by Karen Kirst
Again, the royal-like dip of her head. Adjectives scrolled through his mind and, as was his custom upon meeting new people, he began a mental list of attributes. Reserved. Prickly. Beautiful. Too bad that last one didn’t appear to extend beyond the surface.
Moving between the two counters, she led him down three side-by-side aisles crammed with a variety of goods—tools, animal traps, ready-made clothing, toys, books and paper products, barrels packed with pickles, flour, sugar and crackers and more. A woodstove occupied the far back corner, surrounded by several chairs and a spittoon. A checker set perched atop an upturned barrel.
“What is this?”
“This is where our male customers gather.”
Dark tobacco stains marred the floorboards, indicating not everyone had good aim. The upscale Boston establishments his family had frequented would never have allowed such a thing. “How often?”
“Whenever we’re open.”
Quinn blinked, searched her face for a sign she was merely jesting. There was none. “Do you mean they gather here every day?”
“Every single one.”
“Are we talking an hour or two in the afternoons?”
“No, they pretty much hang around from dawn to dusk.”
“Let me get this straight—these men sit here for countless hours, disrupting the flow of foot traffic and taking up valuable space that could be used to house more items? And that was acceptable to the Moores?”
“It’s the way things have always been done. Besides, they’re harmless.”
She refolded a calico shirt on a display table piled with neat stacks of ready-made clothing that likely didn’t bear the Darling name. While his family’s garment factories currently supplied the Northern states, his father had plans to expand in the future. There was no question of the venture failing. Anything Edward Darling put his hand to succeeded.
Clawson’s Mercantile in the Tennessee mountains was far removed from Boston and the Darling empire, however. His father had nothing to do with it. Whether it failed or flourished was entirely up to Quinn. For the first time in his adult life, he had something entirely his own. This store was his chance to prove to himself that he was capable.
“Not everyone lives close by. Some customers travel an entire day to get here. This is where they catch up on local happenings and reconnect with old friends.”
If Quinn had arrived before Emmett’s departure, he could’ve discussed this and much more with him. The delay had cost him. He ran a finger along the cold metal stove that wouldn’t be lit for many months.
“Simply because something has gone on for a long time doesn’t mean it can’t be changed.” Never be afraid of change, son. Be bold but prudent. Quinn may have earned a business degree from Harvard, but his practical knowledge he’d gleaned from working side by side with his father. He gestured to the chairs. “These are going away.”
She looked at him as though he’d suggested they set up a piano in the corner and hire saloon girls to sing for the customers. “Where will the men meet together?”
“I saw a café across the street. Let the owner of that establishment deal with them.”
“You can’t do this.”
“The last I checked, my name was on the deed. I can and I will.”
“Have you ever managed a store before?”
Not accustomed to having his competence called into question, he retorted, “Until recent weeks, I was second in command of the Darling empire—a garment production business that supplies much of the Northeast. I believe I can manage to operate a small country store.”
Her smirk poked holes in his calm demeanor, allowing tendrils of irritation to curl into his chest. He inhaled deeply, the odd mixture of scents around him—leather, the vinegar-laced smell of pickled fish, the fruity tang of plug tobacco—reminding him of why he was here. For change. A simpler life. A chance to carve his own way in the world, to prove to himself he could succeed apart from everything his father had built.
One prickly shop assistant would not mar this experience for him.
She brushed past him, snowy skirts whispering as she rounded the last aisle and pointed to the low cushioned benches beneath the windows flanking the front door. “This is where the ladies socialize. I suppose you want to be rid of these, too.”
Wonderful. More people gossiping instead of shopping. “I don’t object to customers resting for a few moments. The benches stay. For now.”
Her displeasure was written across her features.
“How long have you worked here, Miss O’Malley?”
“Since January.”
Six months. Enough time for her to become accustomed to conducting business in accordance with Emmett Moore’s policies. No doubt she wouldn’t welcome his views. She would simply have to accept that he was in charge. If she couldn’t adapt to his approach to the business, she could always quit.
Spinning on her heel, she led the way as they retraced their steps. When they reached the row of candy-filled glass containers, he lifted one of the lids and snagged two peppermint sticks. After popping one in his mouth, he offered the other to her.
Her serious gaze shifted between the candy and his face. “No, thank you.”
“Free of charge, of course.” He waved it beneath her nose, interested to see if she’d accept.
“Sugar is bad for your teeth.”
He removed the minty stick from his mouth and grinned. “I’ve been partial to sweets since boyhood. Does it look like my teeth have suffered?”
Startled by the question, she gave them a cursory glance. “Uh, they appear to be in fine condition.”
“See? No harm in indulging yourself every now and then.” He extended the candy once more.
She was loath to take it, that much was clear. She did, though, in order to appease him. The graze of her fingertips across his palm arrowed into his chest, and the urge to capture her hand in his caught him unawares.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Deliberately stepping away, he didn’t draw attention to the fact she didn’t immediately sample the treat and, instead, held it awkwardly at her side. Turning back to survey the store that was nothing like he’d imagined, he said, “I suggest you prepare yourself, Miss O’Malley. There will be changes ahead.”
“You should prepare yourself, as well, Mr. Darling.” Retrieving a bead-encrusted reticule from a drawer, she deposited the peppermint inside. “The response to your changes may not be what you expect or desire.”
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?