From Boss to Bridegroom. Karen Kirst

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.