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.
“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.”
Making note of her purchase in the ledger, Nicole slid the package across the counter and smiled. The sweet widow was one of her favorite customers. “I can’t wait to see the finished product, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. And thank you for your patience.”
Hugging her purchase to her chest, Mrs. Kirkpatrick slid a dubious glance at the other length of the counter, to where Quinn was supposedly helping James Canton. Judging by James’s disgusted expression and the way Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, he wasn’t helping much.
“Maybe you should lend him a hand.”
Nicole considered this. He’d made it clear managing a country store was well within his capabilities, hadn’t he?
When the group of elderly gentlemen in the far corner erupted into laughter, and her boss winced as if in physical pain, she gave in to the pulse of compassion. He’d obviously changed his mind about evicting the checker players. She could afford to help him out.
“I suppose you’re right. Have a good evening.”
“See you in church tomorrow morning.” She bustled toward the exit.
Quinn was glaring at the cages on the counter and the squawking chickens inside. “Need some assistance?”
Despite a long and trying first day, he looked decidedly unruffled save for the hint of uncertainty in his aristocratic features. He was good under pressure, she’d give him that.
“I would appreciate it.”
To James, she said, “Are you buying these chickens or selling?”
“Selling.” He looked relieved to be dealing with someone who knew what they were doing.
Hefting the oversize ledger onto the counter beside the cages, she flipped through the pages until she found his name. Quinn watched as she inserted the value of his chickens into the first column.
“Will you be purchasing anything today?”
“A pound of sugar is all.”
“I’ll get that for you.” To Quinn, she said, “Normally we’d put these chickens outside
