From Boss to Bridegroom. Karen Kirst

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