From Boss to Bridegroom. Karen Kirst
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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.”
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.”