Page 8 of For Love of Liberty

“Although I suspect in the end, her daddy will get his way,” Jo Beth continued. “He usually does.”

Finn frowned.

“Well, well,” Jo Beth said softly, “speak of the devil.”

Finn stopped breathing. A flash of heat jolted through his body at the sight of Liberty O’Shea in the doorway of Flo’s Café with her best friends Kitty Jones and Martha Artyomenko. The devil, indeed. Complete with fiery hair and a pitchfork tongue. Not to mention the heat she evoked in his body every time he laid eyes on her. A smile rested on those luscious lips until her gaze lighted upon him, thinning her mouth considerably along with those green eyes the color of moss on a forest floor.

In a patch of poison ivy.

Flo approached them at the door, and Liberty’s face eased into the sweet smile she awarded everyone but him. That is, until Flo began to lead them to the only empty table in the small café.

Right next to Finn’s.

He couldn’t help it—the blood siphoning from her usually rosy cheeks coaxed a grin to his lips, along with Flo’s not-so-gentle tug of the little brat’s arm when she reared back in a hard slant, feet fused to the floor like her shoes were made of glue. With Flo’s firm grip and Kitty’s gentle prod from behind, they succeeded in dragging her to the table, but not before Finn managed a roguish wink that helped replenish the blood in her face. “Why, hello there, Liberty Bell.”

He casually slid an arm around Jo Beth’s shoulders, knowing full well it would rile Liberty something fierce. She’d always accused him of being a lothario in school, and he took great pleasure in getting her goat. Especially after her father turned him down for a loan her senior year, accusing Finn of being a fortune hunter. Claimed his decision was based on the fact that “his Libby” didn’t trust Finn, calling him “a skunk of a womanizer just like his father.”

Finn had been so irate, he’d stood Libby up for the festival dance he’d finally gotten the nerve to ask her to, taking Jo Beth instead at the very last minute. His jaw hardened at the memory as he stared at the woman who had stabbed him straight through the heart. As sweet as you please during the time they spent together as festival volunteers, but then running back to Daddy to sully Finn’s reputation. He released a silent sigh. He had to admit there were days he regretted the hurt he’d caused her that night, leaving her high and dry in front of the whole town.

But today sure wasn’t one of them.

He casually fondled the lace on Jo Beth’s scoop collar with blatant familiarity just to get on Libby’s nerves. Delivering a lazy smile, he skimmed along Jo Beth’s collarbone with the pad of his thumb. “Say, Miss Bell, you didn’t happen to notice any starving babies or women outside, did you? ’Cause I sure would like to treat them to dinner …”

Libby’s eyes could have been jagged shards of emerald for all the daggers she was shooting his way. “I doubt Flo has nitroglycerin on the menu, Mr. McShane …”

He grinned, adrenalin pumping through his veins at sparring with Liberty O’Shea once again. “Well, I don’t know about that, Miss O’Shea, but Flo’s chili pert near ‘explodes’ on the tongue.”

Her face flushed almost purple, and pleasure coursed through his bloodstream at being able to evoke some sort of emotion from this fire-haired beauty who haunted his dreams. As a God-fearing man, he knew he shouldn’t take such joy in baiting one of God’s own, but blue blazes, he never could help himself where Liberty O’Shea was concerned.

“You are pathetic, Mr. McShame, and I’m sure if you had a conscience, it would be as black as night.” She turned away with a swoosh of that magnificent scarlet hair, and he grinned at Milo, who just shook his head, the smirk on his face stealing some of Finn’s thunder.

“What was that all about?” Jo Beth said, never too happy when Finn paid attention to another woman, especially one she couldn’t abide.

“Oh, just another one of Liberty’s lost causes,” he said loud enough for Liberty to hear. Heat crept up the back of his neck when the thought backfired with a painful cramp in his gut.

Just like me.

CHAPTER SIX

“You’re on time—I like that, Miss O’Shea.”

Liberty’s cheeks burned as she sent Milo Parks a polite smile, closing the door behind her before she calmly took a chair in front of his desk. Steers would fly before she’d let him know she’d been camped out at Flo’s since sunup, drinking coffee nonstop while she peered at the glass door of the Territorial Enterprise. This job meant everything to her, and if she had to kiss Milo Parks’ feet, she would, because she’d do anything to secure her future and that of the women of Nevada.

Finn McShane’s cocky smile suddenly barged into her thoughts.

Well, almost anything.

“I believe in being on time, Mr. Parks,” she said as demurely as she could, as if she were the employer and he merely the nauseous new employee whose knees felt like hog’s-haw jelly.

“Good to hear. So, have you finished your editorial on the V&T Railroad?” Milo Parks appeared relaxed in his chair, the faintest of smiles hovering on his lips.

“Yes, sir, I have, and I hope it will meet with your approval.” She removed her article from Papa’s portfolio and handed it over, her unblinking gaze fused to his. For whatever reason, Milo Parks appeared to want to light a fire under his best friend, and Liberty was more than willing to comply.

Reaching to take the paper, he slanted back with a casual air.

Hands folded in her lap, she sat straight and tall on the edge of the chair, lungs deathly still while she watched his face. She had an itch on her nose, but refused to scratch it, determined to appear poised and confident despite the roiling in her gut. It wasn’t until those full lips of his edged up in a genuine smile that she finally allowed herself to breathe, and when he laughed outright, her shoulders sank in relief. “You like it?”

He peered over the top of the paper and grinned. “I love it.”