Falling for the Boss

Being tied up and delivered to the sheriff was not how Nicole O’Malley expected to meet her new boss. Quinn Darling had the audacity to mistake her for a burglar! Now she’s counting the days until she can leave small-town life behind to open her own boutique. But as long as she’s helping two runaways escape their vindictive stepdad, she can’t leave town.

Quinn’s determined to triumph in his first business venture without the support of his wealthy family. He can’t succeed without assistant Nicole, a beauty as prickly as she is captivating. As Quinn adjusts to the tight-knit community, he’s soon set on another goal: breaking through Nicole’s reserve to capture the love hidden in her heart.

Smoky Mountain Matches: Dreams of home and family come true in the Smoky Mountains

“Mr. Darling, meet your shop assistant.”

Words failed him. Rational thought failed him.

Those magnificent violet eyes speared him as the sheriff helped her stand so that he could free her wrists.

“You are Nicole O’Malley?”

“In the flesh.” The perfect lips thinned with displeasure, then winced as she gingerly rubbed the skin where the rope had chafed.

Quinn winced along with her. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Way to make a great first impression, Darling. Then he recalled her culpability in the situation.

“Why did you attack me?” he demanded.

“I thought you were an intruder. Why did you sneak in here after hours?”

“I didn’t sneak. This is my store. Besides, the door was unlocked.”

The sheriff snapped his knife closed and slid it into his pocket. “I think I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted.” His smile was rueful as he passed Quinn. “Welcome to Gatlinburg.”

KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.

From Boss to Bridegroom

Karen Kirst

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I will praise Thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are Thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.

—Psalms 139:14

To Meredith Black—many thanks for your encouragement and sound advice.

I’m so grateful the Lord brought you into our lives. Love you, dear friend!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

June 1882 Gatlinburg, Tennessee

There was an intruder in the mercantile.

In her haste, Nicole O’Malley had forgotten to lock the rear entrance, and now she was alone.

While not common in this area, robberies weren’t unheard of. In fact, this very store had been targeted two years ago, and her oldest sister, Juliana, kidnapped by outlaws.

A shudder ripped through her as stealthy, faltering steps echoed down the long hallway that led past the private quarters, storeroom and office to where she’d been dusting shelves in the front area of the store. Whoever had dared enter after hours was up to no good.

Alarm pooling in her belly, Nicole seized a large enamel pot from the nearest shelf and wedged herself into the narrow space between the high shelving unit and door frame. She lifted it high over her head.

Her sister had been fortunate. She’d escaped unharmed.

Would Nicole face a worse fate?

What if he had a gun? What if he shot her on sight?

That’s why I have to be faster than him. Seize the element of surprise.

The footsteps neared. Paused somewhere in the vicinity of the office immediately on the other side of the doorway. Her hands curved around the pot handles until they bit into her palms. Heartbeat roaring in her ears, her arms began to tremble from the strain. The safe containing the money was in the office. If he went in there, she could try and sneak out the front entrance.

But he didn’t enter the office. Instead, he stalked through the doorway. Halted inches away, hands on lean hips as he surveyed the interior. By now things like his scent—peppermint of all things—and impressive height were registering.

The intruder seemed to be cataloging the goods. What was his plan? Steal the valuables and sell them for profit?

He started to pivot in her direction, and she caught a glimpse of sleek jawline above a starched white collar. Nicole’s throat closed up. She would not be taken hostage like Juliana. If he had time to draw his weapon, she was done for. It’s now or never.

She swung with all her might. The impact of the heavy cookware against his head knocked him forward. He grunted, hands going up as if to defend himself from another blow.

Go. Now. The pot hit the just-swept floorboards with a dull thud. She dashed into the shadowed hallway, desperation powering her rubbery legs. A low growl cracked the air. He scrambled into the hallway after her. Without warning, strong arms stole around her waist, halting her forward movement and digging into her stomach. She was shoved face-first against the wall. His large body followed, heaving chest pinning her.

“Who? Why?” he panted against her ear, hot breath fogging her neck.

“Let me go, you ill-bred ruffian!” Raising her foot, she slammed her heel down, grinding it into his boot.

He gasped, jerked, and Nicole slipped sideways out of his grasp.

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

He captured her before she could put any sort of distance between them, this time seizing her arms in a painful grip. Ignoring her struggles and seething threats of retribution, the intruder propelled her into the store, snatched a silk tie from the rack on the counter and tied her wrists behind her back. Anger pulsed at her temples. “You won’t get away with this,” she said.

He spun her to face him, pushed her into the lone chair and, shoving aside her skirts, bound her calves to the chair legs. Insides quivering with indignation, she did everything she could to make things difficult for him. She wiggled. Strained against the ties.

When she delivered another threat, he straightened to his full height, folded his arms and glared down at her, his honey-colored eyes glittering with ill humor. “If you don’t want me to gag that pretty little mouth of yours, I suggest you shut it.”

A lock of jet-black hair flopped over his left eyebrow, and he shoved it back, wincing when he came into contact with what was probably a good-size knot on his head.

“I don’t know what your story is, lady, but you had better hope it’s a good one. You’ll be telling it to the sheriff here shortly.”

Her frazzled mind belatedly homed in on his accent. It wasn’t the slow, easy drawl typical of East Tennessee. His words were clipped. Fast. Northern?

Dread clawed upward into her throat, nearly choking her. Please don’t let this be who I think it is. Nicole did a quick inventory of his appearance—quality brown leather boots peeked from beneath perfectly creased blue trousers. His navy vest and white shirt had been crafted from sturdy material. He didn’t dress like a ruffian. Didn’t look like one, either, with the clean shave, neat haircut and carved features. Power and authority cloaked him.

“Did you say sheriff?”

“Sure did.” He jabbed a finger in the air above her nose and quirked a mocking brow. “Stay put.”

Outrage flamed in her cheeks. “Wait. I can explain—”

But he was already undoing the knob lock. “Save it.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Nicole listened helplessly to the retreating footsteps of Clawson’s new owner—and her new boss. She hung her head in defeat. She was never, ever going to live this down.

* * *

Quinn Darling made his way down the boardwalk, head throbbing with each step. That was a fine welcome to his brand-new life. He’d wanted change, a simpler existence than he’d led among Boston’s elite. Nothing simple about being assaulted by a madwoman the second he arrived.

Gatlinburg had the appearance of a peaceful place. Majestic mountains cradled the town, green slopes cast in waning golden-orange sunlight. Businesses lined either side of Main Street, and a white church boasting stained-glass windows sat at the far end, surrounded by rolling fields and scattered tree groves.

Spotting the lone horse outside a building marked Jail, Quinn picked up his pace. His muscles ached from days of travel; his belly was protesting the long hours since lunch and his headache—compliments of her—had quadrupled in size. He wanted the female out of his possession so that he could unload his personal belongings and explore the store that belonged to him.

“Excuse me,” he addressed the rugged, fair-headed man behind the desk. “Are you the sheriff?”

Eying Quinn, the man stood, hands perching on his gun belt. “Shane Timmons. How can I help you?”

“The name’s Quinn Darling. I purchased the mercantile from Emmett Moore.”

The caution in the lawman’s eyes receded a little. “We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Darling.”

“Yes, well, I’ve only just arrived. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered a trespasser in my store. I’d appreciate it if you’d come and fetch her.”

“Her?” His lips twitched. “What does this trespasser look like?”

“Deadly.” His fingers once again prodded the tender knot at the base of his skull. She knew how to put up a fight, all right. When the sheriff, who looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, appeared to be fighting an expression of amusement, Quinn continued, “Beautiful, but in a fatal, black-widow sort of way.”

“Huh.” Unhooking his Stetson from the chair back, Timmons nodded to the door. “Let’s go take a look.”

They crossed the nearly deserted street. The few remaining stragglers openly stared. “Do you have a lot of crime here?”

The lawman shot him an enigmatic look. “Depends.”

“On what exactly?”

“On what you’d describe as a lot.”

Hardly a helpful answer. Emmett Moore had assured him Gatlinburg was an ideal place to set down roots, find a God-fearing wife and pursue a new and different lifestyle—one where friendships weren’t based on business connections or social standing or amount of accumulated wealth. He hadn’t said a word about crime being an issue.

Too late now. Quinn kept his silence as they approached the entrance.

When they entered the darkened area, his captive jerked her head up, expressive eyes wide and accusing. Sheriff Timmons took one look at her, shook his head and strode to the nearest window, yanking the thick curtain open with a snap. Soft evening light spilled into the space, giving Quinn a much clearer view of the woman in the chair.

He sucked in a breath. If he hadn’t just tussled with the little wildcat, he might’ve been duped into thinking her a complete innocent. Maybe it was the bride-white dress. Or the youthful perfection of her skin, like finest alabaster, in direct contrast to the thick mane of glossy raven curls spilling from their pins and framing her delicate face. Her eyes were an unusual color a man wouldn’t soon forget—lavender ringed with deep violet—accentuated by a fringe of thick, inky lashes and topped with sweeping, elegant brows. Her dainty, bow-shaped mouth added to the illusion of innocence.

Timmons somberly bent to unknot the silk ties at her legs. Her lashes swept down and hot color surged in her cheeks. Quinn studiously avoided looking at the layers of snowy-white petticoats. In the heat of the struggle, his focus had been on restraining his assailant, not whether or not his actions were that of a gentleman.

“You might want to interrogate her before you release her. This one’s unpredictable.” In addition to the knot on his head, his toes would likely sport a nasty bruise, thanks to her.

“No need. This here isn’t a petty thief.” Shane paused, amusement twinkling in his blue eyes. “Mr. Darling, meet your shop assistant.”

Words failed him. Rational thought failed him.

Those magnificent violet eyes speared him as the sheriff helped her stand so that he could free her wrists.

“You are Nicole O’Malley?”

“In the flesh.” The perfect lips thinned with displeasure, then winced as she gingerly rubbed the skin where the ties had chafed.

Quinn winced along with her. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Way to make a great first impression, Darling. Then he recalled her culpability in the situation.

“Why did you attack me?” he demanded.

“I thought you were an intruder. Why did you sneak in here after hours?”

“I didn’t sneak. This is my store. Besides, the door was unlocked.”

“I think I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted.” The sheriff’s smile was rueful as he passed Quinn. “Welcome to Gatlinburg.”

Placing the ties atop a wooden counter worn smooth from years of transactions, she attempted to divest the material of the wrinkles with the press of her hands. He attempted to ignore the contrast of jet curls against milky skin.

“You’re three days late,” she said.

“An unavoidable delay.” Irritation sharpened his words. None of his previous employees had dared question him. But after this regrettable first meeting, he supposed he owed her an explanation. “My wagon suffered a broken axle. I assume Emmett and his wife have already left?”

“You assume correctly.”

“That is unfortunate. For both our sakes.”

She finally gifted him with her attention. “How so?”

“Because that leaves you to give me the grand tour.”

Her hands stilled atop the lengths of silk. “I have no say in the matter, do I?”

“You are in my employ.” He did nothing to mask the challenge in his tone. Had Nicole O’Malley spoken to Emmett Moore this way? Or was it just him and the fact he’d tied her up invoking this attitude?

Her stiff spine stiffened a fraction more. Her glare could’ve frozen the rain-swollen river out back. “You manhandled me.”

Now would be a good time to point out he’d merely been reacting to the threat he’d perceived in her. His mother had reared him to be a gentleman, however, and so he refrained. “I apologize.”

She considered him for a long moment, dipping her head as if she were a duchess and he a lowly estate servant. “I suppose I owe you an apology, as well.”

Quinn bit the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting. He wasn’t at his best right this minute...travel weary, hungry and hurting. Tomorrow would mark a new beginning between them. For now, he merely wanted to see his store.

Abandoning the ties, Miss O’Malley gestured to the long counter topped with glass display cases. “As you can see, we keep the more expensive items under lock and key. Silver, crystal, jewelry.” Pivoting neatly, she gestured to the shelving units running the length of the walls on either side of the hallway door. The bottom half consisted of closed cabinets and drawers, while the top half was all open shelves. “And here we have a vast assortment of goods.”

Quinn walked slowly past her, his attention on the haphazard collection of canned foods, boxes of wafers and cookies, tableware and linens. Mantel clocks and kerosene lamps perched on the top ledge. When he reached the end, he opened the nearest drawer and frowned at the mess of paper scraps and writing instruments. “Why isn’t the merchandise more organized?”

“Order and neatness weren’t among Emmett’s strengths.”

Posture proud and regal-like, she folded her hands amongst her lace-scalloped skirts. While she’d spoken without censure and her expression revealed not a hint of disdain, he sensed Miss O’Malley didn’t approve of the former owner’s management.

“It’s been this way for as long as I can remember,” she added. “The arrangement may not make sense, but the customers know where to find everything.”

Quinn approached, stopping closer than necessary simply to gauge her reaction. She didn’t retreat. Her lips tightened in disapproval or dislike, he couldn’t tell which.

“Show me more.”

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?

“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.”

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...

A tall man with a goatee, accompanied by a sophisticated young woman with hair the color of chocolate and intelligent green eyes, rounded the pew.

“We should get this little princess home before she wakes up and demands to be fed.”

Nicole carefully transferred the infant to her father’s arms, tucking the blanket about her small body. “Josh, have you met Quinn Darling?”

Measuring blue eyes slid to his. He nodded a greeting. “Pleased to meet you. This is my wife, Kate.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Quinn shook her proffered hand. “That is one beautiful baby.”

“Thank you. We think so, too.” The smile Kate directed at her husband was at once peaceful and adoring.

At the look passing between husband and wife, Quinn experienced a twinge of jealousy. Thoughts of settling down and starting a family of his own had been plaguing him of late. Since accepting Christ six months ago, he’d begun to pray for a wife of God’s choosing. He wanted what his parents had—a loving partnership based on trust and true companionship—a rare occurrence in his high-society world where many marriages resembled business transactions.

“You’re the owner of the furniture store?” He addressed Josh.

“That’s right. Kate runs her photography business out of the same space if you’re ever in need of a photo.”

“No plans to hang one of myself on the wall, but I’ll keep it in mind for when my family visits. I peeked at your inventory through the window. Impressive selection.”

Nicole’s expression challenged him. “He’s crafted every single item in that shop by hand. The locals prefer his furniture to those available through mail-order catalogs.”

Hugging his daughter to his chest, Josh shifted uncomfortably. “Obviously, I can’t supply every item those large companies offer.”

Quinn aimed a wide grin at his assistant, letting her know the dig didn’t sting. “In business, competition is unavoidable. It isn’t always a bad thing.”

Her gaze slid away from his, but not before he caught the flare of displeasure.

Kate tugged on Josh’s sleeve. “We should go.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” the other man said to Quinn.

As soon as the couple headed for the exit, a pair of flame-haired, green-eyed twins flanked Nicole. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” This from the one in green.

With a resigned sigh, Nicole said, “Quinn Darling, meet my younger sisters, Jane and Jessica.”

“I’m Jessica.” The one who had spoken grinned cheekily, jammed a finger in the other twin’s direction. “She’s Jane.”

“How do you do.” Jane, dressed in head-to-toe blue, spoke in a more demure fashion.

“Pleased to meet you both,” he said, unsure if he’d ever be able to tell them apart.

“Don’t forget me.” A petite young woman with a mass of white-blond ringlets crowded in beside the blue twin. She thrust out her hand. “Hi, I’m Megan. I’m the second oldest. That’s my husband over there, Lucian Beaumont.”

Quinn followed her gaze to a tall, distinguished man with olive skin and dark, wavy hair. Nicole hadn’t been kidding when she’d said the O’Malley family was extensive.

“We have another sister, Juliana, who lives in Cades Cove with her husband and young son.”

Shaking her hand, Quinn studied their faces. While Megan and the twins did not share the same coloring, they had the same cheekbones, nose and chin. Nicole looked nothing like them.

“Do you and Juliana look alike?” He posed the question to her.

Indefinable emotion darkened her eyes. “No.”

Megan shook her head, setting her curls to bouncing. “Juliana and the twins look very much alike. Nicole and I are the odd ones.”

The look Nicole shot her bordered on accusing. “You are not the odd one. You all have the same facial structure. I don’t look like any of you.” To Quinn, she said, “My mother assures me I wasn’t found in the vegetable patch. I have my doubts, however.”

The twin in green...Jessica, he thought it was, chuckled. “We like to joke that Nicole is a long-lost princess.”

“Jessica,” her twin warned with a frown.

“What? She certainly acts like it sometimes.”

Megan sighed as if she’d heard it all before. “You take after Grandma O’Malley. You have her hair and eyes.”

“Too bad she’s not alive to validate the fact O’Malley blood runs through my veins.”

The sisters fell silent, and Quinn realized he’d stumbled upon a touchy subject.

“Do you have lunch plans, Mr. Darling?” Jane asked.

“No plans.” He adjusted the Bible in his hands. “I had thought to dine at Plum’s Café, not realizing the establishment was closed on Sundays.”

“You must have lunch with us,” Jessica piped up.

“Yes, please do.” Jane’s smile was genuine.

He studied Nicole’s expression, frustrated when he couldn’t read it. “I’m not sure your sister would approve considering she’s now consigned to endure my presence on a daily basis. She’s already promised to help me this afternoon.”

“We have to eat first. You should sample Jane’s cooking,” Nicole said soberly. “And Jessica made pie for dessert.”

“I have a weakness for sweets.”

A single raven brow arched. “I’ve noticed.”

“Then it’s settled.” Jane clapped her hands together. “You’re coming home with us.”

Chapter Four

Quinn soaked in the serene beauty of their surroundings, the endless green forests on either side of the lane alive with birds and squirrels and other wildlife. Gardenia blossoms sweetened the humid air.

“I’m glad we chose to walk.” The twins had needed time to put the finishing touches on their meal. He looked over at Nicole strolling quietly beside him. He added content with silence to the list of her attributes. “Too much inactivity and I get surly.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

He laughed outright at her sarcastic tone. “How could I have forgotten you got a taste of my surliness? Although, that was mostly your fault.”

“My fault?” she gaped.

“If you hadn’t given me the worst headache in history, I wouldn’t have had cause to be.”

Stopping short, she crossed her arms and glowered. “You weren’t the only one with good reason to be upset. Never in my life have I been handled in such a degrading manner.”

Memories surged...the roughness with which he’d bound her wrists. His mother would be appalled.

Guilt pricking his conscience, he sobered. “For that, I am truly sorry. My only defense is that I was acting on faulty assumptions. Will you forgive me?”

Some of the starch went out of her. Her lowered eyes tracking the grass-smattered lane beneath her black boots, she nodded. “Maybe you could get someone to take you hiking in the mountains.”

He blinked at the sudden change of topic. “Are you volunteering?”

“Me? No. I don’t have that kind of free time. Caleb knows the high country like the back of his hand. I’m sure he’d be willing to take you.”

From what he’d observed of the couple that morning during church, the man would not willingly leave his expectant wife, not even for a day’s outing. Nevertheless, he said, “Maybe I’ll speak to him about it.”

“What did you do in Boston to stave off the surliness?”

“Are you familiar with the sport of fencing?”

“I have heard of it,” she said drily.

He smiled, silently reminding himself not to assume the locals were cut off from the world. They had access to books and newspapers. And he wasn’t the only out-of-towner to move here. People from all walks of life had passed through the town, carrying with them stories of other places.

“I took up fencing a few years ago. My good friend Oliver and I practiced several times a week, and we entered competitions on a regular basis. That and swimming helped channel my energy. I enjoy people-watching, too, so I often strolled the city streets.”

Not only did he miss the competitions, he missed his outgoing, boisterous friend. As soon as he was settled, he’d extend an invitation. Always up for an adventure, Oliver was one of a handful of people who’d approved of Quinn’s plans. Since he wasn’t engaged or married, an extended trip to Tennessee wasn’t out of the question.

Nicole batted away a fly, nose wrinkling adorably. One look at the raven-haired beauty, and his friend would be instantly smitten. He wondered what his assistant would think of Oliver.

An uncomfortable feeling slid into his chest. The heat was suddenly too much. Shrugging out of his coat, he slung it over his shoulder.

“You never told me why you left a city full of unlimited opportunities to start over in our unremarkable town.”

“It’s not easy to explain.” He began walking again, and she fell into step beside him. “My family has been blessed. My great-grandfather Edward Darling founded Darling Industries, and it’s grown into a prosperous empire, for lack of a better word. We provide solid employment for a vast number of people. We’re in the position to fund many charitable works. That part of our life I am proud of. However, one doesn’t hold that particular position in society without having certain social responsibilities, ones I have grown exceedingly tired of in recent years.”

“You were required to entertain them?”

“According to my father, we have to coddle our current business partners and woo new ones in order to maintain our current level of success.”

Her gaze abandoned a bird’s nest in a nearby tree and fastened onto him. “What do you have against parties?”

He kicked up a shoulder. “I enjoy music and dancing and excellent food. I guess what bothers me is the shallow nature of it all. We weren’t vacationing with these people because they were family or close friends. It was for the sole purpose of insuring their continued support. I began to crave genuine relationships.”

Quinn thought of his last disappointment—Helene and the conversation he’d overheard between her and her friends—and how it had confirmed that a life of social climbing, the relentless pursuit of increased wealth, was not for him. “More than that, I needed to prove to myself that I could make it on my own. That I could accomplish something worthwhile apart from Darling Industries.”

“How did your parents take the news?”

Kneading the back of his neck, he winced. “I didn’t exactly prepare them. I waited until after I had already purchased the store.”

Dark brows lifted until hidden beneath the side sweep of her hair. “So it would be too late for them to try and talk you out of it?”

Perceptive went onto the list. “Partly, yes. I also acted quickly in order not to lose the opportunity. My father, especially, was blown away by my decision. Unlike my mother, he hadn’t seen the signs of my dissatisfaction. I suspect he thinks I will tire of small-town life and return within six months’ time.”

Her brow creased, and she would’ve spoken if a bundle of reddish-brown fur hadn’t ambushed her ankles.

He put a hand out. “Careful—”

“It’s all right. He’s a friend of mine.” Humor laced her voice as she bent and scooped up the wriggling dog.

Quinn watched, fascinated, as Nicole’s reserve melted away. Unmindful of her outfit, she snuggled the animal close to her chest, laughter as light as tinkling glass hovering in the still air as the dog attempted to lick her face. Without the armor in place, her radiance shone like rays piercing the clouds, her loveliness making his heart thump and his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Who was the real Nicole O’Malley? The lethal attacker with the killer aim? The distant duchess capable of giving a man frostbite with a single glare? Or the warm, alluring woman with soft eyes and a smile that promised dreams-come-true?

Quinn drew closer and, after letting the dog sniff his fingers, buried them in the thick fur. His scrutiny wasn’t on the dog, however. It was on Nicole’s face, waiting for—and dreading?—the inevitable change.

“What’s his name?”

“Cinnamon.”

He’d noticed her extra attention to Caleb’s horses yesterday morning. “You have a soft spot for animals and babies.”

“That’s because they don’t judge.” Twisting slightly, she glanced at the wide clearing that had opened up on their left and extended as far as the eye could see. “He belongs to my aunt and uncle.” In the distance, blue-toned mountains were framed against cerulean sky. A two-story cabin sat right in the center, surrounded by a large barn and outbuildings. Another, smaller cabin was tucked against the far left tree line. “Caleb and Rebecca live in the small one, and Uncle Sam and Aunt Mary have the large house. Rebecca’s younger sister, Amy, stays there with them. Josh and his wife, Kate, have a cabin behind the main house. Their property adjoins ours.”

“Family members that are also neighbors. That’s convenient.”

The guardedness rushed back, and he wondered at it.

“It can be.” With a brief kiss to Cinnamon’s head, she set him on the ground and watched pensively as he raced across the grass, diverted by a flitting butterfly.

At the decided lack of enthusiasm, he made to question her, but she headed him off. “We shouldn’t linger. Jane will worry the food might get cold.”

Quinn fell into step beside her, glad of the interruption. Her personal life was none of his business. In fact, he should probably limit spending time with her outside of the store. Maintaining a civil working relationship was paramount to success. Failure was not an outcome he was willing to explore.

* * *

Nicole watched as Quinn effortlessly charmed her mother and sisters. Seated diagonally from her at the head of the table, he answered their incessant questions with practiced ease, completely at home in their humble cabin in spite of the air of old-money clinging to him.

The black pin-striped suit coat, which he’d slipped into once again before entering their home, molded to the wide span of his shoulders like a second skin. He must have a personal tailor. He’d slipped the buttons free before easing his lean body into the scuffed wooden chair, giving her a glimpse of the silver-filigreed vest and crisp white shirt underneath hugging his torso.

Had he been born a charmer? Or had his skills been honed by his high-society life? Either way, he annoyed her.

She skewered a potato with more force than necessary, and it disintegrated into mush. Quinn’s vigilant liquid eyes focused on her. One brow lifted in silent question. Nicole mimicked his expression. The slow, impertinent smile that followed made her insides jittery. Not familiar with this particular reaction, she frowned at him, which only served to widen his smile.

Lowering her gaze, she concentrated on sipping the fragrant tea without spilling it.

“Won’t you miss living in Boston?” Across from Nicole, Jessica eyed their guest with open admiration.

Laying down his fork, he fiddled with the teacup’s handle. “I will miss my family. And my favorite Czech bakery. They sell the most delicious kolaches, pastries filled with cheese or fruit.” His expression turned wistful. “I’m at peace with my decision, however. I look forward to experiencing life in a rural, close-knit community.”

Nicole hid a smirk with her napkin. He’d soon learn small-town life wasn’t all lemon drops and roses.

Jessica looked at Nicole. “Our sister has talked about leaving Gatlinburg behind and starting fresh in the big city for years.”

Nicole restrained herself from kicking her under the table. It wasn’t that her dream was private—everyone in town was aware of her plans. But Quinn was her boss. Now that he knew she intended to leave town, he could possibly decide to find an early replacement. A tremor of unease wound its way through her. She desperately needed the income.

Quinn was looking at her with a strange mix of surprise and disappointment. “Is this true, Nicole?”

Before she could formulate an answer, Jane leaned forward in her chair, auburn hair brilliant in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. “Tell him your plans.”

“I told you I was a seamstress.”

“Yes...I recall the conversation.”

“My goal is to open a boutique of my own in Knoxville.”

“When?” He sat motionless, good humor draining away.

“She was supposed to go in March,” Jessica piped up. “She refuses to tell us why she had to postpone.”

“I—”

Their mother aimed a reprimanding glance at her youngest daughter. “That is Nicole’s business, young lady. Don’t pester her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nicole attempted to gather her wits. No one could discover the true reason for the delay. “I—I will have the necessary funds eventually.”

Still unsmiling, Quinn sighed. “Emmett did not mention your plans. Your expertise will be missed.”

“I promise to give you ample notice of my departure.”

As if sensing her turmoil, he said, “I want you for as many days as I can have you.”

Nicole’s lips parted. Jessica giggled.

Red slashed his cheekbones as it sank in how his words had sounded, and he looked uncharacteristically uncertain. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Dropping her napkin on the table, she stood abruptly and gathered her plate and silverware. “If we’re going to have time to look over the ledgers today I suggest we go. I have alterations to do later.”

“But you haven’t eaten dessert,” Jane protested.

Their mother rose, as well, smiling broadly at their guest. “I’ll send some with you. I’m sure you will want to take a break at some point.”

Nicole stumbled, nearly dumping her dish. Sure, she’d seen that speculative gleam in her mother’s eyes before, but in regards to her sisters. Not her. Surely she didn’t think she and Quinn would make a good match!

Setting her dishes in the dry sink, she pitched her voice low. “Please tell me you aren’t entertaining romantic notions about me and my boss.”

Alice patted Nicole’s arm. “Would that be so bad? He seems like a fine young man.”

Remembering his arrogance as he’d loftily informed her of impending changes, she swallowed a retort. Fine young man? Huh. “I’m not interested in him or anyone else. I have plans, remember?”

“Have you consulted God about those plans?” It wasn’t a harsh question. Concern and understanding were reflected in her lined face.

“I know you’d rather I stay here and, like Megan, settle down and maybe start a family. That’s not me. And, since God made me, He knows I wouldn’t be happy living a conventional life”

Nicole wasn’t about to admit that lately she’d been experiencing rogue thoughts...like what it might be like to have a man adore her the way Lucian did Megan. Or what it would feel like to hold her very own baby in her arms. Josh and Kate’s little girl, Victoria, had worked her way into her heart with zero effort. Simply holding her, absorbing her innocence and sweetness, had altered her view of parenthood.

“Well, it can’t hurt to have a friend, can it?” Her mother sliced up two generous portions of pear pie.

Nicole didn’t want Quinn Darling for a friend. The debonair Northerner wasn’t exactly comfortable to be around. On top of that, he was the last person she’d feel inclined to share confidences with.

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

The 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.

“Coming right up, sir.”

Grinding his teeth, Quinn quickly gathered the items. Up until this moment, he hadn’t considered himself a proud man too good for lowly work. He hadn’t started out at the top. Edward Darling had thought it important his son experience all facets of the industry. He’d done everything from sweeping factory floors to operating ten looms at once.

Why, then, was being reduced to Nicole O’Malley’s go-to boy so difficult to swallow?

Because this is my store. I bought it with my own money, gave up everything I’ve worked for—upsetting a lot of people in the process—to start over in an unfamiliar place where I know no one.

Neatly folding the paper sacks, he slid them across the counter. “Will there be anything else?”

Lord Jesus, help me not to be prideful. Help me to win these people’s trust.

The man squinted at his list. “Nope. That will be all.”

Nicole informed him how much credit he had left and moved on to the next customer. Together, they worked through the line until the last person had been served. The clock chiming three o’clock split the weighted silence.

Without a word, Quinn pivoted on his heel and stalked down the hall to the cramped, low-ceilinged quarters. He needed an outlet for his pent-up frustration. Since he couldn’t drop everything and go for a swim, going through the motions of making coffee would have to do. He was filling the kettle with water when Nicole peered around the door frame.

“Is it safe to come in?” she said, cringing when he thumped the kettle down with more force than necessary.

“Enter at your own risk.” Snatching the tin of coffee grounds from the shelf, he slammed it down.

“Even if I come bearing gifts?” Emerald green skirts skimming the polished floorboards, she approached and slowly lifted her hand. Two peppermint sticks lay on her open palm.

He looked deep into her luminous eyes. “Are you trying to tame my surliness with sweets?”

“I am.”

He glimpsed a flicker of compassion, almost imperceptible but there nonetheless, and the loneliness inside him receded a little. Two more attributes went onto the growing list. Unpredictable. Kindhearted. The second one was just a hunch and would need to be confirmed.

Quinn accepted the offering only to hold one up to her lips, pressing gently. “I cannot be the only one to indulge.”

Startled eyes stared back at him, confirming she wasn’t used to his brand of teasing. You didn’t treat the women in Boston like this, though, did you? a voice prodded. Something in her manner provokes you to outrageousness.

When she reached to take hold of the stick, her cool fingers closed over his, the contact unexpectedly comforting. Lowering his hand, he popped the sweet in his mouth and resumed the motions of making coffee.

“They do not trust me,” he said, pulling down two blue enamel mugs from the shelf. “They lack confidence in me.” He hoped she didn’t recognize his underlying hurt.

“I don’t think Gatlinburg has seen anyone quite like you.”

Pausing in scooping the grounds, he cast her a sidelong look, smiling a little at her attempts to eat the peppermint without becoming a sticky mess. “What do you mean?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” She waved her hand up and down. “You exude power and privilege, wealth most people around here can’t even begin to imagine. Your slick ways and your funny accent sets you apart. It’s painfully obvious you are out of your element.”

“Don’t hold back, Duchess,” he said drily, “Tell me what you really think.”

His ego sure was taking a bruising lately. His father would say it built character.

“That doesn’t mean they won’t come to trust you eventually. Are you a patient man, Quinn Darling?”

Irrationally, his conversation with Shane Timmons came to mind. The sheriff was of the opinion that, while hard to get to know, Nicole would be worth the effort. He wasn’t sure he agreed. Nicole O’Malley was not even close to what he required in a wife.

She awaited his answer, calm and regal in her high-collared green confection of a dress, raven curls confined in a loose chignon at the base of her swanlike neck. How would she react if he were to sink his fingers in the beguiling mass?

“That all depends,” he said on a sigh.

“On what?”

“On what it is I’m waiting for.”

She didn’t have a response, merely watched him with that stoic expression.

“I have a question for you.” He imagined he could see her pulling her armor in close.

“Yes?”

He took his time pouring coffee into the cups. “Why aren’t you gloating?”

“Excuse me?”

“You warned me. I didn’t listen, and now—” he replaced the kettle on the stove “—they see me as the bad guy. I’ve been waiting for you to rub it in.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time.”

He held out the mug. She studiously avoided his fingers. Quinn had noticed she took pains not to accidentally touch him. Why was that?

She wasn’t shy. What, then? Did he make her uncomfortable? He frowned at the notion.

“You’re not the type to point out a man’s errors in judgment?”

“I clearly don’t need to. It hasn’t even been a week and you’ve already seen the effects of your decisions.”

“You think I should open my store to loiterers.”

“Folks will eventually get over you moving the merchandise around. The organization makes sense.” Against the blue mug, her fingers were long and slender, piano-playing hands, his mother would say. “Prohibiting folks from gathering for harmless fun and conversation, on the other hand, strikes them as callous and unfeeling. They won’t forgive you for that.”

“It was purely a business decision,” he defended.

“The wrong one.”

The ringing of the bell echoed through the store, and Nicole left his quarters to go and greet the new arrival. He refused to be disappointed at her departure, even if, for a couple of minutes in her presence, the magnitude of his problems seemed to have receded.

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