From Boss to Bridegroom. Karen Kirst

what had occurred in this hallway less than twenty-four hours ago overtook her—him imprisoning her against the wall, her pitiful efforts to fight back. She shook them off with effort. What’s wrong with me? Why am I allowing him to get to me?

      “It was a joke, Miss O’Malley.” His smile begged forgiveness, the look in his eyes expectant, confident of her reaction. “You will find being outrageous is one of my many faults. I blame it on having a gullible younger sister.”

      The man’s charm and good looks might’ve proved a lethal combination were she not dead set on a course free of romantic entanglements. “Since I only just met you yesterday, and that meeting left much to be desired, you’ll understand my need to consult with Shane on this, see if there are any wanted posters bearing your likeness.”

      His smile remained, but unease flickered in his expression. “You can’t be serious.”

      “What would you do in my position?” she asked innocently, enjoying seeing him squirm.

      “I cannot have a rumor such as that running rampant in this community.”

      “It’s no fun being made to feel a fool, is it, Mr. Darling?”

      His gaze scoured her face, searching intently, the tension ebbing from his stance.

      “Life is short, Miss O’Malley,” he murmured silkily, tapping her lightly on the nose. “You should learn to take it less seriously. And the next time you are tempted to lay the blame of our unfortunate first meeting at my feet, keep in mind that it was you who ambushed me.”

      Nicole floundered for an appropriate response. He baited her, and yet she was the one who needed to loosen up? She wanted nothing more than to ram that arrogant condescension down his throat.

      Pounding on the front door startled them both. Fishing a polished pocket watch from his navy vest, he frowned. “We don’t open for another half hour. Is this a usual occurrence?”

      “No. Suppliers making deliveries use the rear entrance.”

      “I had better go see what our early visitor wants.”

      Curious, Nicole trailed behind him. She didn’t at first recognize the hulking form through the glass. His long strides eating up the space, Quinn flipped the lock to admit the older man.

      “Good morning, sir. Please, come in. How can I be of assistance?”

      “Who are you?” he snapped from the other side of the door. “Where’s Mr. Moore?”

      That voice. She knew it from somewhere.

      “The Moores have moved to Virginia, and I am the new proprietor of this mercantile. The name’s Quinn Darling. It is a pleasure to welcome you, Mr.—”

      The man entered. Snatching the battered hat off his head and mopping his unruly silver hair out of his eyes, he shot her a dismissive glance. “Carl Simmerly.”

      The face combined with the name weakened her knees, and she braced her hands against the counter for support. He had come back.

      * * *

      Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn noticed his assistant’s brittle armor had shattered. Hunched over the counter, she watched the stranger with wide, flustered eyes, the swirl of violet stark against moon-white skin. Interesting.

      “I wanna post this notice.” Mr. Simmerly thrust a wrinkled paper into Quinn’s hands.

      Quickly scanning the scrawled writing, his concern grew. This man was searching for his missing children, a fifteen-year-old girl and seventeen-year-old boy. “Your children have been missing a long time.”

      The bulky man’s lined jaw worked. “Going on six months now. I’m desperate to find them.”

      A quiet gasp came from Miss O’Malley’s direction. Averting her face, she fiddled with the roll of brown paper used to wrap purchases.

      Quinn motioned to the board where news postings were hung. “Of course. I’ll post this right away.”

      “My place is on the outskirts of the next town, Pigeon Forge, so I can’t get here as often as I’d like. I plan to return next Saturday to see if anyone has come forward with information.”

      “You have my prayers, Mr. Simmerly.”

      His mouth tightened in a way that made Quinn think he didn’t appreciate the sentiment. As a fairly new Christian and filled with enthusiasm concerning his relationship with his Creator, he couldn’t fathom anyone not wanting divine assistance.

      With a curt nod, Carl Simmerly stuffed his hat on his head and bustled out the door, the bell’s ring loud in the wake of his departure.

      “Can I see that?”

      Pivoting, Quinn handed her the posting, observing her features as she read the descriptions. Her glossy curls had been tamed into submission, and the lavender confection she was wearing the perfect foil for her skin. Dressed as she was, his assistant could’ve easily fit on the streets of Boston or the upscale mansions his family and friends’ families owned. She certainly wasn’t what he’d expected a simple mountain girl to be like.

      Miss O’Malley’s lower lip trembled. She bit down hard on it. The action momentarily paralyzed him.

      There was no denying she was an exquisite creature, her loveliness without rival, and as the eldest heir in the prominent Darling family, he’d known his share of beauties. But she was not the uncomplicated, sweet-natured woman he craved in a wife. He’d had enough of difficult women.

      “I’ll put this with the others,” she said at last, moving to an area on the wall where different notices had been nailed.

      Leaving her to scan the notices, Quinn tugged open the scratchy wool curtains. Beyond the glass, several horses and riders traveled down sun-washed Main Street. Excitement peppered with trepidation balled in his gut. How would his first day go? He may have held the second in command position at Darling Industries, but he had no firsthand experience with patrons. Lord, please give me guidance and wisdom.

      “Have you seen Mr. Simmerly before?”

      Heading for the counter, she paused to straighten a stack of catalogs. “A couple of times around town. Why do you ask?”

      “His presence seemed to distress you.”

      Without looking at him, she continued between the counters and, stopping before a row of aprons, chose a black one and slipped it over her head. She deftly tied the strings behind her waist. “You’re imagining things. That knock on the head must’ve hindered your senses, Mr. Darling.”

      He didn’t believe that for one moment, but as they were set to open shortly, he let the matter drop. Snatching a lemon drop from the glass containers, he leaned a hip against the shelving unit and sucked on the sugary treat. “Mr. and Miss are too formal for my taste. Do you have any objections to the use of given names?”

      “You want me to call you Quinn—” her lips parted “—in front of the customers?”

      “Or Darling, if you’d prefer.”

      At her incredulous expression, a chuckle slipped between his lips. The woman had absolutely no sense of humor. Teasing her was going to make this venture that much more enjoyable.

Chapter Three

      “Such a pretty fabric.” Nicole folded the yards of green paisley within the confines of the paper length and tied it up with string. “You’ve chosen well, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. Will you be making a dress for yourself?”

      The elderly lady nodded, gray eyes optimistic behind thick spectacles. “I’m not as gifted with a needle as you are,” she said, eyeing Nicole’s lavender shirtwaist enhanced with delicate black stitching and buttons. “But hopefully the dress will look decent once I’m finished.”