From Boss to Bridegroom (8 page)

Climbing the staircase, he left the cheerful birdsong and increasingly familiar hum and splash of the river behind in favor of the cooler, fragrant interior. Heading down the hallway and going straight for the jars of penny candy, his steps slowed as he attempted to make sense of the sight before him. Along the lengthy interior wall, where the ready-made clothing was displayed, Kenneth, Timothy and Pete surrounded Nicole.

Were they deliberately boxing her in?

One hand resting on the first jar's lid, he studied her face. While her eyes were defiant, her lower lip trembled. And her back was pressed against the shelving unit behind her.

Not acceptable.

Reminding himself to keep calm and not jump to conclusions, Quinn skirted the counter.

“Where's your broom, little witch?” Kenneth, whose back was to Quinn, taunted. The other two snickered.

“Was that your black cat I saw on the street?” Still unaware of Quinn's presence, Timothy elbowed his cohort.

Nicole's jaw went taut. “If you aren't here to do business, I suggest you leave. I have more important things to do than entertain you.”

“I can think of a few ways you could entertain me.”

When Quinn heard the silky innuendo in Kenneth's voice, his blood began to simmer. “May I assist you, gentlemen?”

The two who could see him stiffened, shrugging and shuffling their feet. Kenneth pivoted. “We're just perusing the goods, Mr. Darling. Seeing what might be of interest to us.”

Tempted to wipe that smirk off his face, Quinn's fingers closed into fists. “Well, Mr. Jones, you and your friends are preventing my assistant from doing her job.”

Placing his hat over his heart, Kenneth dipped his head in a mock bow. “My apologies, sir.”

“Let's go, Kenny.”

While the other two made for the exit, Kenneth nodded and turned as if to leave, at the last second shoving his face close to Nicole's and whispering something in her ear. Quinn was on the verge of physically removing him when he skirted away, deliberately toppling a stack of shirts onto the floor once he reached the end of the aisle.

“Oops,” he said, and grinned over his shoulder.

Face averted, Nicole moved to straighten the mess. Quinn stopped her with a hand on her forearm. “Leave it. I'll take care of it.”

Striding after the trio, he heard her call out. “Quinn, wait. What are you going to do?”

Out on the boardwalk, he closed the door firmly behind him, calling out for them to stop. They hadn't gotten far. Across the street, passersby looked their way.

“I will not allow my employee to be mistreated in any way. If you bother Miss O'Malley again, you and your family members will be barred from this establishment.” He met each man's eyes squarely. “It would be awfully inconvenient for you to have to travel to Pigeon Forge for your supplies.”

“We understand, Mr. Darling.” Timothy looked properly chastised, as did Pete. Kenneth, however, wasn't cowed in the slightest. Hooking a hand on Timothy's arm, he towed him away, Pete trailing behind.

Quinn rejoined Nicole inside, hurrying to help her shake out and refold the shirts. “I told you to wait.”

She shot him a heated glance. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I am well aware,” he said drily, recalling her full-on assault that first night. Their fingers collided as they both situated a shirt on the stack. “This is my store, however, and I will not stand by and watch you or any of my patrons be treated in that manner.”

“While I appreciate your efforts, I doubt it will have any effect.”

Covering her hand with his, Quinn stalled her movements. “What did he say to you, Nicole?”

“Something stupid and not worth repeating.”

He couldn't help but think about Tilly, his fifteen-year-old sister, and what he'd do if she was in Nicole's position.
Throttle the culprits, that's what.

Her skin was like ice. Taking her hand in both of his, he tried to transfer his warmth to her. Her head was bent, so he couldn't tell if the contact bothered her.

“You denied there being a problem. Why?”

“He's angry, that's all.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I should've just gone to the stupid dance.”

Light glinted in her confined locks. “Let me get this straight. Kenneth is acting like a beast because you didn't agree to attend a dance with him?”

“I'm afraid I've dented his pride.”

Beneath the unblemished skin, the bones of her hand were fragile. He released it in order to warm the other. He liked being connected to her, liked that she hadn't pulled away. Perhaps his nearness didn't bother her as much as he'd thought.

“That's not an excuse. He has no right to treat you like that...” The image of shattered china shoved to the forefront of his mind. Gently, he slid his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. “He caused you to drop the dishes, didn't he?”

Swallowing hard, she moved her head a fraction of an inch.

“I'm an idiot.” Releasing her before he did something rash, like kissing that dainty mouth of hers, he helped her to her feet. “I'm sorry, Duchess. I should've suspected.”

“You couldn't have known.”

“You're not clumsy or careless. I know that.”

She touched his sleeve. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Sticking up for me.”

“Even though you didn't require my help?”

She smiled at him, a genuine smile that transformed her face into something so beautiful and hopeful he didn't dare blink for fear he'd miss it. “I'll let it pass this time.”

He knew then that, no matter how loudly and frequently she protested, he'd always rush to lend her aid.

Chapter Eight

N
icole withheld a sigh as Mr. Craig perused the newest selection of hair tonics beneath the glass. He wasn't one to rush the decision. While he hadn't yet found a cure for his baldness, he continued to test the latest concoctions.

Her gaze strayed once more to her boss, whose sinewy, suit-clad body was propped against the counter, arms folded across his chest as he conversed with Reverend Monroe. Late-afternoon light glinted off his dark hair, slicked away from his face in a dashing style. How he managed to appear neat and unruffled no matter how many customers came in or how stuffy the place got she couldn't fathom.

Snatches of their conversation drifted over. When the reverend asked how Quinn was settling in, she was surprised to hear him admit he wasn't having much luck with the locals and that he felt like an outsider. Considering his status in Boston, his troubles here must be particularly difficult to cope with.

“Give it some time,” the reverend urged, craggy features sympathetic. “They miss Emmett. He was their confidant, advisor and friend.”

Quinn nodded. His attention slipped to her and, embarrassed to be caught staring, she ripped her gaze from his worried one.

“I believe I've made up my mind.” Mr. Craig smiled, revealing stained teeth. “I'll take the Imperial Hair Tonic.” He pointed to the tall bottle in the middle.

“I'll wrap it up for you.”

Ripping off a square of brown paper, she unlocked the case and lifted out the bottle. Quinn strolled up as she was handing the parcel across the counter.

“Appreciate your business, Mr. Craig.” Quinn's smile was forced.

Closing the case, she said, “What was the notice Reverend Monroe dropped off?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, leading her to wonder if he had a headache. “A reminder about the Independence Day picnic.”

The calendar displayed on the wall showed the July Fourth holiday fell on a Tuesday. “Are you going?”

The foursome playing cards in the corner burst out laughing at some private joke. Quinn glanced over his shoulder at them, shaking his head as if he couldn't figure out why he was allowing them to waste space in his store. He wasn't thrilled to have them back, but Nicole thought he'd done the right thing. Pushing off from the counter, he came around and, passing her, retrieved a horehound candy from a jar.

She couldn't stop thinking about how his hands had warmed hers.

“I suppose I will.”

At his marked lack of enthusiasm, she tried to see things from his perspective. He'd left his home and family, with whom he'd apparently shared a close bond, and he was completely alone in an unfamiliar place where not everyone was happy he'd come. She recalled how, without the slightest hesitation, he'd defended her against Kenneth last weekend.

Dropping the case key in her apron pocket, she said, “Why don't you come with me? There will be food. Games. Music. It's a nice change from the routine.”

He hesitated before popping the treat in his mouth, brow creasing as he considered. “I'd like that...if you're certain you wouldn't mind spending your day off with me.”

An image of prior town-wide celebrations popped into her head, of enamored couples sharing picnics beneath the shade trees and strolling arm in arm. She shook off the unsettling image of her and Quinn engaging in such behavior. They shared a professional relationship. Nothing more.

Unlike other girls her age, she didn't pine for a clinging beau, didn't dream about marriage proposals. Romance was the furthest thing from her mind. So the fact that she'd contemplated—even for a second—such behavior with her boss bothered her no small amount.

“I'm certain.”

He followed her into the office, bracing an arm on the door frame. Nicole didn't particularly like sharing this confined space with him because his presence made her twitchy. She became acutely aware of commonplace events—the pull of air into his lungs and subsequent exhale, the way his throat worked with each swallow, the movement of his lips as he spoke.

“Will your sisters be there?”

“You're a bit too old for them, don't you think? Jessica and Jane are only sixteen.”

His brows shot up. Dropping his arm, he edged closer and propped his hip on the desk. A baffled smile mocked her. “While the twins are loveliness personified, I had not planned on offering for either of them. It was an innocent question.”

Cheeks burning, she feigned interest in one of the many ledgers laid out on the desk, absently skimming the nearest one. He thought they were lovely, did he? Of course he did.
Please tell me you're not jealous,
an inner voice pleaded.
Quinn Darling can woo whomever he pleases.

“I know I'm risking getting raked over the coals again for putting my nose where it doesn't belong,” he said quietly, “but it's obvious there is tension between you and your sisters. I cannot help but wonder why.”

If there had been any hint of lightheartedness in his manner, she would've refused to answer. But he was serious...even concerned. “How would you like it if you were constantly compared to your siblings? If your entire life, you'd been judged and pegged as the odd one in your family?”

A frown cut a groove in his cheek. “Why would you think that about yourself?”

Worrying the edge of her sleeve, Nicole hesitated. Baring her soul to him was a bad idea. The worst. “You wouldn't understand.”

“You think I haven't had my share of problems?” he said softly.

“You're the Darling heir. Don't tell me Boston's elite didn't worship the ground you walked on.”

A dry half laugh escaped him. “Solely because of the fortune attached to my last name. My winning personality and natural charm wouldn't have gotten me very far if my last name had been Smith or Jones and I'd worked on the docks.”

The glimpse of uncertainty in him stunned Nicole. Where was her suave, confident, infuriatingly-sure-of-himself boss? “I imagine it would be difficult to wonder if every person in my life was there because of me or because of the benefits of being my friend.”

“You have no idea.”

Shadows passed across his face, shadows she felt certain not many people were allowed to see. She'd misjudged him, had taken one look at his well-tailored clothes, slick appearance and cool confidence and assumed he'd led a privileged, problem-free life. But money and status didn't solve the world's problems, did they?

She took a steadying breath. “When I was a kid, my cousins and sisters were my only friends. I didn't think it strange until around age eight. I noticed Juliana, Megan and the twins had friends who weren't family members, boys and girls who
chose
to spend time with them. I wondered why I didn't. Then Kenneth and his buddies started a wild rumor that I was a witch's offspring and had been left on my parents' porch as a baby.” Grimacing, she fingered a rogue curl, stretching the strand and releasing it to spring back into place. “Since I didn't look anything like my other sisters, the school kids latched on to it.”

“That's ridiculous.” He seemed transfixed by her hair, as if he really wanted to test its texture.

Mouth dry, she moistened her lips. “I tried to be more like my sisters but eventually concluded it was a waste of time. I would never measure up. So I stopped trying to please others. Told myself their opinions didn't matter.” At his sad expression, she hastened to add, “I don't mind being alone. I have plenty to keep me busy.”

Liar
,
she told herself.
You want what Megan and Juliana have, what the twins share. You crave connection. Closeness. A sense of belonging.

“Those people don't know what they're missing.” Quinn's expression turned thoughtful. “You have a lot to offer, Nicole. I'm positive that if you were to let down your guard, people would respond to you. You're bright and creative. Considerate. Hardworking and driven. You are as worthy of friendship as your sisters.”

Nicole floundered for an appropriate response. His gentle praise inspired pleasure and embarrassment in equal amounts. “Sounds like you had those qualities memorized.”

“It's a quirk of mine,” he said, and smiled sheepishly. “When I meet new people, I make lists about them in my head.”

“Lists.”

“Strengths and faults.”

“I don't want to know the faults you've observed in me during our brief acquaintance.”

“Attacking unsuspecting men tops the list.”

Refusing to let him see her mortification, she smirked. “You can't place the blame for that entirely at my feet.”

The rear entrance bell sounded, cutting off his response. He fished out his pocket watch. “Five thirty. Awfully late for a delivery.” He paused in the doorway. “We will continue this conversation later.”

She nodded, grateful for the interruption. Now that Quinn was privy to her private struggles, she felt exposed and vulnerable. It was not a comfortable feeling.

The delivery was a large one. The driver had left the larger town of Maryville later than expected. Even with his help, unloading and sorting everything would take several hours. Quinn immediately cleared out the card players, closing the store several minutes early and paid a young boy to take a message to Nicole's mother letting her know she'd be late and he would see her home. He'd promised to treat her to supper at Plum's when they'd finished. Nicole wasn't sure she wished to dine alone with him, however. He couldn't know how an outing like that could be misconstrued. At least at the Independence Day picnic, they'd be surrounded by her family.

It was nearing eight o'clock when she and Quinn put the last of the perishables in the springhouse. Her arms and upper back muscles ached, as did her feet, and hunger gnawed at her. The ham, bread and palm-size portion of strawberries she'd had for lunch seemed very long ago.

Unable to stand to his full height in the small, squat building, Quinn hung a slab of dried beef from the low-slung rafters. “That's the last of it. Are you ready to head over to the café?”

Nicole shoved the last crock into the corner. Hunger drove her answer. “More than ready.”

“I hope chicken and dumplings is on the menu,” he said, and grinned.

She'd never stopped to think what he did for meals. No doubt in Boston, he'd had all his meals served to him. “You don't know how to cook, do you?”

“I can manage decent coffee.”

Careful not to bump into the ham hanging nearby, she straightened. “Did your family employ a French chef to prepare extravagant meals?”

His low chuckle rippled over her skin, raising goose bumps that had nothing to do with the river-water-cooled air. “Justin is from South Carolina, actually. But yes, he and his assistants do prepare mouthwatering meals for us.”

“I suppose you lived in a grand mansion.”

“Exceedingly grand.” He didn't bother denying it. “Spacious, tastefully appointed rooms, priceless art, vast gardens with pathways and fountains.” Cocking his head, he brought his brows together. “You would have no trouble fitting in there.”

“Because I don't fit here?”

“You don't seem to
want
to fit here.”

“You're right. I don't...hence the plans to leave.” Done with the conversation, Nicole gestured to the door. Outside, the sun had dipped beneath the mountain peaks and the gathering shadows made it difficult to see. “I'm going to faint soon if I don't get something to eat.”

“Let's get you fed, then.”

As he maneuvered a turn in the cramped space overflowing with crocks of milk and sausages, jarred vegetables and fruits and dried meat, the door slammed shut with a bang, enclosing them in darkness. Shocked, neither reacted as the sound of the lock clicking into place and muted male laughter drifted to them.

“Nicole—” Quinn sounded strange “—what just happened?”

“I think...” Battling growing alarm, she blinked to adjust her vision. “Someone's played a dirty trick on us.”

Desperation fired through her. She tried to shove past him, forgetting about the narrow opening running smack-dab in the middle of the puncheon floor, rigged to allow the constantly flowing river beneath to cool the interior. Gasping, she threw out her arms to try to regain her balance as icy-cold water seeped into her boots and drenched the bottom of her skirts and undergarments.

Quinn's hands closed over her waist, steadying her. He helped her up. In the darkness, she watched his shadowed outline crouch down, and suddenly his fingers were probing her ankles through the leather boots before skimming up to her calves.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” The gentle touch heated her chilled, wet skin, and the thread of concern lacing his husky voice warmed her insides. “You can stop now, Quinn. I'm fine.”

Sighing, he slowly stood.

“We're stuck in here, aren't we?”

“Until someone misses us, yes.”

Quinn went and pushed against the door. It didn't budge. The walls were made of river rock, which meant yelling for help wasn't likely to do them much good. “Your mother will worry when you don't return home. She'll send someone to search for us.”

How long would it take for someone to find them? What if it took until morning?

Another shudder rippled through her. She refused to consider the potential for disaster.

“Are pranks such as these commonplace?”

“Commonplace, no. But they aren't unheard-of. Sometimes boys get bored.”

His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Is that who you believe the culprits are? Kids looking for a thrill?”

She bent to wring the excess water from her skirts. “I think there's a good chance it was Kenneth. He doesn't take confrontation lightly. Whatever you said to them might've set him on the idea of retaliation.”

“Caleb and his brothers strike me as overprotective types. They haven't defended you against them?”