Finn had an awfully tough time keeping his grin in check while he danced with Martha, the look on Liberty’s face enough to puff his chest out with pride. Pinched lips, clamped jaw, and gushing lemonade in cups like it was a drought in the Mohave.
Even though Libby was the celebrated mastermind behind Virginia City’s most successful and far-reaching fundraiser, his pretty co-chair appeared downright peeved. His grin broke through despite his best efforts. And he had a sneaking suspicion why.
The woman is flat-out crazy about me.
Smiling, he gave Martha an extra whirl at the end of their dance because deep down he was as giddy as a schoolboy that Liberty Margaret O’Shea apparently cared about him as much as he cared about her, sweet vindication after years of secret pining.
Of course, he hadn’t meant to make her mad when he’d danced with Jo Beth more than anyone else, but it was Jo’s birthday after all, and he’d long ago promised both Jo and Milo that he’d make sure it was a good one. Besides, Liberty had made it more than clear it didn’t bother her a whit.
“Whatever you need to do is perfectly fine with me, truly, so please take your time.”
A slow smile slid across his lips. Because she said she wasn’t jealous. “Not even a little.”
He grinned outright. Nope, more like a lot. And tonight when he’d danced with every girl in the place except her, on top of Jo Beth three times, he could feel that green-eyed glare singe the hairs on the back of his neck.
His mood tempered somewhat at the thought of causing Liberty distress, but this was their agreement, after all, and the only way to throw everyone off the track. Holy thunder, Mrs. Poppy just cornered him this morning, asking if he’d thought anymore about pursuing Liberty. Finn stifled a grunt. Was the woman serious? Day and night he “thought” about pursuing Liberty and then some, but he wanted to do it guilt-free, putting enough distance and time between him and Jo Beth to cushion Jo’s feelings and pay off the debt he owed to her father. And he was almost there. Between the prize money for the booth and the bonus Superintendent Yerington promised if V&T won, he and Liberty would be able to start out with a clean slate.
No guilt.
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.”