“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.”
She chewed on the edge of her lip. “Do you think … it will stir things up? You know, as far as the plight of the Chinese?” she asked, desperate to expose the railroads for their despicable prejudice.
A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “Oh, yeah, it’ll stir things up all right.” He tossed it back on his desk and chuckled. “And I have no idea about the Chinese.”
“So I … have the job?” Voice tentative, she peered up from the edge of her seat, on tenterhooks that felt like a nest of Mama’s knitting needles poking through a ball of yarn.
He studied her through pensive eyes despite the faint smile on his lips, elbows propped on the arms of his chair and hands folded. “Sure. Providing you’re willing to start at the bottom.”
If she scooted any closer to the edge, she’d be on the floor. “Oh, anything, Mr. Parks,” she gushed with hands clasped to her mouth. “Absolutely anything and anytime—I am at your complete disposal.”
“An apt choice of words, Miss O’Shea, because if you buck me on assignments I give, any ‘disposal’ will be yours—is that clear?”
“Oh, yes sir!” she breathed, hardly able to believe she had an honest-to-goodness job with an honest-to-goodness paycheck despite Papa’s efforts to blackball her from employment in Virginia City. Never was she more grateful that the owner of the Enterprise was one of Papa’s adversaries, untouchable by her father’s money. She fought the rise of a smirk. Let him put that in his pipe and puff it!
“Good.” Milo rifled through his side drawer for several seconds before producing an application, which he promptly slid across his desk. “Fill this out, give it to Viola at the front desk, and she’ll cut you a paycheck every week. Hours are generally 7:00 to 5:00 unless you’re on special assignment, then you stay till it gets done, understood?”
She nodded, quite sure she’d rather spend most of her time here than at Ponderosa Pines, where Papa bellowed nonstop over her “ungrateful suffragette ways.” Her spirits dimmed a hair. Even if she did sorely miss Mama.
“You’ll get paid 85 cents a day and 30 minutes for lunch.”
The adrenaline coursing through her veins slowed to a crawl. “Eighty-five cents a day?”
He glanced up from a stack of notes he was rummaging through. “Is there a problem?”
“Uh …” Her chin rose. “Even the Chinese laborers on the horrific Central Pacific Railroad were paid a dollar a day, Mr. Parks.”
His eyes narrowed despite the stiff smile on his face. “That’s right, Miss O’Shea, and each and every one a man, so let’s not get a bee in your bonnet.”
Her mouth sagged open, wide enough for a whole hive of those blasted bees. “Excuse me, sir, but are you saying I’m to be paid less for the same work as a man just because I’m a woman?”
His eyes bore into hers like one of those confounded rotary drills they used to mine silver, but she didn’t miss a twitch of a smile at the edge of his mouth. “Now you’re getting the lay of the land, Miss O’Shea. So do you want the job or not?”
She slammed her mouth shut, teeth ground tight to keep the piece of her mind from barreling out. Offering a curt nod, she jacked her chin even higher.
That infernal twitch of his smile bloomed like pigweed in a patch of petunias. “Good, then we have just one more business detail to cover.” With a decidedly evil glint in his gaze that somehow brought to mind an outhouse and a skunk, Milo Parks shoved a paper and pen across his desk.
“What’s this?” She slowly leaned in to study it, as if it were a scorpion about to strike. Her jaw dropped, near as wide as the mouth of the Comstock mine. As if starched by shock, her lashes rose in slow motion. “You want me to sign a contract?” she whispered, a tic fluttering in her temple, “to restrain my temper on the job?”
He nodded with a gleam of trouble in his eyes. “No matter the assignment, hour, or day. If you are on Enterprise business, you will keep that Irish temper under wraps or it and its owner will be out of a job, is that clear?”
Libby shot to her feet, her volume rising along with her. “This is blackmail! If I were a man, you would never do such a thing, Milo Parks.” She stamped her kidskin boots. “This is bald-faced discrimination, and I will not stand for it!”
“Then sit,” he said with a glare tempered by the ghost of a smile. “And it’s not discrimination, Liberty, it’s self-preservation, and you darn well know it.” He arched a brow when she stood there steaming. “I said sit. Or you can turn that mule-headed temper of yours around right now, Liberty O’Shea, and waltz out that door. Those are the terms—take ’em or leave ’em.”
Hands knotted at her sides, she stood there glowering right back, body trembling with indignation along with the feathers on her hat. Jaw like rock, she slowly sucked in a calming breath. All right, Liberty, just think of all the women you can help by holding your tongue … Huffing out her exasperation, she plopped back in the chair, her anger cooling enough for regret to set in. “I …” She swallowed the pride clogging her throat. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, gratified when Milo gave her a sympathetic smile instead of pulling rank.
“I know you are, Liberty. Back in school, I’ve seen you madder than a wet hornet with a headache when Finn and I pulled some crazy stunt to drive you crazy, but in the end, you always simmered down and did the right thing.”
“Till the next time,” she muttered, brows digging low.
Milo grinned. “Yeah, till the next time.” His chest rose and fell with a noisy sigh before he met her gaze with a truce of a smile that put her at ease. “The truth is, Liberty, I like you—always have—and Finn likes you too.”
An unladylike grunt parted from her lips. “Sure, Finn likes me all right—as long as I’m in another state.”
He grinned while he scratched the back of his head. “No, he does, really, it’s just that …”
Her eyelids narrowed. “It’s just what?”
“It’s just that he’s my best friend and more of a brother, you know? And with the V&T office just three doors away …”
“You want us to avoid killing each other,” she said, finishing his thought.
A boyish smile slid across his face. “Something like that.”
Her ruffled bodice expanded with air, and she expelled it again in one, arduous exhale. “All right, Mr. Parks, you have my word I will do everything in my power to get along with Mr. McVain.” Smile flat, she studied the contract in its entirety before scrawling her name across the bottom line. Laying the pen aside, she pushed the paper forward, lips in a twist. “After all, shouldn’t be too hard if I stay as far away from him as humanly possible, right?”
“Yeah, well, about that …” Milo cocked his head, brows dipped as he drew air through clenched teeth.
The smile froze on her face.
“The Enterprise is one of the biggest sponsors for the annual Fourth of July Festival as you know …”
“Yesssss …” she said slowly, her vision thinning significantly.
“Well, I’m the co-chairman of the planning committee, so we’re going to need your help. Figured I’d have you co-chair with me as your first assignment.”
“Okay …” The breath she’d been holding slowly seeped out. “That doesn’t sound too bad so far, if writing’s still involved.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Milo assured her with a forceful nod of his head. “Anything you care to contribute that factors into the patriotic theme of our fair city or state—features, editorials, newsy updates, whatever. As long as the festival planning doesn’t suffer, the sky’s the limit.”
A grin pulled at her lips. “You know, this could actually be fun—getting paid to chair the festival. I mean, I’ve always loved it—the booths, the baking contest, the dance, the parade.”
“And don’t forget the fireworks,” Milo said with a smile, folding her signed contract and tucking it in his pocket.
Liberty clasped her hands together, suddenly as giddy as a toddler staring at spider flashes of fire in a dark and smoky sky. “Oh, yes, the fireworks,” she breathed, heart near bursting like the gunpowder rockets that would spiral to the stars. “There are few things I love more than fireworks.”
A lazy grin tipped Milo’s mouth as he handed her several more sheets. “That’s good. Here’s the lead on a story I’d like you to tackle, along with the festival notes Viola typed up for this year and last. You know, just to give you ideas before the meeting at City Hall tonight at seven.”
Liberty jumped to her feet and took the sheets before extending her hand across the desk. “Thank you so much, Mr. Parks, for entrusting me with such an exciting project.”
Milo pumped her hand with gusto, the glimmer in his eye no doubt matching the sparkle in her own. “My pleasure, Liberty—I think you’re the perfect person for the job, especially given your love of fireworks.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” she agreed with matched enthusiasm, “fireworks are one of my most favorite things in the whole, wide world.”
“That’s real good to hear,” he said with a broad grin that was instantly followed by a wink. “’Cause I guarantee you, Miss O’Shea—you’re going to see plenty.”