Читать книгу From Boss to Bridegroom - Karen Kirst - Страница 13

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.