is the youngest of three. Josh is the eldest, and Nathan is the middle son. All three are married. Their parents, my uncle Sam and aunt Mary, have a farm close to town.”
“What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“Four sisters. Two older, two younger.” Might as well prepare him. “All possessed of beauty, grace, generosity of spirit and keen intelligence. My sisters are not only admired by the locals, they are upheld as the epitome of what a female should be.”
At the top of the stairs, she snatched her hand free and waited for him to open the door. Hand resting on the knob, he studied her. “You excluded yourself in the description. Are you not upheld as the epitome of female desirability?”
Nicole swallowed the familiar bitterness, aware it was unbecoming and futile. She’d stopped questioning God a long time ago. “You will come to discover that I am nothing like my sisters, Mr. Darling.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, thought better of it and wordlessly opened the door, allowing her to enter first. Glancing into the private quarters on her left, she noticed Ruthanne had left the cheerful red-checked curtains behind, no doubt for Quinn Darling’s benefit.
For what must be the umpteenth time since learning of their plans to move east, Nicole wished Emmett and Ruthanne could’ve remained here. While absentminded and a bit disorganized, Emmett had been a kind and understanding boss. The practical knowledge she’d gained in her employment here would benefit her in the running of her own shop. In a different town, where no one knew her or her family.
He must’ve noticed the direction of her gaze, for he gestured to the pile of trunks shoved beneath the window. “The space is hardly large enough to accommodate one person. Not sure how the Moores were able to make it work as long as they did. Are you aware of any land parcels or homes for sale? I would like to pursue a permanent residence as soon as possible.”
Continuing into the long, windowless office, she slipped her reticule from her wrist and stored it in the top left desk drawer. “Maybe you should hold off until you’re sure you want to stay. Gatlinburg can’t possibly compare to Boston.”
“That’s the reason I chose it.”
“Why Tennessee? Why this store? You aren’t related to Emmett or Ruthanne.”
“Not family, but they are friends of my father.” Setting the cheese atop the paper-littered desk, he folded his arms and leaned forward at the waist. “Can you keep a secret, Miss O’Malley?”
His lithe, powerful body blocked the exit, and, despite not being claustrophobic, she felt his nearness suck the air from the tight space and render her light-headed. She now knew what a cornered animal felt like.
“I’m not a gossip, Mr. Darling.”
“Somehow I sensed that about you.” He edged even closer, lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “The reason I came here was to avoid the authorities. You see, I—I killed a man. Shot him point-blank. It was self-defense, but I don’t have evidence to back my claim. You won’t tell anyone, will you? I hear prison food is deplorable. And I doubt the beds are comfortable.”
“I—” Completely breathless now, Nicole pressed a trembling hand to her throat. For a couple of seconds, she actually believed him. Then she noticed the upward tug at the corner of his sculpted mouth, the muted sparkle at the back of his eyes.
He was making fun of her, the suave, worldly-wise Northerner toying with the naive mountain girl. Well, she received enough mockery from the local thickheaded males. She wasn’t about to put up with it from Quinn Darling, boss or no boss.
Chin up, she stepped forward. “Let me pass.”
His brows shot to his hairline. Turning sideways, he did as she asked. She turned in the direction of the rear exit.
“Where are you going?”
At his curious, bordering-on-nervous tone, Nicole smiled to herself as she strode down the hallway. “To pay Sheriff Timmons a visit. I’m afraid I can’t keep your secret, Mr. Darling. I refuse to work for a cold-blooded murderer.”
Catching up to her, he snagged her arm. “Wait.”
Memories of 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.”
