From Boss to Bridegroom (18 page)

Quinn stood watching them, the crease in his brow slowly smoothing. He looked impressed. Proud. And happy for her. Happy that she had friends and family who supported her.

“Lucian was okay with this?” she said, disbelieving.

Megan smiled. “When I explained my intentions, he encouraged me to do it.” To Quinn, she said, “He would've liked to come with us, but he's taking Patrick to see Doc Owens.”

“You'll let us know what he says, right?” Nicole said, worry mingling with hope the doctor could do something to alleviate Patrick's pain, as well as restore the full use of his leg.

Promising she would, Megan invited them to that Friday's story hour. “Lillian's going to read to the children this time.”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Nicole said. “You'll be wonderful.”

Her friend was blossoming in Lucian and Megan's care. Healthy color had been restored to her cheeks, and happy sparkles replaced the disquiet in her eyes.
Thank you, God, for providing for them. I shouldn't have tried to shoulder their care alone. Forgive me for not seeking Your guidance.

Quinn slipped away to help a customer interested in the china collection.

Megan sidestepped Nicole to observe the row of fabric bolts on the shelves. “As you know, sis, Lillian could use new clothes. I'm planning to make most of them myself since your time is limited. However, I'd like to hire you to make several Sunday dresses. What do you say?”

Nicole tucked Quinn's now-damp handkerchief in her apron pocket and linked arms with Lillian. “I say that sounds like a fine plan to me.”

The younger girl flushed with excitement. “Pink is my favorite color.”

Megan dangled a fat ribbon in that color. Snatching the silky length, Nicole held it up to Lillian's hair. “Perfect.”

“This is going to be such fun,” the younger girl gushed, handling various ribbons.

By the time they'd chosen the necessary articles for Lillian's wardrobe, two hours had passed. Nicole couldn't remember feeling so relaxed around her sister. And she thrilled to see her young friend's excitement.

All those years she'd dreamed of a different life in Knoxville, she hadn't had connections to anchor her here. She would've thought strengthening ties to the people around her would be a positive thing. Only now did she understand how difficult they'd be to sever.

Chapter Nineteen

Q
uinn honored his promise to escort Nicole to the children's story hour Friday evening, despite the fact he'd rather be drawing out plans for his house. He was both physically and mentally exhausted. Maintaining an upbeat disposition for Nicole's sake, not to mention the constant effort of keeping his distance, had taken its toll. Craving space, he left her in the parlor with the other guests and found his way onto the back porch.

Deserted. Good.

He sagged against the railing and looked out over the rainbow-hued gardens. The rain clouds that had stuck around much of the day had finally dispersed, and water droplets clinging to the petals and blades of grass winked in the evening sun. The pungent smell of moist earth mixed with the sweet scent of the rosebushes hugging the porch.

Roses were his mother's favorite flower. More like obsession. Didn't take much to picture her in the estate gardens, on her knees in the dirt, babying her precious plants.

He missed his family. His mother's latest letter had been filled with nonessential tidbits about friends and business associates. Nothing substantial, like how Trevor was getting along and whether or not Tilly had been accepted in the ballet school she'd set her heart on. Frustrated, he'd penned an immediate response posing those questions and more and, on impulse, bragging about his efficient assistant and lamenting her impending departure. Only after he'd posted it did he realize his mother would likely seize on such information and assume there was more to what he'd shared. Like many mothers, his wanted him happily wed and producing grandchildren.

Instantly, the image of Nicole snuggling with baby Victoria filled his head.

He shook it away.
Nope. Can't go down that path.

The door opened and closed, and Shane sauntered over, dainty china cup out of place in his big hand.

“Been looking for you,” he said.

Turning so that his hip supported his weight, he folded his arms. “As a matter of fact, I've been waiting for you to find me. What did you learn about the stepfather?”

“Simmerly claims they stole from him, and that's why he has persisted in the search.” Shane's fingers tightened on the cup until Quinn thought it might shatter. “The man's shifty. My gut says there's more to the story than he's telling.”

Quinn had figured as much. “Did you question him about the mother's death?”

He shook his head. “Didn't wanna scare him into bolting.”

“What's the next step?”

Glancing at the house, the people mingling beyond the windows, Quinn thought of the vast improvement in Lillian's appearance and overall demeanor in the short time she'd been here. And the doctor had given them hope Patrick's leg could be rehabilitated. Returning them to that monster was not an option.

“I've written to the sheriff and other local leaders near Simmerly's homestead asking for information. I need to put together the entire picture before moving forward.”

The door banged open then, and both men jerked.

Nicole's eyes were huge in her face. “Quinn! I need you. Please hurry.”

Closing the distance between them, he took her hands. “What's the matter?”

“It's Carl. He's here, and he's demanding Patrick and Lillian go with him.” Her grip tightened to an almost painful degree. “Quinn, you have to do something.”

Shane was already striding through the door.

“I promise they aren't going anywhere with him,” Quinn vowed.

She looked so distraught he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Go. Stay close to Lillian. She'll need you nearby while we deal with Carl.”

“All right.”

Nicole trailed him inside. Although foolish sentiment, he couldn't help being pleased she'd come directly to him for help. Not the sheriff, who was the obvious choice to handle matters.
Him.

Striding down the hall, he caught sight of Megan and her friends, Cole and Rachel Prescott, calmly shepherding the parents and children out the front door. Loud male voices reached him from the library up ahead on his right. He paused in the doorway to give Nicole a reassuring nod as she continued on to the parlor to where Lillian waited.

Carl's irate voice boomed through the arched opening. “You can't keep them from me. I'm their legal guardian.”

Quinn surveyed the room's occupants. Carl stood in the middle, nasty boots dirtying the brilliantly hued rug. Lucian had taken up a post at the window. The New Orleans native looked displeased but surprisingly calm considering his home had been invaded and guests asked to leave. Shane had parked his large form between the older man and Patrick, who was seated on the far end of the sofa.

Although his features lacked color, Patrick's eyes burned pale fire. “We don't belong to you,” he cried, surging forward. “You killed our ma!”

Carl's face turned an ugly shade of puce. “That's an out-and-out lie.” To Shane, he said, “Don't believe a word this boy says, Sheriff. He's hated me since the day his ma brought me home. He'll say anything to be rid of me.”

Shane held up a hand, the other resting on his gun holster. “You've wasted your time coming here, Simmerly. These kids aren't going anywhere until I've completed my investigation.”

Carl's hand sliced the air. “What is there to investigate? I told you they stole from me. Did you search their things?”

“The necklace belonged to my ma.” Patrick gripped the cane propped across his knees. “She always said it would go to my sister one day.”

“You're lying through your teeth,” Carl snarled, took a step toward the boy until he caught himself, seeming to recall there were onlookers.

Quinn had no doubt that if the siblings were ever returned to his custody, they would be in grave danger. Shane obviously agreed. He edged sideways so that he blocked the older man's view of Patrick.

“It's your word against his, I'm afraid. Like I said, I'm sorting through the situation and will let you know what I decide.”

“But—”

“In the meantime,” he continued, blue eyes flinty, “Lucian Beaumont and his wife have agreed to be Patrick and Lillian's temporary guardians.”

“I won't stand for this,” he cried. “I'll involve my sheriff—”

“I've saved you the trouble.”

Carl's head reared back. “You've contacted Sheriff Davis?”

Quinn's gut was telling him the man wasn't too happy about that bit of information.

“I have. Now, I suggest you start on home before it gets any later.”

With a parting glare, Carl made for the exit.

“Oh, and Simmerly?” Shane called out.

“Yeah?”

“Don't attempt to come near these kids again until I've given you permission. Got it?”

He stomped past Quinn, mumbling beneath his breath.

Lucian strode after him. “I'll give him a proper escort off my property.”

Shane headed for the door. “I'd better make sure there's no trouble. Lucian's unarmed.”

When there were just the two of them, Quinn went and sank into the chair opposite the sofa. “You all right?”

Tension radiated from him. “I won't let my sister go back there. I don't care what I have to do.”

Leaning forward, Quinn rested his elbows on his knees. “Did Carl ever hurt your sister?”

“No.”

“You're certain?”

“I know her. She swore to me that he'd never laid a hand on her, and I believe her.”

“Good.” He looked around at the sumptuous furnishings. “You two comfortable here? Are you happy with Nicole's family?”

“They're nice folks.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“I'm tired of accepting handouts. Being a burden. First to Nicole. Now Lucian and Megan.”

“I'm not an expert, but the way I see it, you and your sister are fulfilling a need in that couple's life.”

Patrick's brows crashed together. “What need?”

“They don't have children of their own. They want to share this home and the resources God has given them with others. You two being here has allowed them to do that. So, in a way, you're an answer to prayer.”

He could see his words took Patrick by surprise.

Finger tracing the cushion stripes, he said, “I didn't think of it that way.”

“Trust me, you're not a burden. Besides, you won't always be on the receiving end. You're still planning on helping me in the store, right?”

His chest puffed out. “Absolutely.”

Slapping his knees, Quinn stood to his feet. “See? You'll soon be earning your own money. And ask Nicole. I'm sure she'll tell you I'm a patient and understanding boss.”

“Among other things.”

Turning, he saw Nicole beside the bookshelves, hands clasped behind her back.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

Patrick struggled to his feet. “I'm going to speak with Lillian.”

Nicole's smile was tinged with compassion. “She's in the kitchen with Mrs. Calhoun, who's plying her with pastries. I'm sure they'll be willing to share.”

His uneven gait echoed down the hall as he left.

Of their own accord, Quinn's feet carried him over to her. “Naughty girl.” He wagged his finger. “It's not nice to eavesdrop.”

She kicked up a shoulder. “Patrick saw me. Besides, you weren't divulging intimate secrets.”

He chuckled. “Like you would've left if I had been.”

“You're right,” she cheekily agreed. “I would've stuck around.”

Quinn fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. He'd once asked himself who the real Nicole O'Malley was, confused by the cool composure she often hid behind. His question had been answered. Deep down, she was generous and brave, with a heart desperate to love and to be loved. He saw in her eyes the desire to be accepted for who and what she was.

You can't be the one to love her,
he sternly reminded himself.

When she laid a hand on his bare forearm, he inwardly flinched. Her skin was warm and soft. He felt like a drowning man flailing about for a safety net that wasn't there.

“I heard what you said to him,” she said softly. “You couldn't have said anything more perfect.”

“I'm right, aren't I?” He strove for an even tone. “Your sister and Lucian needed someone to look after. Now they have two.”

“Without your intervention, Patrick and Lillian would still be living in that shack. And I—” She worried her lower lip. “I'd still be an outsider looking in at my own family.”

She was regarding him as if he was a hero in a storybook, as if he could fix the whole world's problems, and it was a 180-degree change from how she used to look at him. A heady thing, that.

“Nicole...” Her name was more of a groan than anything.

Her fingertips lightly caressed his arm. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Quinn lowered his head a fraction. She sighed a sigh of surrender. Tilted her chin up.

The front door slamming at the end of the hallway stopped him cold. Footsteps neared.

He'd just stepped away when Lucian reached them. He took one look at their faces and smiled knowingly. “I don't mean to interrupt, but Megan is requesting your presence in the dining room. Seems everyone left before the refreshments were served, and she doesn't want them going to waste.”

“We're right behind you,” Quinn rushed to say, gesturing for Nicole to go ahead of him. Cheeks a bright pink hue, she followed her brother-in-law without a word.

Glad for the interruption, Quinn lagged behind. Strange, he'd never before suffered this sort of weakness where a woman was concerned. It shouldn't be this difficult to keep from kissing Nicole.

Lord, give me strength.

He was going to need it.

* * *

Two weeks later on a Sunday afternoon, Nicole left Megan's house in a daze.

Her first reaction was to find Quinn. How would he respond to her news?

He wasn't in his quarters. She paused on the stairs and surveyed the river and the woods beyond. There was no sign of him.

Determined to speak with him, she paid the Prescotts a visit. She'd seen his new horse following their wagon after services. Maybe he was still there.

Cole answered the door, his adorable little girl, Abby, in his arms. “You missed him. He left about half an hour ago. Is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine. Did he say where he was going?”

Frowning, he stroked his chin. “He did mention his property and plans for a house. You might look there.”

“Thanks, Cole.”

Hurrying on her way, she ignored the pinch in her toes. She was wearing her Sunday boots, and they weren't exactly meant for traipsing all over town.

The church's bell tower came into view. To reach Quinn's property, she bypassed the white clapboard building and proceeded along the lane leading away from Main Street. She walked slowly, scanning the woods for a sign of him. Unlike her homestead, there wasn't yet a trail leading to the clearing where he'd put up his home.

There. A flash of white. Rapid movement registered, but no sound.

Lifting her skirts, she wound her way past lichen-encrusted tree trunks, avoiding stepping on mushrooms and watching out for exposed roots. When she reached the edge of the clearing, she froze, taken in by what she was seeing.

Fencing foil in hand, Quinn thrust and whirled in a graceful choreography of movement, his expression focused as he battled an unseen adversary. His white fencer's breeches and jacket outlined his taut physique, muscular legs supporting his weight as he parried and swung his weapon. Perspiration glistened on his forehead. His black hair was mussed, strands falling forward into his eyes.

He was magnificent. If only she could watch him square off against a flesh-and-blood opponent.