by Karen Kirst
“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 hi
s 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.”
He was readily admitting his shortcomings? “What sort of request?”
Laughing, he said, “Do not look at me as if I am about to suggest something improper.”
Smoothing her features, Nicole extracted her arm from his hold. “What then?”
“You obviously know what you’re doing around here. I had planned to arrive in time for Emmett to show me the ropes, but since I wasn’t able to, I wonder if you would be willing to tutor me.”
The prospect of spending even a minute more than necessary in Quinn’s company did not appeal to her in the slightest. Despite the humble nature of his request, his self-important air remained intact—no doubt a result of living a privileged, entitled life typical of the wealthy. Worse than that, he seemed to gain a great deal of pleasure from provoking her. Something she could do without.
But how was she to refuse him? If he didn’t learn to run the store, hectic, chaotic days like today would become the norm.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful. Do you have time tomorrow after church?”
Nicole thought of the sewing projects she really needed to complete. “I will give you two hours. No more.”
His blinding grin served to enhance his good looks, if that were even possible. “You are a jewel.”
* * *
Quinn couldn’t stop staring at the jarring sight of his prickly, reserved assistant cradling a slumbering infant in her arms. The church service had drawn to a close, and folks were gathering their things and making their way along the aisles to the exit, stopping to exchange pleasantries here and there. Nicole was standing against the right wall near the piano. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window behind her, bathing her in an ethereal glow. That wasn’t what had arrested his attention, however. It was the way she was looking at that baby.
Gone was the cool detachment, the wariness that typically marked her delicate features, and in its place was a vulnerability, a tenderness that made Quinn feel as if he were intruding on a private moment. He’d only just met her, but he knew instinctively she would not be pleased to know her inner emotions were on display.
A heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder, and he turned to see Shane Timmons. He looked slightly less dangerous this morning, blond hair brushed off his forehead and hard cheeks free of scruff.
“Afternoon, Sheriff.”
Memories of their last interaction pushed to the forefront of his mind. He imagined the sheriff had had a good, long laugh over his and Nicole’s misunderstanding.
“Call me Shane.” He removed his hand. “How are you settling in? Did you get things cleared up with Nicole?” Subtle humor lit his assessing blue gaze.
“I suspect it will take some time to settle in. And for her to forgive me for trussing her up like a common thief.”
Nodding, Shane’s attention swiveled to the object of their conversation. She was still standing apart from the people he assumed were her family members. A lone buoy in a swirling sea of humanity. Was that her doing or theirs? Why do I care?
“Nicole is...” Shane trailed off, rubbed his chin in thought.
“Prickly? Difficult? Completely lacking a sense of humor?”
His brow quirked. “I was gonna say hard to get to know. She strikes me as one of those women who’d be worth the effort, though.”
Quinn ran his fingers along the spine of his brand-new Bible. He wasn’t sure he agreed with the other man’s assessment. “Sometimes a man gets burned for his trouble.”
Before Shane could respond, the reverend joined them and welcomed Quinn to town. When there was a break in the conversation, Quinn made his excuses and worked his way through the pews to Nicole’s side.
As if sensing his approach, she lifted her head, shoulders tensing when she spotted him. Her countenance transformed into something statue-like. Emotionless. Her eyes were a deep, bruised purple in her pale face, perhaps an effect of the jet-black material of the formfitting, cap-sleeved blouse she’d paired with full purple-and-black-striped skirts. A small black hat perched atop her upswept curls.
Quinn considered tweaking the single rogue tendril caressing her cheek simply to see her reaction. “I didn’t figure you for the maternal type,” he said in the way of greeting.
He instantly regretted the comment, could see in her pained expression that his observation stung. Before he could backtrack, she leveled a frosty glare at him. “I’m not. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy other people’s children, however.”
He turned his attention to the light-haired infant resting comfortably in her arms. “What is his name?”
“Her name is Victoria,” she responded in a softer tone. “She’s my cousin Josh’s daughter.”
Reaching out, Quinn lightly skimmed the downy soft hair. “She’s family, then.”
Subtly returning his attention to Nicole, he watched her watch the baby, intrigued when her guard slipped again and she went soft before his eyes. If she ever were to look at a man like that...