Woman, you are a handful. The back barn door squealed closed behind Finn as he squinted in the dark. But I am more than up to the challenge. Barely waiting for his eyes to adjust, he barreled toward Mrs. Poppy’s pump at the back of the house, pretty sure Liberty would go there rather than the well out in front. He smiled at a passel of kids sailing on rope swings, then nodded at older townsfolk rockin’ on the front porch. Lanterns lit up the lawn for games of checkers around wood stumps while lines of people waited at the far treeline beside outhouses built especially for the festival.
Rounding the corner of the back porch, he paused, Mrs. Poppy’s pump deserted in the moonlight, silent and still. Head cocked, he scanned both garden and yard, straining to hear over the trill of tree frogs and the faraway sound of the hoedown.
“Blue blazes, Libby, where the devil are you?” he mumbled to himself, well aware he didn’t have much time before he needed to get back. Closing his eyes, he halted, focusing hard on sounds in the backyard.
And then he heard it. The faintest hitch of someone crying, coming straight from the Poppys’ personal outhouse at the far corner of the yard. A faint sniffle harpooned straight through his heart, and guilt immediately doused any frustration she’d riled with the stupid bucket of water. With as much stealth as he could muster, he made his way to the shed and quietly tapped on the door. “Libby, I know you’re in there, so will you open up please?”
“Go away, I don’t want to dance.” The nasal pout in her voice made him smile.
Head bowed, Finn butted a shoulder to the door. “Good, because neither do I. I want to talk.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk either, Finn McShane, so just go away.”
“Can’t,” he said with a heavy sigh that sealed his fate. “Because those tears you’re crying are tearing me up.”
She sniffed. “Why? Because you’re guilty as sin?”
He expelled a noisy breath, wishing with everything in him he could just court her the way that he wanted. “No, darlin’, because I’m pretty darn sure I’m in love with you.”
“Horse apples!” she shouted, and he grinned when she kicked the door.
He rattled the latch, which she’d secured on the inside. “Come on, Libs, open up so we can talk face-to-face, please?”
“No. Go talk to Jo Beth, you low-down, womanizing skunk.”
Finn banged his head against the door. “You are making me crazy, you know that?”
“Good!” she yelled through the crack. “You’ve made me crazy for years, so why don’t you go back to your crowd of admirers?”
Finn slammed a palm to the door, his voice a harsh whisper. “Because I don’t give a rat’s tail who admires me, Liberty O’Shea. The only reason I paid any mind to any girl tonight is to throw people off that I care about you, so you may as well open up because I sure don’t want to break the door.”
“Ha! The only thing you’re good at breaking are women’s hearts, you … you … letch!”
“Okay, that’s it.” Finn scoured the ground for a stick. Muttering under his breath, he snapped one off a tree and rammed it beneath the latch of the outhouse that he built for the Poppys, flipping the wooden bar with ease. He yanked the door open, and Liberty jumped back, almost falling onto the wooden commode. Latching onto her wrist, he dragged her outside and around the back, ignoring her hissing and harping as he pinned her to a tree. “So help me, Libby, you are going to hear me out if I have to die trying,” he said, tone rough.
“Good! That’s the best idea you’ve had yet!” She broke free, nails flailing. “I’ll bet Jo Beth will cry a bucket of tears, and if she’s smart, she’ll throw them right on your casket.”
“Whoa!” Finn quickly immobilized her, risking life and limb to cut loose with a grin. He gentled his hold. “You know, Liberty Bell, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
“I’ll-give-you-jealous—” Battling tooth and nail, she jerked her knee up with a grunt.
He dodged her thrust and braced her to the tree once again, his laughter husky and low as he gave her a crooked smile. “Come on, Libs, admit it—you’ve fallen for me, haven’t you?” She growled and tried to knee him again, and he locked her with his leg. “Because I sure have fallen for you, darlin’.” He lowered to tease her earlobe with a playful tug of his teeth, then laughed out loud when she bucked like a bronc in a red-hot stall. “I want to court you, Libby,” he said with a chuckle before he silenced her with a kiss so deep, there was no room for protest. Her thrashing slowed as she went limp against the tree, chest heaving as hard as his when he finally gave her some air.
His breathing was as shallow as hers when he forced his gaze from those wet, parted lips up to moss-colored eyes, hazy with desire even in the moonlight. “I know it didn’t look like it tonight, Libby, but I’m crazy about you, sweetheart, and I know from that kiss that you’re crazy about me too. So all I’m asking is you give me a little time to settle my affairs, and then I’ll marry you so fast, your head will spin.”
“It already is,” she muttered, voice breathless and lips in a pout.
Gaze soft, he cradled her face in his hands. “Oh, honey, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he whispered, bending in to slowly nuzzle her neck, “but you have my solemn word, Miss O’Shea—you will.” Eyes sheathing closed, he lowered to seal it with a kiss.
Two palms rammed hard against his chest, pushing him away. “What about Jo Beth?” she rasped, eyes as glazed as his.
He gulped, the dilemma he faced dousing some of the heat in his blood. Today was Jo Beth’s birthday, so he didn’t have the heart to end it with her tonight, especially when he’d promised to take her home for cake with her family. Instead, he’d planned to tell her a week or so after the festival, giving her time to calm down and him a chance to pay off the loan.
But looking at Liberty now, he knew he needed to do it sooner rather than later for both women’s sakes. And for his own self-respect, he realized, even though it might jeopardize that stupid loan. Sucking in a deep breath, he gently fondled a silky strand of her hair, his gaze soft with regret. “I’m working on it, Libs, I promise, so I’m asking you to trust me.”
She arched a brow. “Trust you.” Those beautiful lips quirked in an off-center smile. “The boy who put a worm in my coat pocket and snails in my lunch pail?”
He managed a sheepish smile. “That was the old Griffin McShane. The new one is out-right crazy about you, Miss O’Shea, and hog-tied in love.” He pressed a kiss to her nose. “Gotta go, Libs, but I guarantee it’ll be worth the wait.” He brushed a tender kiss to her lips before turning to leave.
“It better be, McShane,” she called after him, “or you’re in a whole heap of trouble.”
Mouth dry, Finn strode back to the barn with a lump in his throat as “sticky” as the situation he’d somehow backed himself into. He sure didn’t need Liberty O’Shea to remind him he’d be in trouble, because deep down he had a gut-gnawing suspicion …
He already was.