Love's Silver Lining (Silver Lining Ranch Series Book 1) Page 8

  “On the contrary,” Papa said in a strained tone edged with steel, “I’m trying to save it, young lady.” He leveled her with a tightly slatted look, eyelids weighted with fatigue. “You’ve always been headstrong, Liberty Margaret, but I hoped that someday you would settle down and become heart-strong as well.”

  Libby gasped along with her mother, his words piercing straight through the very heart he apparently thought to be weak. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  His gaze softened somewhat. “It means, darlin’, that I fear in many ways, you’ve taken after your sorry excuse for a father, with a will—and a heart—as hard as your head.”

  “Aiden Michael O’Shea!” Her mother’s tone was laden with shock. “How on earth can you say such a harsh thing to your daughter?”

  “Because I fear it’s true, Maeve, and deep down in your heart of hearts, you fear it too.” His sorrowful gaze flicked from his wife to Libby, the sheen in his eyes a testament to his regret.

  He reached for Libby’s free hand, but she jerked away, too wounded to accept his affection. Throat tight with emotion, she pushed his pipe at him instead. “That is an utterly cruel thing to say, Papa, and totally untrue.”

  His sigh lingered in the air along with the scent of vanilla and maple. “Is it, darlin’? How many times a year do we see you?”

  She battled a gulp, a knot of guilt constricting the muscles in her neck. “I come home every Thanksgiving, and you know it.”

  “Yes,” he said with a slow nod, “for two days once a year like a thief in the night—in and out before anyone knows you’re here.”

  “That’s not fair!” she said, shame stealing her thunder. “You and Mama visit me in New York at least three times a year.”

  “Because you refuse to come to us.”

  “Because I have a job!” she defended, “and a fiancé who’s entitled to my time.”

  “Ah, yes, your time.” His lips pursed tight. “But not your hand, eh, darlin’?”

  “Sweet saints above, Aiden, what is wrong with you?” Her mother expelled an exasperated sigh. “She and Harold are engaged, for heaven’s sake!”

  Papa peered up at Libby, eyes in a squint. “Of course they are, Maeve. Because after ten years of poor Harold pleading, Libby finally said yes. Not because it suits her heart, mind you, but her will.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Mama said in a huff, settling back into the couch with a fold of her arms. “A woman doesn’t up and marry a man she doesn’t love unless she’s forced to.” She cocked a brow at her husband. “Like me. And unlike me, Libby is an independent woman, free to follow her heart.”

  “Only she isn’t following her heart, Maeve, she’s following her will.” He slowly settled back in the chair as if exhausted, his breathing as shallow as hers. “And her fear. My gut tells me she isn’t engaged because of love.” His gaze shifted from his wife to his daughter. “It says she’s engaged strictly for more freedom and control, isn’t that right, Libby?”

  Libby’s body went to stone, her father’s words a well-aimed arrow. Her lashes flickered closed to stem the rise of moisture beneath her lids. No, I do love Harold, she argued in her mind, but even she knew it wasn’t the reason she’d finally said yes. Harold was a dear friend, and she loved him as such, but it was his recent appointment to Dean of the Faculty at Vassar that turned the key of Libby’s will. As Harold’s wife, she’d be able to quit her teaching post to volunteer full time at the National Woman Suffrage Association. And most importantly, she wouldn’t have to rely on Papa’s strict stipend to live and support her true love: women’s rights.

  The ultimate freedom.

  Freedom from Papa’s control.

  And freedom from a controlling husband.

  Finn McShane’s image suddenly popped into her head, and although she hadn’t seen the man in over seventeen years, the thought of him still had the power to flutter her stomach. As always, anger surged at the control he still exercised over her heart, something she’d vowed she’d never allow another man to do. Yes, the three months they’d been married had been a dream come true and totally wonderful. Until he’d refused to allow her to begin a National Woman Suffrage Association chapter in Virginia City. The nerve! He’d known how much women’s rights had meant to her and even admitted he’d admired her passion for it. But when push came to shove, he’d flat-out put his foot down, giving her an ultimatum:

  “It’s either your silly suffrage movement, Libby, or me, so take your pick!”

  And she had, furious the man she loved was strong-arming her just like her father had always done. Bullying and forcing their will over hers. A shiver scurried her spine.

  Just like other men had …

  Shaking off the nausea that started to rise, Libby recalled how Finn’s threat had ended in a horrendous row where she’d hurled a china teapot at him before storming out the door.

  “No wife of mine is going off half-cocked to stir up a hornet’s nest in this town.”

  The memory caused two tears to dribble down her cheeks.

  Because he never cared enough to put her needs—her passion—before his own.

  And because he never came after her ...

  For three heart-wrenching days, she’d cried her eyes out, but Finn never darkened her door, obviously waiting her out to exercise his control. So, when Papa hustled her out of town to visit Aunt Marie, she’d gone willingly, certain it would bring her husband to his senses.

  Only it didn’t. The only thing it brought was excruciating heartbreak when he never contacted her again.

  “Libby?” her father repeated. “Isn’t that right? Are you marrying Harold for love?” His eyes bore into hers. “Or for freedom and control?”

  Her lips trembled as she handed him his pipe, wrestling with the urge to lie.

  His answering sigh filled the silence in the room. “Don’t bother denying it, darlin’. You forget Ryland Kendrick is an old classmate of mine who provides me with a wealth of information as interim Chancellor of Vassar. So, I know for a fact that Harold’s appointment to Dean not only carries a far weightier salary than a mere professor”—his hesitation was long enough to underscore his point—“but mandates no fraternization with fellow teachers.”

  Her mother sat straight up on the couch, a deep wedge gouging the bridge of her nose. “Is that true, Libby? Are you marrying Harold for his money rather than love?”

  “No!” she said too loudly, hurrying over to quell her mother’s shock. She sat and took her hand, brows tented in a near plea. “I love Harold, Mama, I swear.”

  “Ah, yes, as ten years of friendship will attest,” her father said while he sucked on his pipe.

  Mama gripped her arms with an intensity that jolted. “But you are in love with him, Libby, aren’t you? Like you once were with Finn? Because I raised you to be independent, darling, so you could be spared the awful injustice of an arranged marriage tainted by mandate or need.”

  “Why, thank you, my dear,” Papa said with another lingering sigh, “for that rousing vote of confidence.”

  Mama tossed Papa a look pinched with annoyance. “Ours is the exception, Aiden, and you know it, but only because I’m a Christian woman who practices Biblical precepts.”

  “Humph … a bit more practice might be in order,” Papa mumbled.

  “So, are you?” Mama pressed, dipping her head to drill Libby with a pointed look. “In love with Harold that way?”

  Libby chewed on the edge of her lip, squirming over Mama’s question.

  “Of course not, Maeve,” Papa bellowed, his temper apparently rising along with the smoke in the room. “Because she’s still in love with Finn McShane.”

  “What?” Both Libby and Mama gaped, eyes bulging in shock.

  Libby launched to her feet. “That is the most outrageous thing I have ever heard, Papa, and makes me wonder if the smoke didn’t addle your brain.”

  “Libby!” Mama bolted up, staring Libby down. “Apologize this instant, young lady,
because I’ll not have you disrespecting your father.” Her gaze thinned as it homed in on Papa with a tight purse of a smile. “That’s my job.”

  Chest heaving, Libby attempted to tamp down her anger, flexing the knotted fists at her sides. “I’m sorry, Papa, but you couldn’t be more wrong. I was the addle-brained one when I married Finn McShane, and I have no desire to ever revisit such folly.”

  “And yet you never signed the papers,” Papa said quietly, the stillness of his tone as deafening as the pounding of her pulse. “And put Harold off for ten years.”

  Fingers gouging the side of her head, Libby began to pace, completely aware she hadn’t signed the papers on purpose at the time. But then she’d just assumed Papa had forged her name. “Because I was young and foolish, Papa, and—”

  “Desperately hurt Finn didn’t come after you those first three days to take you back home …” he finished softly, and even the gentleness of his tone couldn’t dull the slash of pain in her heart.

  Halting mid-stride, she bowed her head with her back to her parents, hand quivering as it covered her eyes. No, he didn’t … Which meant he was glad to be rid of her just like Papa had said …

  “Libby.” Her eyes shuttered closed at the sound of her mother’s approach, moisture stinging beneath her lids when Mama slipped a tender arm to her waist. “Are you still in love with Finn?” she asked quietly.

  No. Yes. A groan slipped from her lips. “Oh, I don’t know, Mama, but either way it doesn’t matter anymore because I’m going to marry Harold, case closed.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Grunts and groans sounded as Papa obviously struggled to rise from the chair, prompting Mama to hurry over to assist.

  Despite her frustration, Papa’s labored breathing compelled Libby to peek over her shoulder in concern, and his stormy countenance did not bode well for his health. Or hers. “I have no intention of giving you those papers until you agree to my terms, young lady. Six months at Finn’s ranch with Mama and me, take it or leave it.”

  Libby whirled around. “Well, then, I’ll leave it!” she said, her ire once again going head-to-head with his own. “It didn’t take too long to process those papers the first time, so I’ll just file my own. Harold and I have waited this long, Papa, we can certainly wait a bit longer.”

  “Good luck with that, darlin’.” Papa placed his pipe on the mantle, then faced her with a staunch tug of his suitcoat. “I had the favor of Monsignor O’Reilly on my side if you recall, who was kind enough to rush the paperwork through.” He slowly buttoned his coat, pinning her with the same dogged look of determination she wore herself. “Which I understand can take up to a number of years.” He paused for effect, chin rising along with hers. “If it’s approved at all.”

  Libby’s gaze darted to her mother, needle pricks of fear pebbling her skin. “Mama, please, can’t you talk him out of this ridiculous demand?”

  Her mother glanced from Libby to her husband and back, the sympathetic slope of her brows a sure indication she was about to side with Papa. “I would, darling, if I thought you really loved Harold—”

  “Mama, I do love Harold, I promise!” she said with a plea in her tone, fear crawling in her stomach along with the nausea at the thought of staying in Virginia City at all, much less with Finn.

  Her mother offered a tender smile as she moved to take Libby’s hand. “Not like you loved Finn, sweetheart, and if Papa’s suspicions—and now mine based on what Papa said—are true, then you’ve never really stopped, now have you? Besides,” she said with a gentle hug, “you can use this six months to find out whose wife you really need to be because if Finn still cares for you too—”

  “He does.” Papa’s tone was adamant.

  “Then you owe it to Finn, Harold, and yourself,” Mama continued with a patient smile, “to discover the truth and give Papa’s request a chance.”

  “Request?!” Libby shouted, not giving a whit who in the hotel heard her. “‘Threat’ is more like it.” She locked her arms across her chest in battle mode, refusing to be bullied by her father or any man ever again.

  Especially the one who’d broken her heart in a sham of a marriage.

  “Well, I won’t do it, it’s as simple as that,” she said with a thrust of her jaw. “I have a job, a place to live at Vassar, and a fiancé who is more than willing to wait, so I’m sorry, Papa, but I will be leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, too, darlin’,” Papa said with an absent scrub at the back of his head, “because about that job of yours …”

  His words snatched the air from her throat.

  “As I mentioned before, Ryland and I are friends, so when I wired him you wouldn’t be coming back for a while—”

  “What?” Libby grew faint while nausea roiled in her belly.

  “Yes,” Papa said without a hitch, “we both concurred that you were best needed here for the time being. Especially since you’ll be quitting after you marry Harold anyway, so he’s replaced you for the time being.”

  Her pulse skidded to a stop. Dear Lord, this can’t be happening! She swayed on her feet, lids weighting closed like they were made of lead.

  No job.

  No home.

  No marriage.

  No freedom.

  Her eyes flashed open in fury, determined that her bully of a father would not win. “Then I will search for another job,” she said with a thread of defiance.

  Her father nodded as if giving that some thought. “Yes, you could do that, I suppose, although jobs will be scarce since most learning institutions have already hired for the upcoming year. And then there’s the absence of funds …”

  She leveled her shoulders. “My salary will be missed, yes, but I should have enough until I can secure a new appointment. In fact, the new building for the St. Patrick Female Orphan Asylum where I’ve volunteered for years will be completed next year, and Sister Leona has hinted at possibly needing additional staff.”

  Papa looked up beneath beetled brows. “I was speaking of your allowance, daughter, the one I will cease sending if you refuse to comply with my wishes.”

  Sleet slithered her veins. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, her voice little more than a croak. Not her allowance ... The breath in her lungs grew heavy and thick, clogging her throat. Long before Libby had secured her teaching position at Vassar, Mama had won the war over Papa’s reluctance to subsidize Libby’s income. An income that not only provided a comfortable living for their daughter, but supported Libby’s passion for women’s rights as well.

  “Of course I would,” Papa said in his matter-of-fact tone, one hand knuckled white on the back of the chair. “If I believed this was in your best interest, and I clearly do.” His gaze softened the slightest bit. “Then if you still want to leave to marry that fop of a professor—”

  “Dean of Faculty,” Libby stressed in a tight tone.

  A hint of a smile twitched beneath Papa’s moustache. “Pardon me—if you still want to marry that fop of a dean after the six months, you’ll not only retain your allowance, but I will use my influence once again to secure a final annulment.”

  Six excruciating months with the man who broke my heart! Panic climbed up her throat like bile, all but choking her air. Her watery gaze slashed to Mama, the plea in her tone as clear as the moisture in her eyes. “Mama, please—don’t let him do this.”

  “Libby,” Mama whispered, an answering sheen of tears glimmering as she moved to stand by Papa. He quickly latched an arm to her shoulder while Mama swiped at her sodden face. “We love you desperately, darling, and would do anything for you, you know that. But this time I believe Papa is right. It may be God’s will for you to do everything to salvage your marriage.”

  “I have no marriage!” she yelled as she stomped back to the sofa, desperate to flee her father’s control, even if it was only for a brief while. “And it’s not God’s will.” She snatched up her shawl and slung it around her shoulders. “It’s Papa’s.” She storm
ed to the front door.

  “Libby, where are you going?” Alarm edged Mama’s voice as she took a step forward. “It’s time for dinner.”

  “I don’t need dinner,” she shouted, hand on the knob. “I need fresh air—lots and lots of fresh air.” Lashing the door open, she barreled out.

  Right into a mountain of a man who smelled like leather, lime, and mint. Bouncing off a granite chest, she gasped while a whoosh of familiar air sucked right into her lungs.

  And God help her—it was anything but “fresh.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  What in blue blazes …? Finn froze, “blazes” an appropriate word for the heat surging through his body the moment he realized the woman he loved was plastered against his chest. He grabbed to steady her when she ricocheted off and sorely wished someone could “steady” him as well. Not to mention cool his blood down when the familiar scent of lilacs ignited plenty of blazes throughout his body. And God help him, they were anything but “blue.”

  More like red, red hot.

  Glad he’d always been fast on his feet, Finn ignored the sprint of his pulse as his lips slid into a slow smile. “Why, hello, Libby,” he said in a husky tone edged with tease that he’d always reserved just for her. Taking advantage of her momentary paralysis, he allowed his gaze to travel the length of her before rising again to settle on her open mouth. “You’re looking well.”

  Well? A grunt would have escaped if he wasn’t so intent on maintaining control with an easy manner, but it sure in the blazes wasn’t easy. Libby O’Shea had always been a fine-looking girl, but now she was a full-grown woman gently ripened by age. Generous curves only accentuated a soft beauty that was more defined with a sprinkling of nearly invisible laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. The girlish fullness of her once dewy face had matured into sculpted porcelain dusted with rice powder and, no doubt, a hint of beet juice to give her lips and cheeks that glorious blush. All perfectly complemented, of course, by deep copper curls pinned high on her head. A profusion of dark lashes flickered in surprise, framing green eyes that had always held him spellbound—the color of moss in a mountain brook during the spring.