He shook his head, held her close for a long and deliciously torturous moment, and then strode out of the house.
Melissa had ever been one to do exactly as she pleased, but the truth was that she was very tired that night, and very dispirited. After all, she’d lasted but forty-eight hours at the first real job of her life.
She ate her supper before the parlor fire, reflecting on her situation as she tucked away the meal. Maybe, she reflected, she should think in grander, more sweeping terms than shucking oysters.
She remembered a conversation she’d had with Quinn in his railroad car. He’d said that Port Riley had had its own newspaper until six months before, when it had been burned out.
Excitement filled Melissa, restoring her energy, buoying her spirits. Mrs. Wright came in to collect her tray and was startled by her mistress’s exuberant “What this town needs is fearless journalism!”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Wright, nearly dropping the tray. “Fearless what?”
*
Quinn walked into the lobby of the only inn in Port Riley, all too conscious of the impression he was going to make on Melissa’s family. He hadn’t wanted to take the time to bathe and change clothes; now he wished he had.
A practical man, Quinn could see no point in mulling over a decision that had already been made. He shifted his thoughts to the State Hotel, which was old and a little on the seedy side. Chances were it wouldn’t last long once his new hotel was finished.
He approached the desk and explained that he was looking for the Corbins.
The clerk, who would soon be coming to work for Quinn at the other hotel, smiled obsequiously. “The lady’s in her room upstairs, Mr. Rafferty—number twenty-three. The gentleman’s in the bar.”
Quinn took off his hat and left it at the desk. The saloon adjoining the hotel was a small one, and it was easy to pick out his brother-in-law. He stood a head taller than the other patrons and was obviously engaged in his own thoughts.
Quinn paused for a moment to gather his forces, then cleared his throat almost inaudibly and approached the dark-haired man standing at the bar.
Melissa’s brother spotted him in the mirror and turned to face Quinn. His expression was solemn as he assessed the man who had carried his baby sister off in a private railroad car.
“Rafferty?” he finally demanded.
Quinn put out his hand and nodded.
“Adam Corbin,” was the response. A handshake was exchanged.
Quinn ordered a drink, and the two men retreated to a table in the corner. They were both seated, with a glass of whiskey in front of them, before either spoke.
“I only caught a glimpse of my sister,” Corbin began, his dark blue eyes fairly pinning Quinn to the wall. “I will say, however, that I’ve seen her looking better.”
Quinn sighed and took a sip of his whiskey. “I don’t suppose it will come as any surprise to you if I say that Melissa is a stubborn woman. She looks the way she does by her own choice, for her own reasons—the primary one being that she loves to annoy me.”
Adam’s ominous expression gave way to one of amusement. He chuckled and nodded his head. “That’s Melissa,” he said.
Quinn cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his chair. It wasn’t that he was afraid—for big as Corbin was, he was no larger than Quinn himself—but that he’d never had to explain the virtual abduction of a lady before.
There was no precedent for that.
Seven
Melissa felt the mattress shift and looked up, blinking, to see Quinn bending over her, his hands resting one on either side of her on the bed. Morning sunlight glimmered in his caramel-colored hair and gave his clean white shirt a pristine glow.
“This life of leisure is turning you into a derelict,” he commented with a wink.
Melissa sat up so rapidly that their heads would surely have crashed together had it not been for Quinn’s quick step backward. “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a testy whisper. “What time is it?”
Quinn folded his arms, showing no sign that he planned to give so much as an inch of ground, and arched one eyebrow. “To answer your first question,” he began evenly, “I’m here because this is my room. As for your second, it’s time you were out of bed, that’s what time it is.”
Suppressing an infantile urge to put out her tongue, Melissa sat up, being very careful to keep the covers pulled to her chin. She ran one hand nervously through her tangled hair. “How did your interview with my mother go?” she asked, her jawline set at an obstinate angle. “Is she going to have you shot, horsewhipped, or fed to the dogfish?”
Quinn grinned at her, and Melissa wondered if the rascal knew how greatly that enhanced his charm. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? She’s downstairs right now, having breakfast with your brother.”
Melissa’s eyes went wide.
Bending suavely, Quinn laid an impudent index finger to Melissa’s chin. “I can see that you’re too overcome with joy to speak,” he teased.
“They like you?” Melissa breathed, stunned.
Quinn shrugged, looking obnoxiously pleased with himself. “It seems they think I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, dear heart.”
Melissa’s mouth dropped open. She immediately closed it.
“Your brother is of the opinion that a husband’s firm, guiding hand might just bring you around,” Quinn went on.
Fury rose in Melissa’s throat, practically choking her. “‘Bring—me—around?’” she repeated in a disbelieving sputter. Then she flung back the covers, shot to her knees, and yelled, “ ‘Bring me around,’ is it? Why, that arrogant, pompous meathead! I’ll box his ears!”
Quinn laughed and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his silk brocade vest. “My darling Melissa,” he said, “how I love your sweet-natured ways.”
Melissa flung one pillow at him and then the other. “Get out!” she screamed.
He didn’t move. “This is my room,” he reiterated. “If anybody’s going to be thrown out, it’s you.” His dark eyes moved idly over the thin camisole and drawers she’d worn to bed, leaving a heated ache wherever they touched. “However,” he eventually went on—and now his voice was very low—“I could be persuaded to let you stay.”
After giving her husband one glaring look Melissa made her way to the opposite side of the bed on her knees, then got hastily to her feet. She snatched up the pink wrapper Mrs. Wright had given her and covered herself with it, wrenching so tightly on the ties that she cinched her waist painfully. “I will repeat myself, Mr. Rafferty,” she said coldly, “once and only once. Leave this room immediately.”
Instead of accommodating her, Quinn came around the end of the bed and stood so close to Melissa that she could feel the heat and hardness of his body. Although she was trembling with anger, she was also stricken by the strange effect his nearness produced. It was as though she’d been lifted up and dropped from a great height.
Bold as you please, he untied Melissa’s wrapper with one hand, and with the other he smoothed it away. She trembled and closed her eyes—longing to rebel but unable to speak or move—as his hand passed gently over her breast.
Quinn’s finger encircled a nipple thinly veiled in muslin, and it peaked in instant obedience to this silent command. Melissa groaned helplessly as he rolled the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
He had the temerity to chuckle at this.
Melissa opened her eyes and glared at him even as he brought down the front of her camisole and bared her bosom entirely. She could make no move to stop him—her body had betrayed her so completely that she was capable only of reflexive responses—but she wanted him to know that this was not a willing surrender.
He didn’t seem to care whether his victory was an honorable one or not. With a low, rumbling groan of his own, he rasped out, “So—beautiful—” and then bent to sample Melissa’s bounty with his mouth.
She stiffened with violent, brutal delight and was at last able t
o move, if only to entangle her fingers in the richness of his hair and hold him closer. She hated Quinn Rafferty in that moment, sincerely hated him, and yet she wanted him to go on loving her this way forever.
Melissa whimpered and let her head fall back in submission as Quinn moved to pleasure her other breast. Her knees melted, and Quinn supported her by grasping her bottom in his hands.
Feeling as though she’d plunged into a wild and raging river, Melissa struggled for some grasp on good sense, but she was lost. During those treacherous moments she would have allowed Quinn almost any liberty with either her body or her soul, but the tender plundering ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
Between one heartbeat and the next Quinn freed Melissa and stepped back. She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, unable to stand. She had absolutely no pride and, in that instant anyway, no inhibitions.
“Make love to me, Mr. Rafferty,” she said.
He was avoiding her eyes as though he was ashamed of what he’d done. “This isn’t the time,” he said in a raw voice. And then he went to the liquor cabinet. Although his back was turned to her, Melissa saw him lift a bottle and then resolutely set it down again.
Melissa had recovered enough to reach for one of the calico dresses and scramble into it. She was trembling so badly that the task of buttoning up the back frustrated her completely.
When she felt Quinn’s fingers at the buttons, however, she twisted away and glared at him. “I can take care of myself!” she sputtered.
Quinn spread his hands in silent concession of the point and strode out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
By the time Melissa entered the dining room, buttoned into the calico dress, her hair braided into a single ebony plait, nearly fifteen minutes had passed. Everyone had finished eating, it appeared. They were waiting for her.
Both Quinn and Adam stood when she came in, but Melissa snubbed them completely, going to her mother’s chair, bending to kiss Katherine’s upturned cheek.
“Good morning, Mama,” she said. Then she went to the sideboard, where scrambled eggs and sausages were warming in a large copper chafing dish, and began filling her plate.
She heard chair legs scraping along the hardwood floor, and when she came to the table Adam and Quinn were seated again and involved in an enthusiastic conversation. Something about a resort hotel overlooking the water.
Katherine glanced periodically from Melissa’s face to Quinn’s, and Melissa knew her mother was perplexed.
“That dress is positively horrid,” the older woman finally remarked, and both the men fell silent.
Quinn gave Melissa a look of sheer vexation, and she was delighted to have displeased him in even a small way. It would be a long time before she forgave him for that little exhibition of lust he had elicited from her upstairs.
“Isn’t it?” Melissa responded warmly.
There was a short silence, and then Katherine sighed and began again. “Perhaps I was too blunt….”
Melissa chewed a mouthful of link sausage very thoroughly before answering. “No, it is a horrid dress,” she reflected. “But it’s mine.”
Katherine’s indigo eyes were snapping. As though they sensed something coming that they didn’t want to witness, Quinn and Adam excused themselves, took their coffee cups, and left the room.
Quinn even went so far as to close the dining room doors behind them.
“You are making a foolish mistake, Melissa,” Katherine said moderately, refilling her teacup. It was very quiet in the room after this pronouncement had been made.
Melissa sighed. She wanted solace and affection from her mother, but she suspected that she was going to get a lecture instead. She met Katherine’s gaze steadily and asked, “How do you mean?”
“Yesterday you told me that you love Quinn. Were you lying?”
Melissa swallowed hard and shook her head. Her body relived the attentions he’d paid it earlier, and her cheeks went pink with embarrassment.
“No, Mama,” she managed to say after several long moments had passed, “I was telling the truth. I do love him—very much.”
Katherine’s dark blue gaze took in the bodice of the giveaway dress with pointed dispatch. “Then why do you insist upon humiliating him before the entire town?”
Melissa was stunned. In the first place, it had never occurred to her that Quinn could be shamed by the clothes his wife wore. In the second, it did seem that Katherine Corbin, long a champion of female independence, was leaning toward the adversary’s position.
“Well?” Katherine prompted when her daughter was silent too long.
“I thought I had explained this,” Melissa said quietly. “If I use my trust fund or allow Quinn to buy clothes for me, I won’t be taking care of myself, will I? I won’t be truly independent.”
“You’re not independent now,” Katherine pointed out, spreading her hands in exasperation. “You’re living under the man’s roof, eating his food—”
“Insofar as I can,” Melissa interrupted respectfully, “I’m looking after myself. I have a little money from—from another source. If it will make you happy, Mama, I’ll buy a dress.”
“Never mind making me happy,” Katherine hissed. “We’re talking about making your husband happy!”
Melissa raised both eyebrows. “Mama, is that you sitting over there? Or have we an imposter in our midst, just pretending to be Katherine Corbin, steadfast defender of women’s rights?”
A fetching blush bloomed in Katherine’s cheeks, and she averted her eyes for a moment. “I have created a monster,” she said with a little sigh.
Melissa smiled. “I know, but we weren’t talking about Jeff, were we?”
Katherine gave a reluctant burst of laughter and then scolded, “Scamp. You know very well what I’m trying to say. It isn’t wrong to attempt to please the man you love, Melissa, unless you’re suffering because of the effort.”
Melissa buttered a biscuit. “Did you work at pleasing Papa?” she asked.
A look of mingled joy and sadness flickered in Katherine’s eyes. “I tried.”
Uneasiness nibbled at the pit of Melissa’s stomach. “Did you succeed?” she asked.
Katherine’s smile was sudden and dazzling. “I gave Daniel four beautiful, healthy children,” she answered, and it was tacitly understood that the subject of Melissa’s father was closed.
“You’ve changed recently, Mama,” Melissa observed in a thoughtful tone. “Something is different. What is it?”
Katherine hesitated only briefly before announcing, “I’ve fallen in love.”
For the second time that morning Melissa was rendered speechless.
Her mother laughed happily at the astonishment on her face. “His name is Harlan Sommers, and he owns a ranch in California,” she went on. “I met him two years ago, and he’s been proposing marriage ever since.”
Melissa was finally mobile. She flew out of her chair and raced around the table to hug her mother. “That’s wonderful! Oh, Mama, you’re going to say yes, aren’t you?”
Something seemed to deflate within Katherine. She looked smaller, and the sparkle in her eyes dulled. “I want to,” she confessed, “but it means living in California. I would be so far from the family—”
Melissa’s eyes filled with tears, and she hugged her mother again. “You’ve been alone so long,” she whispered. “Don’t waste any more time, Mama—go and be happy!”
Katherine laid her hand on her daughter’s. “Before I decide anything, Melissa, I need a promise from you. If whatever you’re trying to do here—and I haven’t the vaguest idea what that is—doesn’t work out, you mustn’t let your pride stop you from going home to your brothers.”
Melissa had no intention of failing, so she agreed readily. “I promise, Mama.”
“Good,” Katherine said quietly.
An hour later Melissa’s mother and brother boarded the train for Port Hastings.
Mrs. Quinn Rafferty cried just a little when they
left, though she tried to hide it.
Quinn, keeping one arm around Melissa’s waist, gave her a slight squeeze of reassurance and pretended not to notice her tears.
She turned her attention to the private railroad car where this strange new life of hers had begun and started purposefully toward it. “Could you please unlock the door for me? There’s something inside that I need.”
Quinn brought a ring of keys from his pocket just as someone called out to him from across the street. He gave the keys to Melissa and walked away to answer the summons.
In the privacy of the railroad car Melissa reclaimed the money she’d hidden away. She would repay Mitch Williams before pursuing her plans for the day.
It was impulse, pure and simple, that made her stop on the threshold, take the key to the railroad car from the ring, and drop it into the pocket of her dress. If she had an explanation, even for herself, it was that she wanted a place to go to when she needed to be alone and think.
Asking Quinn to let her keep the key did not even cross her mind.
Her husband was talking to a man Melissa didn’t know when she rejoined him on the other side of the street.
Quinn’s jawline tightened as though he wished Melissa would go away or, better yet, that she’d never approached him at all.
“This the little wife?” his companion asked delightedly. The man had luxuriant white hair and wore an expensive suit of clothes that did much to conceal his girth.
Quinn gave Melissa a wilting look and confessed to the misdeed. “Yes, Roy, this is the—er—lady I married. Melissa—my dearest darling—this is Roy Bennington. He owns the First Union Bank.”
Melissa beamed and offered one of her hands in greeting. “Hello, Mr. Bennington,” she sang out warmly. “I’ll be happy to sign papers transferring my funds to your bank.”
Quinn nudged her in the ribs and favored her with another deadly glance. “Your money will remain where it is,” he said. Though he was smiling, his teeth were clamped down tight.
Melissa laughed merrily. “But, darling,” she chimed, “you did marry me for my money, didn’t you?”
Mr. Bennington looked mortified. He muttered some excuse and hurried away, and the moment he was gone Quinn turned to Melissa, took her elbow in one hand, and started propelling her down the wooden sidewalk.
My Darling Melissa Page 9
