From Boss to Bridegroom

Chapter Two

The moment she spotted her new boss conversing with her cousin Caleb, Nicole’s already nervous stomach squeezed into a hard knot beneath her sternum. Pace slowing, she toyed with the idea of feigning illness. Humiliation surged. She’d replayed last evening’s events a thousand times and it never got any better.

“Mornin’, Miss Nicole,” old Martin Walton called from the rear door of the barbershop. “You’re lookin’ as fresh as a flower today. When are you gonna find a man and settle down?”

“When I find one as worthy as you, which we both know is highly unlikely.”

He grinned, revealing crooked teeth, and went back to sweeping. “You might be surprised.”

With a wave, she continued on her way. It was a familiar conversation. He was kind, harmless, his teasing lacking bite. The sight of his stooped frame in the barbershop never failed to strike her as out of place, though. In her mind, the shop would always belong to Tom Leighton, a close friend of their family. Tom had abruptly left Gatlinburg back in April, and her younger sister, Jane, had yet to recover.

Nicole envied Tom. He’d escaped this town, something she yearned to do, had been set to do when a shortcut through the woods six months ago altered her life. Her plan of opening her own dress shop in Knoxville had had to be postponed, at least until she figured things out. If she ever figured them out.

As she made her way along the riverbank, a gentle, honeysuckle-scented breeze caressed her cheeks. Down below, the greenish water gurgled lazily along, a family of brown-tufted ducks skimming the opaque surface. The mercantile’s springhouse sprawled at the water’s edge. Constructed of river rock and kept cool by the rushing water, it was the perfect place to store perishable items such as the milk and cheese supplied by her Uncle Sam’s dairy. Caleb made deliveries several times a week.

“Nicki.”

Her cousin knew perfectly well she despised the shortened version of her name and yet insisted on using it. “Morning, Caleb.”

Briefly greeting his horses, Midnight and Chance, she used the wagon bed as a barrier between her and the two men. They were surprisingly similar in coloring...inky-black hair, brown eyes and sun-kissed skin. But where Caleb was scruffy, his hair slightly mussed, Quinn Darling was as neat as a pin. His clothing bore the mark of wealth, his bearing that of privilege. He looked rested this morning, hair slicked off his face and lean cheeks freshly shaved.

She wondered if his head was paining him. Not that she planned on putting voice to a question that would call forth the embarrassing incident.

Arms folded, wearing a grin that stretched from ear to ear, Caleb hooked a thumb at the man beside him. “Quinn told me about your meeting last night.”

Her heart sank. Quinn’s eyes—a shade lighter than Caleb’s—crinkled with mischief. How dare he smile at her after deliberately relating embarrassing details?

“Nicole was a knowledgeable tour guide.”

What all had he told him? Quinn’s intent regard smacked of smug arrogance. Her palms itched to slap it right off. The man knew absolutely nothing about her!

“Nicki is nothing if not professional,” Caleb said.

Ha! If he could only read her thoughts right this moment...

Pushing off the wagon bed, Caleb held his hand out to Quinn. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you. I’ve got to get home and check on my wife.”

“Oh, is she ill?” Concern pulled his brows together.

“Not in the normal sense of the word.” A proud grin flashed. “She’s expecting our first child this fall. She tends to overdo it.”

“Rebecca’s aware of her limitations,” Nicole pointed out. “You’re being overprotective.”

“One day you’ll have a husband who dotes on you, Nicki. I guarantee you’ll relish every minute of it.”

Nicole squeezed the reticule in her hands until the beading bit into her palms. Acutely aware of Quinn’s scrutiny, she tipped her chin up. “You’re speaking fairy tales, cousin.”

“I don’t think so. Remember what I said about making plans for your life?” He winked, the scarred flesh around his eye stretching.

How could she forget? The recent conversation plagued her in the oddest moments. Their extensive family had been gathered at his parents’ home. When she’d expressed her firm intentions to wait for marriage and children until she’d achieved success with her seamstress shop, a venture that could take years, he’d loudly announced his expectation that her plans would fall apart. In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps. The verse he’d quoted refused to leave her, raising questions she wasn’t brave enough to face.

“Goodbye, Caleb.”

He tipped his hat and grinned. “I’ll tell Becca you said hello.” Swinging up onto the seat, he released the brake and set the wagon in motion.

All too soon, she and Quinn were left to stare at each other. He did a slow inspection. Confidence in sadly low amounts that morning, she’d dressed in one of her favorite outfits, a lavender dress adorned with deep purple ribbons.

“You look to have suffered no ill effects from our confrontation,” he said.

His features portrayed nothing of his thoughts, not appreciation or distaste. Nothing, which left her feeling unbalanced. Hefting a round of paper-wrapped cheese beneath one arm, he held out the other for her. “Shall we go inside?”

Loath to touch him, Nicole adopted a similarly bland expression and forced her bare fingers to his forearm. The heat and strength of corded muscle bled through his shirt’s fine material. Shock shimmered through her as the totally inappropriate urge to explore his physique surged. Close contact with men was limited to her uncle and cousins, and much of the time she succeeded in keeping them at arm’s length. This touch, though impersonal, ricocheted through her defenses and opened up a yawning cavern of inconvenient awareness.

I don’t need anyone. She’d been telling herself that since the moment she realized she was different and no matter how hard she tried, she would never measure up to her sisters.

She focused on the narrow steps. “What exactly did you tell Caleb?”

“You have no cause to worry, Miss O’Malley. Despite what you might think, I am a man of discretion. It would not be in either of our best interests if the details of our...misunderstanding were to be revealed. Especially in my case, considering I’m a newcomer and in need of earning the locals’ trust and respect if I am to be successful in this venture.”

The tension she’d experienced since first spotting her cousin eased somewhat. Neither she nor Quinn planned to speak of the incident. And Shane Timmons was not what one would call a gossip. Like herself, the sheriff was a loner, a private man not given to conversation. No one would learn of the incident from him. And perhaps, given enough time, she’d manage to look her boss in the eye and not remember their initial encounter.

“Will I be meeting any more O’Malley family members?”

“I come from a large family, so it’s unavoidable.”

She felt his appraising side glance. “How large?”

“Caleb is the youngest of three. Josh is the eldest, and Nathan is the middle son. All three are married. Their parents, my uncle Sam and aunt Mary, have a farm close to town.”

“What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“Four sisters. Two older, two younger.” Might as well prepare him. “All possessed of beauty, grace, generosity of spirit and keen intelligence. My sisters are not only admired by the locals, they are upheld as the epitome of what a female should be.”

At the top of the stairs, she snatched her hand free and waited for him to open the door. Hand resting on the knob, he studied her. “You excluded yourself in the description. Are you not upheld as the epitome of female desirability?”

Nicole swallowed the familiar bitterness, aware it was unbecoming and futile. She’d stopped questioning God a long time ago. “You will come to discover that I am nothing like my sisters, Mr. Darling.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, thought better of it and wordlessly opened the door, allowing her to enter first. Glancing into the private quarters on her left, she noticed Ruthanne had left the cheerful red-checked curtains behind, no doubt for Quinn Darling’s benefit.

For what must be the umpteenth time since learning of their plans to move east, Nicole wished Emmett and Ruthanne could’ve remained here. While absentminded and a bit disorganized, Emmett had been a kind and understanding boss. The practical knowledge she’d gained in her employment here would benefit her in the running of her own shop. In a different town, where no one knew her or her family.

He must’ve noticed the direction of her gaze, for he gestured to the pile of trunks shoved beneath the window. “The space is hardly large enough to accommodate one person. Not sure how the Moores were able to make it work as long as they did. Are you aware of any land parcels or homes for sale? I would like to pursue a permanent residence as soon as possible.”

Continuing into the long, windowless office, she slipped her reticule from her wrist and stored it in the top left desk drawer. “Maybe you should hold off until you’re sure you want to stay. Gatlinburg can’t possibly compare to Boston.”

“That’s the reason I chose it.”

“Why Tennessee? Why this store? You aren’t related to Emmett or Ruthanne.”

“Not family, but they are friends of my father.” Setting the cheese atop the paper-littered desk, he folded his arms and leaned forward at the waist. “Can you keep a secret, Miss O’Malley?”

His lithe, powerful body blocked the exit, and, despite not being claustrophobic, she felt his nearness suck the air from the tight space and render her light-headed. She now knew what a cornered animal felt like.

“I’m not a gossip, Mr. Darling.”

“Somehow I sensed that about you.” He edged even closer, lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “The reason I came here was to avoid the authorities. You see, I—I killed a man. Shot him point-blank. It was self-defense, but I don’t have evidence to back my claim. You won’t tell anyone, will you? I hear prison food is deplorable. And I doubt the beds are comfortable.”

“I—” Completely breathless now, Nicole pressed a trembling hand to her throat. For a couple of seconds, she actually believed him. Then she noticed the upward tug at the corner of his sculpted mouth, the muted sparkle at the back of his eyes.

He was making fun of her, the suave, worldly-wise Northerner toying with the naive mountain girl. Well, she received enough mockery from the local thickheaded males. She wasn’t about to put up with it from Quinn Darling, boss or no boss.

Chin up, she stepped forward. “Let me pass.”

His brows shot to his hairline. Turning sideways, he did as she asked. She turned in the direction of the rear exit.

“Where are you going?”

At his curious, bordering-on-nervous tone, Nicole smiled to herself as she strode down the hallway. “To pay Sheriff Timmons a visit. I’m afraid I can’t keep your secret, Mr. Darling. I refuse to work for a cold-blooded murderer.”

Catching up to her, he snagged her arm. “Wait.”

Memories of what had occurred in this hallway less than twenty-four hours ago overtook her—him imprisoning her against the wall, her pitiful efforts to fight back. She shook them off with effort. What’s wrong with me? Why am I allowing him to get to me?

“It was a joke, Miss O’Malley.” His smile begged forgiveness, the look in his eyes expectant, confident of her reaction. “You will find being outrageous is one of my many faults. I blame it on having a gullible younger sister.”

The man’s charm and good looks might’ve proved a lethal combination were she not dead set on a course free of romantic entanglements. “Since I only just met you yesterday, and that meeting left much to be desired, you’ll understand my need to consult with Shane on this, see if there are any wanted posters bearing your likeness.”

His smile remained, but unease flickered in his expression. “You can’t be serious.”

“What would you do in my position?” she asked innocently, enjoying seeing him squirm.

“I cannot have a rumor such as that running rampant in this community.”

“It’s no fun being made to feel a fool, is it, Mr. Darling?”

His gaze scoured her face, searching intently, the tension ebbing from his stance.

“Life is short, Miss O’Malley,” he murmured silkily, tapping her lightly on the nose. “You should learn to take it less seriously. And the next time you are tempted to lay the blame of our unfortunate first meeting at my feet, keep in mind that it was you who ambushed me.”

Nicole floundered for an appropriate response. He baited her, and yet she was the one who needed to loosen up? She wanted nothing more than to ram that arrogant condescension down his throat.

Pounding on the front door startled them both. Fishing a polished pocket watch from his navy vest, he frowned. “We don’t open for another half hour. Is this a usual occurrence?”

“No. Suppliers making deliveries use the rear entrance.”

“I had better go see what our early visitor wants.”

Curious, Nicole trailed behind him. She didn’t at first recognize the hulking form through the glass. His long strides eating up the space, Quinn flipped the lock to admit the older man.

“Good morning, sir. Please, come in. How can I be of assistance?”

“Who are you?” he snapped from the other side of the door. “Where’s Mr. Moore?”

That voice. She knew it from somewhere.

“The Moores have moved to Virginia, and I am the new proprietor of this mercantile. The name’s Quinn Darling. It is a pleasure to welcome you, Mr.—”

The man entered. Snatching the battered hat off his head and mopping his unruly silver hair out of his eyes, he shot her a dismissive glance. “Carl Simmerly.”

The face combined with the name weakened her knees, and she braced her hands against the counter for support. He had come back.

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn noticed his assistant’s brittle armor had shattered. Hunched over the counter, she watched the stranger with wide, flustered eyes, the swirl of violet stark against moon-white skin. Interesting.

“I wanna post this notice.” Mr. Simmerly thrust a wrinkled paper into Quinn’s hands.

Quickly scanning the scrawled writing, his concern grew. This man was searching for his missing children, a fifteen-year-old girl and seventeen-year-old boy. “Your children have been missing a long time.”

The bulky man’s lined jaw worked. “Going on six months now. I’m desperate to find them.”

A quiet gasp came from Miss O’Malley’s direction. Averting her face, she fiddled with the roll of brown paper used to wrap purchases.

Quinn motioned to the board where news postings were hung. “Of course. I’ll post this right away.”

“My place is on the outskirts of the next town, Pigeon Forge, so I can’t get here as often as I’d like. I plan to return next Saturday to see if anyone has come forward with information.”

“You have my prayers, Mr. Simmerly.”

His mouth tightened in a way that made Quinn think he didn’t appreciate the sentiment. As a fairly new Christian and filled with enthusiasm concerning his relationship with his Creator, he couldn’t fathom anyone not wanting divine assistance.

With a curt nod, Carl Simmerly stuffed his hat on his head and bustled out the door, the bell’s ring loud in the wake of his departure.

“Can I see that?”

Pivoting, Quinn handed her the posting, observing her features as she read the descriptions. Her glossy curls had been tamed into submission, and the lavender confection she was wearing the perfect foil for her skin. Dressed as she was, his assistant could’ve easily fit on the streets of Boston or the upscale mansions his family and friends’ families owned. She certainly wasn’t what he’d expected a simple mountain girl to be like.

Miss O’Malley’s lower lip trembled. She bit down hard on it. The action momentarily paralyzed him.

There was no denying she was an exquisite creature, her loveliness without rival, and as the eldest heir in the prominent Darling family, he’d known his share of beauties. But she was not the uncomplicated, sweet-natured woman he craved in a wife. He’d had enough of difficult women.

“I’ll put this with the others,” she said at last, moving to an area on the wall where different notices had been nailed.

Leaving her to scan the notices, Quinn tugged open the scratchy wool curtains. Beyond the glass, several horses and riders traveled down sun-washed Main Street. Excitement peppered with trepidation balled in his gut. How would his first day go? He may have held the second in command position at Darling Industries, but he had no firsthand experience with patrons. Lord, please give me guidance and wisdom.

“Have you seen Mr. Simmerly before?”

Heading for the counter, she paused to straighten a stack of catalogs. “A couple of times around town. Why do you ask?”

“His presence seemed to distress you.”

Without looking at him, she continued between the counters and, stopping before a row of aprons, chose a black one and slipped it over her head. She deftly tied the strings behind her waist. “You’re imagining things. That knock on the head must’ve hindered your senses, Mr. Darling.”

He didn’t believe that for one moment, but as they were set to open shortly, he let the matter drop. Snatching a lemon drop from the glass containers, he leaned a hip against the shelving unit and sucked on the sugary treat. “Mr. and Miss are too formal for my taste. Do you have any objections to the use of given names?”

“You want me to call you Quinn—” her lips parted “—in front of the customers?”

“Or Darling, if you’d prefer.”

At her incredulous expression, a chuckle slipped between his lips. The woman had absolutely no sense of humor. Teasing her was going to make this venture that much more enjoyable.

Chapter Three

“Such a pretty fabric.” Nicole folded the yards of green paisley within the confines of the paper length and tied it up with string. “You’ve chosen well, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. Will you be making a dress for yourself?”

The elderly lady nodded, gray eyes optimistic behind thick spectacles. “I’m not as gifted with a needle as you are,” she said, eyeing Nicole’s lavender shirtwaist enhanced with delicate black stitching and buttons. “But hopefully the dress will look decent once I’m finished.”

Making note of her purchase in the ledger, Nicole slid the package across the counter and smiled. The sweet widow was one of her favorite customers. “I can’t wait to see the finished product, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. And thank you for your patience.”

Hugging her purchase to her chest, Mrs. Kirkpatrick slid a dubious glance at the other length of the counter, to where Quinn was supposedly helping James Canton. Judging by James’s disgusted expression and the way Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, he wasn’t helping much.

“Maybe you should lend him a hand.”

Nicole considered this. He’d made it clear managing a country store was well within his capabilities, hadn’t he?

When the group of elderly gentlemen in the far corner erupted into laughter, and her boss winced as if in physical pain, she gave in to the pulse of compassion. He’d obviously changed his mind about evicting the checker players. She could afford to help him out.

“I suppose you’re right. Have a good evening.”

“See you in church tomorrow morning.” She bustled toward the exit.

Quinn was glaring at the cages on the counter and the squawking chickens inside. “Need some assistance?”

Despite a long and trying first day, he looked decidedly unruffled save for the hint of uncertainty in his aristocratic features. He was good under pressure, she’d give him that.

“I would appreciate it.”

To James, she said, “Are you buying these chickens or selling?”

“Selling.” He looked relieved to be dealing with someone who knew what they were doing.

Hefting the oversize ledger onto the counter beside the cages, she flipped through the pages until she found his name. Quinn watched as she inserted the value of his chickens into the first column.

“Will you be purchasing anything today?”

“A pound of sugar is all.”

“I’ll get that for you.” To Quinn, she said, “Normally we’d put these chickens outside on the boardwalk for customers to see, but since we’re closing in thirty minutes, we’ll store them in the barn out back. Would you mind taking them out there while I finish up this transaction?”

“Not at all.” He reached for the cages. His smile had a grim turn to it. “I apologize for your wait, Mr. Canton. Please tell your boy to help himself to a bag of penny candy free of charge.”

James’s brows went up at that. At his young son’s hopeful grin, he nodded his acquiescence. “Much obliged, Mr. Darling.”

Quinn walked out, cages held away from his body as if the chickens were diseased. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Nicole readied the sugar and waited patiently for the little boy to decide which candy he wanted. After father and son left, she assisted two other customers, then went to flip the sign over. The trio in the corner shuffled out. Quickly sliding the lock into place, she retrieved her basket from beneath the office desk and rushed to fill it. A wedge of cheese, a tin of peaches, a sack of dried pinto beans. She frowned at the nearly empty produce bins. It was too early in the year for most fruits and vegetables. A delicious-looking batch of asparagus had come in that morning but was too expensive for her budget.

The rear door opened. Nicole dashed into the office and returned her basket to its spot. Pulling the palm-size ledger from the desk drawer, she was inserting the items she’d just taken and the cost of each when her boss stepped into the doorway.

Half sitting on the desk so that his muscled thigh nearly brushed her arm, he smiled ruefully down at her. “You were amazing today, Nicole. In his letters, Emmett indicated how valuable you were to this business. Now that I’ve watched you in action, I can see he was right.”

She stared at him. His masculine appeal, his succinct accent pronouncing her name, rendered her mute. Quinn was sophistication personified, yet there was a rugged strength beneath the fine appearance and expensive clothing.

“You were efficient,” he went on. “Civil to the customers, in some cases anticipating their needs.” His lower leg swung back and forth, stirring her skirts. “That is something you won’t find in Boston’s finer establishments.”

Irritated that he affected her at all, she laid her pencil down and arched a single brow. “I’m surprised you’d find anything to impress you in our crude little backwoods store.”

His leg ceased its motion. “I’m curious. Do you find it difficult to accept compliments in general or is it me that is the problem?”

Nicole’s jaw sagged a little at his bluntness. “Do you always speak exactly what’s on your mind, Mr. Darling?”

“It’s Quinn, remember? And I asked you first.”

Replacing the ledger, she pushed to her feet. “I don’t have time for witty banter, Quinn.” She winced at the informality. “I have floors to sweep, merchandise to straighten and work awaiting me when I get home.” Once her errand had been completed, of course.

When she made to move past him, his fingers closed over her wrist. “What sort of work?”

“If you must know, I’m a seamstress. I have dress orders to fill. Trousers that need adjusting.”

A line appeared between his brows. “Go home. I will tend to the cleaning.”

Heat spread outward from his touch, delaying her response. “Y-you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but you did the lion’s share of the work today because I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. I was sorely out of my element. Which brings me to my request.”