From Boss to Bridegroom (5 page)

When the dessert was carefully placed in a small basket, Nicole endured a motherly hug. “I'm not sure what time I'll be home. Don't expect me before supper, okay?”

Hopefully she could hurry along this session with Quinn. There was an errand she couldn't put off.

* * *

Nicole pressed against the lichen-coated tree trunk, listening, waiting, heartbeat loud in her ears as she stared at the run-down shack tucked between three trees of varying size. In the lush canopy far above her head, birds were constantly in motion, the flap of their wings competing with rustling leaves and swaying limbs. A tickle on her pinkie caught her attention. Brushing off a tiny black ant, she checked the dense woods behind her. No one. Good.

Gripping the basket she'd snuck out of the mercantile following her blessedly brief tutoring session with Quinn, she picked her way over exposed roots and the damp, mossy forest floor. The midsummer sun rarely breached the leafy banner, and last autumn's fallen leaves had yet to fully decompose. The air was dense, fragrant and slightly moist. Trickling stream water pulsed beneath all other forest sounds.

At the shack door, she rapped her knuckles against the brittle wood in a distinct pattern. A few seconds passed before the door scraped open and a young man with pleasant features, albeit strained and pale, stared back at her. His dishwater-blond hair hung limp across his forehead.

“Nicole.”

Shuffling a step back with the aid of his cane, he admitted her.

“How are you, Patrick?”

“Nothing has changed since the last time you asked. That was what? Two days ago?” His attempt at a smile failed, pain clouding his gray eyes.

She wished for the hundredth time he'd gotten proper care for his injured leg, wished he'd agreed to let her summon the doctor. It hadn't healed properly, hence the ongoing pain.

Patrick's younger sister, Lillian, greeted her with her customary hug. Nicole returned the embrace without a trace of awkwardness. She'd grown accustomed to the sweet-natured girl's affection.

Lillian released her. “You look especially pretty today. How was the church service?”

“I'll tell you all about it in a moment.” She lifted the basket. “First, I brought you some things.”

“You always do.” Patrick had lowered himself onto the ladder-back chair in the dim corner. Her ongoing charity bothered him a great deal. He was aware, as they all were, that he and his sister couldn't survive without it.

“She knows we'll pay her back someday.” Lillian carried it to the tiny, lopsided table shoved against the wall beside the door and eagerly lifted the checkered material. Her wavy flaxen hair, caught in a neat ponytail and tied with a strip of leather, hung to her waist and shone in the lamplight. Several hours remained before dusk fell, but the single window let in precious little natural light.

Moving to sit on one of two narrow beds, Nicole pondered their reaction to her news. The ancient bed frame creaked under her weight, and the mattress was pathetically thin. The ticking would need to be replaced soon. How was she supposed to accomplish that without arousing suspicion? Sometimes, the weight of this secret was almost too much to bear.

Lillian exclaimed over the paper and pencils. The fifteen-year-old was too thin, as was her brother, her skin as pale as the paper in her hands due to spending most daylight hours in this ruin they called home. Neither could detract from her fair beauty, however. Big, cornflower-blue eyes shone in a face that seemed perpetually filled with hope.

Patrick didn't share his sister's optimistic outlook. His worries, his deep-seated concern for his sister, cloaked him in perpetual strain. Bouncing the cane between his fingers, he stared hard at Nicole. “You look more pensive than usual. What's bothering you?”

After six months of almost daily visits, they treated her as an older sibling. She considered them friends of the dearest kind, friends she'd never dreamed she'd find in her hometown. Patrick and Lillian didn't care what her last name was. They didn't know her family or that she paled in comparison to her sisters—Juliana, beautiful and courageous; Megan, the romantic dreamer who brought joy to children's lives; sweet-tempered Jane, whose generosity of spirit bordered on legendary; and high-spirited Jessica, the twin who could bake her way out of any fix.

No, they liked her for her. A heady experience, it was the reason she'd do anything to protect them.

“Something happened yesterday before we opened the store.”

While she'd told them about her new boss, she'd left out the details of their first meeting. Patrick scowled. “It was him, wasn't it? Our stand-in father was in town again.”

“I didn't recognize him at first, but he introduced himself to Quinn.” Clasping her hands tightly on her lap, Nicole suppressed a shudder. “He had a sign with your names and descriptions, and he asked Quinn to post it on the board.”

White lines bracketed Patrick's mouth as he gripped the cane. “Did he?”

“No. I asked to see it and, when he wasn't looking, I slipped it in my pocket.”

Lillian sank onto the mattress beside Nicole, fingers worrying a tear in the coarse blanket. “You could get in trouble if he finds out.”

“I don't like this,” Patrick said.

Nicole couldn't feel bad about what she'd done, not knowing how risky hanging that sign would've been.

“Don't worry. Quinn's so busy plotting modifications to the store, he won't even notice.”

“Even if you did post it,” Lillian said, “I don't think we'd have anything to worry about. It's not like we go anywhere where people would see us or ask our names.”

Their forced solitude, their bleak existence, was like a gaping wound that refused to heal. No matter where she was or what she was doing, she couldn't
not
think about them here with no one but each other to talk to. Nicole
hated
that they were being punished when they were innocent of any wrongdoing. “I was hoping he'd have given up by now,” she admitted.

“Carl won't do that,” Patrick said, defeat weighing him down. “He wants the necklace.”

She'd seen the ruby-and-diamond necklace that once belonged to their late mother. While she wasn't an expert on jewelry, it appeared to be of great value. And because Carl had been married to their mother, he surely thought of it as his property.

“He will also go to any lengths to punish us for disappearing with it.”

She stared at his injured leg. Carl had done that to him. If he got his hands on Patrick a second time, there was no telling what he'd do.

“Let me involve Shane Timmons,” Nicole entreated, not for the first time. “He's a fair man. He'll help you. And you'll finally be able to resume a normal life.”

Patrick dropped the hand he'd placed over his face and jutted his chin in that stubborn way of his. “As a sheriff, he's duty-bound to follow the law. We're still minors. He'd be forced to reunite us with Carl.”

“He's not our father,” Lillian piped up.

“Doesn't matter. He's our legal guardian.”

Knowing where the argument was headed, Nicole stood and sighed. “I have to get home.”

“We'll see you tomorrow?” Lillian pushed to her feet, her countenance resigned.

“Of course.” Pausing with her hand on the door latch, she looked at Patrick. “Please think on what I said.”

“It's no use, Nicole. Your way will lead to trouble. If Carl finds us, he will finish the job he started. I won't be able to protect Lillian. You don't want that on your conscience, do you?”

Soundlessly letting herself out, Nicole sagged against the door and closed her eyes. Without her, there would be no one to help them. No one to keep their secret. As long as Patrick and Lillian needed her, she was stuck in Gatlinburg.

Chapter Five

T
he siblings' predicament still weighing heavily on her mind the next morning, Nicole wasn't prepared for the sight of her boss hefting chairs along the back hallway. He was dressed as impeccably as usual, black hair neatly combed, and beneath the rolled-up sleeves thick forearms lightly sprinkled with dark hair were visible. Sturdy shoulders bore the weight effortlessly.

“Duchess. You came.” A brash grin curving his lips, he stopped in front of her, his tall frame blocking her way. Beneath the scent of peppermint wafted soap and spice and man. “I thought after yesterday's session you might've given up on me.”

Nicole pursed her lips together to stop the forming compliment. Quinn was in possession of a keen mind. It hadn't taken him long to catch on to the trade credit system. She wasn't about to boost his already healthy self-confidence, however.

“Why did you call me that?”

“Duchess?” His honey eyes twinkled. “It fits you.”

Was he implying she acted like a snob? That she thought others were beneath her? Because that was so far off the mark—

“As much as I'd like to stand here and chat with you,” he said, adjusting his grip on the chairs, “we've a mountain-size job ahead of us. I need for you to make up a sign letting customers know we'll close today at noon and reopen tomorrow at the same time.”

“Why would we do that?”

“After you left, I spent several hours examining the current arrangement and deciding how best to rearrange the merchandise. I've hired a couple of men to help us implement my plan.”

Flustered, the significance of the chairs finally sank in. “Are you going to put those back once we've finished?”

“No. I told you my store will not be a gathering place.” His brows shot up. “Do you know how difficult it's going to be to get those tobacco stains off the floor?”

Nicole was on the verge of warning him of the consequences when she stopped herself. Quinn Darling had overseen a vast clothing conglomerate. He thought running a country store was small potatoes, so why would he heed her advice?

“I'll go make that sign.”

Pressing against the wall to avoid brushing against him, she waited for him to pass. Instead, he set the chairs down and folded his arms across his chest. The movement brought him too close in the narrow hallway. The fact they were completely alone in the building wasn't lost on her.

Not that she feared him. Despite Quinn's singular ability to get under her skin and lodge there like a stubborn splinter, she felt completely safe in his company. Safe was not the same as relaxed, though. Whenever he was nearby, her skin felt too tight. Her pulse raced. Her entire being came alive, senses soaking up every detail—everything from the heat blazing off his skin to his short, clean nails to the throb of his heartbeat in the hollow of his throat. Talk about disturbing.

“Something on your mind, Duchess?”

She lifted her chin. “Don't call me that.”

“I can see the disapproving light in your eyes. Tell me what's on your mind.”

Somewhere outside, a horse whinnied and male voices could be heard.

“Most people don't appreciate change. Evicting the checker players isn't going to go over well. The same goes for rearranging the goods. While I can see the wisdom of such a plan, I'm not sure the customers will respond positively.”

“Hmm.” His probing gaze roamed her face, making her feel exposed. “I understand your point of view. However, I'm of the opinion that, while change may not be welcome in the beginning, it doesn't take long for people to adjust.”

The rear bell rang, signaling a delivery. With another of his devastating grins, he moved out of her space and retrieved the chairs. “I'll get that.”

As he strode away from her, Nicole found that she could breathe easier. Think more clearly.

“Can't say I didn't warn you,” she muttered, heading to the office to do his bidding.

If she was a duchess, what did that make him? King?

She spent the bulk of the morning answering the same questions over and over. Why were they closing? Why wasn't the checker game set out? And her personal favorite, for which she had no answer—what was that pesky Northerner thinking?

About five minutes before noon, as the last customer was leaving, Quinn waved three young men through the entrance.

“You're right on time.” Shaking their hands in turn, he glanced over at Nicole. “You're already acquainted with Miss O'Malley.”

Clamping down on the familiar dread fixing her boots to the floorboards, Nicole forced her gaze to Kenneth Jones. Blond, blue-eyed and as solid as an elk, he'd been a thorn in her side ever since she'd turned down his invitation to the harvest dance last year. Kenneth did not take rejection well.

“Yes, sir. We grew up together.” Kenneth adopted a respectful air, but his eyes gleamed with anticipation. No doubt he saw this as the perfect opportunity to harass her—no O'Malley family members in sight.

His friends, red-haired, freckled Timothy Wallington and lanky Pete Ryan wore matching predatory smiles. In this trio, Kenneth was the leader. They behaved in accordance with his whims.

Reminding herself she wasn't in any real danger, she wiped her damp palms against her apron and squared her shoulders. Hateful words couldn't inflict lasting pain. Not from someone who wasn't important to her.

Quinn beckoned the men to the counter where his sketches were lined up and explained exactly how he wanted things to proceed. His directions were clear and concise.

She listened with reluctant admiration. Here was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. A force to be reckoned with. With his wealth and influence, he'd be used to people obeying him without question.

“Kenneth, I'd like for you to remove the tools from that middle shelf.” He pointed to the long interior wall. “Once you've done that, Nicole can clean them and then organize the ready-made clothing there so that it is alongside the fabric bolts.”

Quinn looked at her, brows raised. “All right with you?”

Aware of Kenneth's leer, she jerked a nod. So they'd be working side by side. She could handle whatever he dished out.

With Pete and Timothy assigned to the middle aisles, Quinn retreated behind the counter to address the shelving units and drawers there.

“I'll go and get the water,” she told him, retrieving the pail from a hook near the aprons.

Already comparing the shelves to his sketch, Quinn nodded absentmindedly.

A beefy hand snatched the handle from hers. “I'll help you.” Propelling her along the hall, Kenneth said in a voice that carried, “The stairs are steep. Wouldn't want you to trip and break something.”

“I don't need your help,” she said through gritted teeth.

At the door, the pretense fell away. “You've always been a snob, you know that? Thinking you're better than everybody else. Too good for our humble town. One day you'll regret looking down your nose at me, little witch.”

She inwardly grimaced at the taunt that had originated on the school grounds. “It was a silly harvest dance, Kenneth. Forget about it.”

His nostrils flared, lips flattening into a sneer. “I will as soon as you've learned your lesson.” Turning on his heel, he tossed over his shoulder, “Get your own water.”

Hurrying out into the searing midday heat, Nicole descended the stairs on unsteady legs, angry at herself for letting a bully like Kenneth intimidate her. One word to any of her cousins was all it would take to be rid of him. But whining to them felt wrong. She was no longer a child. If she planned to make it on her own in the city, she'd have to deal with problems herself. There'd be no well-meaning protectors to the rescue.

Scooping water out of the rain barrel, she went back inside and, studiously avoiding all four males in the room, gathered soap and rags while waiting for Kenneth to unload the shelves. He ignored her for the most part, but his dislike was made plain in the dark looks cast her way. Working in the aisle behind them, Pete and Timothy's low conversation was interspersed with laughter that sounded mischievous to her ears. Were they laughing at her? Plotting something?

On edge the entire afternoon, she trained her attention on the tasks Quinn gave her. It wasn't until she and Kenneth had moved to the china display that things went awry.

She was carefully removing a stack of dinner plates when Kenneth's hand shot out and, seizing her wrist, yanked so that she tipped the lot of them. The crash reverberated in the silent store. Stunned disbelief held her frozen.

An expression of false concern settled across his features. “Uh-oh. That's going to be expensive to replace. Mr. Darling, I'm afraid your assistant got careless with the merchandise.”

Straightening from his crouch at the opposite end of the room, Quinn's frown carved deep grooves on either side of his mouth. He came and surveyed the shards littering the floorboards. Beyond his shoulder, Pete and Timothy elbowed each other.

A resigned sigh escaped him as his gaze prodded Nicole's. “Clean up this mess. And from now on, ask for help with the heavy stuff. Kenneth will be happy to help, I'm sure.”

“Anytime.” Kenneth's smile held a hint of cruelty. Quinn couldn't see it, because he was looking at her with something akin to disappointment.

Indignation seared her, burned into her cheeks. If she confessed the truth, Kenneth would only deny it. Her trustworthiness would be called into question.

Subduing the urge to stomp her feet, she croaked, “It won't happen again.”

“Will she have to pay for the damage, Mr. Darling?”

Quinn's brow furrowed. “That won't be necessary this time.”

This time. An unspoken warning to not make the same mistake again.

When he'd returned to his work, she shot her nemesis a scorching glare. “How could you do that?” she demanded.

“I didn't.” His upper lip curled. “You did.”

Leaving her to clean up alone, Kenneth went and pretended to help his friends. Nicole took out her frustration on the broom. Being blamed for something that wasn't her fault left a bad taste in her mouth. Anger and humiliation warred for supremacy.

She could hardly bear to look at Quinn. Irrationally, she blamed him for not seeing through Kenneth's act.

The remainder of the afternoon and early evening crawled by. Just as escape looked likely, Quinn waylaid her in the office. The trio had left ten minutes ago, and she was eager to get away from her boss's assessing glances.

“It's late, Quinn. I'm exhausted and hungry.”
I need time to recover before doing it all again tomorrow morning. No telling what my enemy has planned for me.

“This won't take but a minute.” He leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed.

“If this is about the dishes, I—”

“No.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I detected something...off between you and Kenneth. Do you two have a history? Because if you're uncomfortable working with him, I can send him on his way in the morning.”

“If you're asking if we've ever courted, the answer is no,” she spluttered. “Absolutely not.”

“Then what's the problem?”

Here was her chance to explain everything. To absolve herself and be rid of Kenneth and his buddies. But she was, above all, a private person. Exposing her problems to her boss didn't hold an ounce of appeal.

“No problem.” Pushing an errant curl behind her ear, she rubbed a sore spot in her lower back. “If there are no more questions, I really do have to go.”

Quinn didn't appear convinced. Still, he moved sideways to let her pass. As she was edging through the doorway and he was centimeters away, he said softly, “Good night, Duchess.”

Nicole stiffened at the brush of his minty breath across her cheek.

She didn't like nicknames on principle. Caleb did it to tease her—good-natured, brotherly ribbing that nevertheless irked her. Kenneth's intent was to demean her. What was Quinn Darling's motive? And why did a little thrill zip up her spine?

Risking a glance at this close range, she didn't detect a trace of cruelty in those light brown eyes, merely lazy curiosity.

She was an enigma to him, was she? Well, he was wasting his time trying to figure her out. She wasn't about to divulge her secrets to the likes of him.

* * *

The locals weren't adjusting to Quinn's implemented changes as quickly as he'd hoped. Ever since they'd reopened three days ago, the customers had doggedly avoided him. Some went so far as to denounce his decisions to his face, unsatisfied with his explanations.

No amount of pleasantness or willingness to help had put a dent in their wariness.

Leaning against the shelving unit, he eyed the five-deep line of customers waiting for Nicole's assistance.

He caught the familiar elderly lady's eye and thanked the Lord he had a memory for names. His smile didn't come as easily as it had that morning. “I can help you over here, Mrs. Kirkpatrick.”

Crinkling her nose, she shook her head, gaze skittering away.

The rejection stung. He, Quinn Darling, heir to the Darling fortune and a man whose very presence deemed a social gathering a success, could not convince the lady to let him wait on her. Weariness pressed behind his forehead, turning the slight headache he'd nursed since Nicole whopped him with that pot into a full-blown hammering against his skull.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Shoving off the counter, he strode to his assistant's side. “I'll fill orders for you. What have you got?”

Her face a polite mask, Nicole's pencil hovered above the ledger and pointed at the row of red metal spice bins on the bottom shelf. “I need one ounce of cinnamon, four ounces of cream of tartar and one container of vanilla extract.”

“Throw in a pack of chewing gum,” the needle-thin man on the opposite side of the counter added.