From Boss to Bridegroom

by Karen Kirst

  “If you’re going, you should scoot along,” her mother said, interrupting her musings.

  A strong gust buffeted the cabin. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Be careful.”

  With the warning lingering in her ears, Nicole hooked an umbrella over her wrist and hurried to the lane. The air was damp and heavy with impending rain, the forest unnaturally devoid of animal life, birds and squirrels likely in hiding. She walked as quickly as she could and reached the short wooden bridge leading into town just as fat raindrops splattered on the ground.

  Opening the umbrella, she picked up her pace. Bad weather meant not many customers would venture out. She wasn’t looking forward to being cocooned in an empty mercantile with Quinn all day, not after his utter complacency regarding her news. She’d clearly overestimated her importance to him, both professionally and personally. The revelation stung far more than it should.

  * * *

  A crack of thunder rattled the living room windowpanes, and the ground vibrated with its intensity.

  Quinn reluctantly tore his focus from the unfinished house plans spread across the kitchen table. Through the window overlooking the river, he could see entire trees swaying in the wind. That didn’t bode well.

  Tossing his pencil down, he strode into the hallway and threw open the rear door. The store was due to open in half an hour. The low, churning gray clouds made it appear more like dusk than early morning. As the first smattering of raindrops hit the stair landing, he glimpsed a bobbing pink-and-white umbrella in the vicinity of the bridge.

  Nicole.

  He almost wished she’d stayed home today. Yesterday’s scene in the woods still had the power to make his ears burn. He’d been too blunt with her. While he’d spoken the truth, declaring his inner struggles—showing her how she affected him—it wasn’t conduct becoming of a gentleman.

  The wind whipped his hair in his eyes, flattened his pants against his legs.

  Quinn wasn’t sure if it was this place or the woman bringing about these changes in behavior. He certainly wouldn’t enjoy his current pristine reputation if he’d treated the socialites in his circle in a similar manner.

  Rain pinged against the landing and bounced up, splattering his boots.

  Caught by the wind, Nicole’s rose-colored skirts tangled with her legs. Her bonnet strings whipped about her neck. “Hurry up, Duchess,” he murmured as the rain intensified.

  She was going to be soaked from head to toe if she didn’t.

  Directly across from where he stood, the limbs of a massive maple tree bowed beneath the onslaught. The river pulsed and swirled between its banks. A wall-shaking rumble sounded directly overhead, and he flinched as a jagged lightning bolt split the purple sky.

  Nicole stopped in the middle of the lane, tipped her umbrella and lifted her gaze to the tree.

  “No.” Quinn didn’t attempt to raise his voice. She couldn’t hear him above the rain and wind and rushing water. “Don’t stop. Get inside.” He stared hard at her as if he could will her to obey.

  Light flickered in the gloom. Another thunderclap reverberated overhead, followed by an earsplitting crack.

  Everything happened in slow motion after that.

  The trunk groaned. Snapped. Branches twisted.

  The centuries-old tree toppled straight for the mercantile. For him.

  The last thing he saw was Nicole’s face, frozen in abject terror.

  * * *

  It took several seconds to register what had happened.

  One minute she was looking up at Quinn, framed in the doorway at the top of the landing, the next she was watching the tree smashing into the mercantile. The roof had given way. Walls buckled.

  A large limb with numerous branches filled the hallway where Quinn had been standing. The section housing his quarters had been crushed. She couldn’t even make out where the window had been.

  The umbrella slipped from her fingers. Horror locked her muscles into place even as the rain pelted her like sharp stones, dripping off her bonnet’s brim.

  He hadn’t had time to get out of the way.

  Please, God, no.

  Adrenaline dumped into her system. Screaming at the top of her lungs for help, she scrambled down the grassy bank leading to the river, circumventing the damaged tree base and slipping and falling up the incline to reach level ground. The stairs were no more, flattened beneath the barrel-like trunk. No matter. She would get to him, one way or the other.

  He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. The refrain poked and tore at her, inciting bone-numbing fear. Stop it, Nicole. That’s not helping.

  “Help! Someone help!”

  Edging along the narrow ledge of earth along the building’s rear wall, she batted away branches and stepped over thinner limbs to reach what had been the doorway. Glass crunched beneath her boots. Several times, her skirts snagged on jutting log fragments, hampering her progress.

  “Quinn!” Unmindful of her hands, Nicole snapped off leafy branches one by one and tossed them aside. “Can you hear me? Quinn?”

  Half climbing onto the tree, she squinted into the darkness, steeling herself for what she might find. Heart in her throat, she considered going in there.

  “Miss Nicole?”

  A small cry slipped through her lips. Startled, she twisted and, through the downpour, saw the bent outline of Mr. Walton from the barbershop. He stood near the building’s corner, rivulets of water streaming from his hat. Successive lightning strikes lit up the sky.

  “Quinn’s trapped,” she called. “I need help getting to him.”

  He nodded. “I’ll fetch the sheriff!”

  Turning back, she pulled herself entirely onto the trunk. Bark bit into her knees as she inched forward. Juts of wood scraped her palms. Frantic prayers tumbled from her trembling lips.

  She eyed the remaining beams overhead. Rainwater leaked through the holes. Would they hold? And for how long?

  “Quinn?” she tried again.

  When there was no response, she pressed a fist to her mouth and blinked away useless tears. He was probably unconscious. Or unable to hear her over the storm.

  The long interior walls looked to be intact, for the most part. There were gaps here and there. Through one she could make out his kitchen stove. Through another she glimpsed a flash of red and white. The checkered curtains.

  When she had passed under the doorway, she gulped in air and, gathering her courage, scoured what parts of the floor were visible on either side of the tree trunk.

  There was no sign of him.

  He hadn’t been crushed, then. He’d somehow managed to move out of the way.

  Why then wasn’t he answering her?

  Suddenly, a powerful arm twined about her waist and lifted her clear. A muffled scream lodged in her throat as the unidentified male swung her around and set her on her feet.

  “Quinn?”

  But the hard blue eyes didn’t belong to him.

  “Shane.” Fingers fisting in his shirt, she brought her face close, her bonnet brim slamming into his Stetson. “You have to find him. He’s in there. Maybe hurt. Bleeding.” Dying. Panic ratcheted up her pulse. “Please.”

  His hands on her shoulders steadied her. “Breathe, Nicole,” he ordered. “Tell me what happened.”

  In the recesses of her mind, she acknowledged the fact she’d never dared come this close to the intimidating lawman.

  “He was standing right here in the doorway when the tree fell. I—I don’t see how he could’ve gotten to a safe spot.” Her gaze bounced off the broken logs where his living room had been. “But I didn’t see him in the hallway.”

  No articles of clothing. Nothing.

  Shane surveyed the debris. “We need tools, mostly saws and axes. As many as you can get.
You’ll find what we need at the livery. Walton’s already combing the streets for able-bodied men to assist in the search.”

  “I’m not sure—” She bit her lip. What if she left and they found him? What if they wouldn’t let her see him? What if—

  Squeezing her eyes tight, shudders racked her as her imagination called forth disturbing images of Quinn’s broken body.

  Shane’s fingers bit into her flesh, not bruising but enough to ground her thoughts. “Listen to me.”

  She forced her lids open. The lawman’s eyes blazed, but his features held unanticipated gentleness.

  “I need you to do this for me, Nicole. Without those tools, we can’t get to him.”

  “I understand.” Help me, Father. I’m drowning in possibilities. Horrible, gut-wrenching possibilities.

  “Good.” With a firm nod, he assisted her to the corner of the building before turning back.

  Her boots squelched in the mud as she made her way through the driving rain to the livery. The clouds had stalled over Main Street. Thunder rolled through the town, sounding like boulders crashing into one another. Beyond the sound, she heard the faint calls of men sprinting to the mercantile.

  The balding, built-like-an-ox blacksmith must’ve heard the news, for he was dumping tools into a wheelbarrow when she stumbled inside. Smells of horse and damp hay washed over her.

  “Mr. Latham.”

  He didn’t spare her a glance. “Give me five minutes.”

  Five minutes didn’t sound like much in the grand scheme of things. But for Quinn, who was somewhere in that broken-down wreck of a store, five minutes could mean the difference between life and death.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Something heavy and unmovable pinned him face-first to the floor.

  His right shoulder ached clear through to the bone. Pain ricocheted against his skull, and he tried to blink away the misty haze marring his eyesight. His living space—what was left of it—was cloaked in watery shadows. Bits of leaves and bark and spilled coffee grounds littered the wet floorboards. Broken mugs and dishes, too.

  By the grace of God, he’d managed to get inside this room, out of the way of the larger tree section. All he had to do now was wait and hope the roof didn’t give way.

  That final image of Nicole shimmered in his mind’s eye, intensifying his discomfort. Not knowing where she was, whether or not she was unhurt, was far worse than any physical pain he had to endure. Please Lord, let her be okay.

  Shifting his lower body, he tried to dislodge the object holding him down. The bad news? It didn’t budge an inch. The good news? He didn’t seem to have suffered any major injuries in his legs or back.

  Stars danced in his vision. His temples throbbing, Quinn rested his cheek once more against the floor and focused on steadying his breathing. The weight made it tough to fully expand his lungs. As he lay there, he began to make out repetitive sounds above the noise of the rain splattering through the ceiling.

  He couldn’t identify the source for long minutes. The hammering in his head made it difficult to string thoughts together. That’s it. Hammers.

  Or were they saws?

  A male voice called out, followed by a series of replies.

  People were out there, trying to get to him.

  Was Nicole out there? Or was she lying unconscious on a bed at Doc’s?

  He had to get free. Had to find her. Now.

  Gritting his teeth, he braced his palms beneath him and pushed upward with all his might. His shoulder screamed in protest. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. Frustration swept over him as the futility of his actions registered.

  A familiar voice pierced the fog clouding his brain.

  “Shane?” he pushed out, wincing at the breathy weakness of his voice. No way was the lawman gonna hear that.

  The minutes crawled by. Quinn wasn’t certain how much time passed. The rain lessened to a pitter-patter, and the peals of thunder echoed from miles away. He fought against the need to sleep, no matter that it would bring relief.

  “I see him.” Shane’s excited shout dimly registered.

  Rest. That’s all he craved...a couple of blessed minutes in the encroaching blackness.

  There came a shuffling sound. Boots scuffing against the boards.

  “We’re gonna get you out of here, friend.” A hand skimmed his back.

  “Where—” He gulped in air. “Nicole?”

  “She’s fine. Actually, that’s not entirely true. She’s making my job nigh impossible.”

  If Nicole was giving the lawman fits, she really was fine.

  Quinn let go of the fear and worry he’d been holding on to. Then he slept.

  * * *

  “Something’s going on.” Slipping her arm free of Jane’s, Nicole craned her neck in an effort to see past the dirt-and-sweat-streaked men sorting through the debris. From her position near the side wall, she couldn’t make sense of the increase in activity.

  The earth was a muddy morass, the skies a gray, undulating cauldron. Word of the accident had spread like wildfire through the town. A large crowd of onlookers—mostly women, children and the elderly, who weren’t directly involved with the search—filled the street and the area beside the mercantile, where she and her mother and sisters waited anxiously.

  They’d tried to convince her to go home and change out of her torn and sodden clothes, but she’d refused. She’d also refused to seek treatment for her bloodied, splintered hands. She wasn’t leaving this spot until Quinn was located.

  Rain-scented wind tugged at her damp hair. “I’m going over there.”

  Jane protested. “Maybe you should wait—”

  “I’m done waiting!”

  Weaving around the workers, she reached the place where Caleb had been sawing through the logs. He’d moved to the doorway, attention on someone inside.

  “What’s happening?” she demanded.

  His mouth flattened. Neither he nor the lawman were happy with her almost constant requests for updates. That was okay, because she wasn’t too happy with them for not letting her help.

  Beneath the irritation, sympathy swirled in the brown depths. “Shane found him.”

  The world tilted, and she shot out a hand to balance herself against the building, oblivious to the stinging sensations crawling up her arm. “How is he?”

  “A little banged up, but he’s going to be all right. We just have to free him first.”

  Something in his voice sounded an alarm.

  Free him? Nausea roiled. “I want in there.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “If it were Rebecca in there, would you be content to remain an onlooker?” She glared at him.

  Surprise flitted across his face. “Are you saying...you and Quinn—”

  “N-no,” she sputtered, heat climbing into her cheeks. “I didn’t intend to make it sound like— Look, he’s more than my boss. He’s my friend. I care about him.” With deliberate, careful steps, she closed the space between them, looking up at him beseechingly. “I know without a doubt that if our positions were reversed, Quinn would do everything in his power to help me.”

  He’d already put his community standing on the line for her. She’d no doubt he’d risk his very life for her.

  “The building isn’t stable, Nicki. I understand how you feel—”

  “If you don’t let me in, I’ll simply find another way.”

  There were men working to clear the broken glass and logs at the front of the store. She could try there.

  One black brow arched. “Or I could throw you over my shoulder and take you home this instant.”

  Desperation burned in her veins. “Caleb, please,” she whispered, her voice raw. “If you’ve ever cared about me, you’ll let me do th
is.”

  Eyes narrowing, his jaw worked.

  Claude Jenkins appeared in the hallway. “Sheriff wants you to fetch Doc right away.”

  “Got it. He headed up front a few minutes ago.” Caleb sighed and balanced his saw against the wall. “Try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

  “I promise.”

  Addressing the banker, he said, “Help her inside.”

  Claude hesitated for an instant before extending his hand. Her legs suddenly like jelly, she concentrated on where to place her feet.

  Nicole wasn’t prepared for the sight of Quinn’s still, prone form facedown on the floor.

  Ignoring Shane, whose frown deepened at the sight of her, she fell to her knees beside him and lightly stroked his cheek. “Quinn?”

  Behind her, Claude resumed his attempts to saw through the spot where the limb on top of Quinn connected to the larger, thicker trunk.

  “He was awake when I found him,” Shane said, gloved hands clamped around the limb and lifting up, trying to relieve the pressure on Quinn’s back. “He asked about you.”

  She blinked away tears. Blood matted his hair. The sight of it, along with his torn shirt and more of the sticky red substance soaking through the material, left her insides numb.

  “Should I put a compress on that?” She pointed to his shoulder wound.

  Strain tightening his features, Shane jerked a nod. “Go easy. He’s having trouble getting enough air in his lungs.”

  With trembling fingers, she peeled the cotton away. The gash didn’t appear too deep.

  Scanning the kitchen area, she located a stack of cloths scattered across the work surface. She grabbed the one on top. When she dropped down to place the makeshift compress on his shoulder, she noticed his lids fluttering. A groan escaped.

  Gingerly smoothing the hair from his forehead, she leaned close. “We’re going to get you out soon.”

  He blinked. Confusion and discomfort lent his eyes a glassy look. “Duchess?”

  “I’m right here.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a peppermint in your pocket, would you?”