Karen Kirst - From Boss to Bridegroom

“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?