even realized he still had a blasted temper till she came back to town. He jumped up to storm over to the stove, suddenly craving a whole pot of Mrs. Poppy’s tea. “You mean the temper I don’t have unless you trigger it?”

“Yes, that temper,” she emphasized, nodding her thanks when he topped off her cup. “Goodness, my temper wouldn’t even be a problem if you weren’t such a bully.”

“Me?” Finn gaped as he banged the teapot back onto the stove, marching back to stare her down with hands moored low on his hips. “I wouldn’t be a bully if you weren’t so pushy in the first place, Miss Bell, always wrestling for control.”

Liberty blasted from her seat to glare right back, ramming a petite finger against his chest for good measure. “And I wouldn’t have to wrestle for control in the first place if you’d just treat me with the same courtesy and respect you do with a man, giving ear to my ideas instead of dismissing me as a mere woman.”

Finn couldn’t help it—he grinned, her fire never failing to disarm and lure him in. “But that’s just it, Libs,” he said softly, his gaze straying to her mouth as he took hold of her wrist, “you’re not a man, and I have never been happier of anything more in my life. And heaven knows you are definitely no mere woman.” He slowly reeled her in, eyelids shuttering closed as he bent to give her way more than an ear.

Oooomph! Two tiny palms slammed against his chest, jolting his eyes open. “Hold it right there, buster!” she said with a no-nonsense glint in her eyes, “you are not sidetracking me this time, Finn McShane. We have serious problems here, mister, and we need to resolve them.”

Huffing out a groaning sigh, Finn gouged stiff fingers through his hair. “Fine, you’re right—we do need to resolve our differences. And, yes, I will admit that as much as I squawked about it, you had some pretty good ideas for making the festival a success. So you have my word that I will try to keep more of an open mind where you and your opinions are concerned.”

“Thank you,” she said in a considerably less agitated tone as her palms finally relaxed against his chest, their slow slide down his shirt leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “And I will try to rein in both my temper and my tongue if you work on being less of a bully.”

His mouth crooked as he slipped an arm to her waist, drawing her close once again. “Agreed if you work on being less pushy and demanding—”

“Demanding?!” Her body stiffened as she attempted to push him away once more. “I’ll give you ‘demanding,’ you mule-headed—”

Her protest faded into his mouth as he jerked her close and kissed her hard, the taste of Libby O’Shea far better than any award-winning cake. He buried his head in her neck with a loud groan. “Libby, I love you—why are we fighting?”

He felt the shift of her throat as she swallowed, her breathing as shallow as his. “Because we’re so good at it?” Her voice was a breathless rasp.

“We are, no question, sweetheart, but we are so much better at this …” He nuzzled her earlobe before skimming his mouth back to hers, their moans merging when he deepened the kiss.

“Ahem …” The gruff clear of a throat blasted them apart like a stick of dynamite.

Heat roared into Finn’s cheeks as he further distanced himself from Libby with several additional steps back, the knowing smile on Pastor Poppy’s face doing nothing for Finn’s composure. “Uh, pardon us, sir, but we were just discussing our future together.”

“I see,” he said with a wink at Libby that only served to deepen the bloom in her cheeks. Chuckling, he set the lamp on the counter along with a crock of ice cream while Mrs. Poppy rinsed off the mint from her mason jar, the smiles on their faces prompting the same on Finn’s. “A good discussion, was it?”

Finn glanced at Libby, who nibbled the edge of her lip while her face flamed near as bright as her hair. He grinned. “Yes, sir, it was, although we definitely have some work ahead of us.”

Mrs. Poppy dropped several mint leaves into her teapot, her face beaming like the full moon out the kitchen window. “Oh my, I am so excited! I’ve had a feeling about you two youngsters from the very start, so I am delighted to hear you’ve worked things out.” She slapped her palms together in prayer mode, eyes sparkling more than the candlelight flickering in their tea. “So … you’ve decided to court?”

Finn’s gaze collided with Libby’s, and he grinned ear to ear. “I think that’s safe to say, ma’am, although we do plan to take it slow.”

The pastor’s laughter filled the cozy kitchen as he took his seat, diving back into his cake without missing a beat. “Any slower, my boy, and you two could be married by morning.”

Finn blinked. It was a contest over which generated more heat—his neck or Libby’s face.

“Now, Horace, hush—you’re embarrassing our guests.” Mrs. Poppy offered a conciliatory smile while she doled out more cake. A soft gasp popped from her mouth. “Oh my stars—I almost forgot about the ice cream—again!”

Retrieving a scoop from a drawer, she quickly delivered the crock to the table with a proud lift of her chin. “The perfect treat to celebrate a courtship! And, I’ll have you know, made with special poppy seeds all the way from Spain, sent by Horace’s missionary friend.” Her brow wrinkled the slightest bit. “Of course, I almost ruined it when I dropped the whole silly bottle into the mix, but I tasted it, and it really has a lovely little crunch to it, so I hope you like it too.” Her face broke into a bright smile that chased all the worry lines away. “So tell me, Finn,” she asked as she plopped a large spoonful of ice cream onto his cake, “are you going to ask Libby’s father for permission to court her?”

“Yes—”