“Why the hell did you say that?”
Melissa wrenched her arm free of his hand before replying. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“No!”
She gave him a sidelong look that was full of mischief and meaning. “You’re in love with me, then?”
Quinn pushed back the sides of his suit coat to shove both hands into his trouser pockets. “Are you in love with me?” he countered.
Melissa felt her cheeks redden as the memory of his mouth on her breasts came out of nowhere and caused her nipples to tighten and throb beneath her dress and camisole. “Of course not!” her pride forced her to say.
“Then what makes you think I harbor any special affection for you, Mrs. Rafferty?”
Melissa felt as though he’d backhanded her. Still, she kept pace with his long, angry strides. “Exactly where are we going?” she asked as the main part of town began to fall away behind them.
There were saltbox houses on both sides of the road now, and the waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca came into view. The road was rutted and still hard with the frost that had come in the night.
“I want you to see some of what I’ve accomplished on my own—without your money.”
Melissa was quiet. She regretted taunting him in front of the banker, and if it were possible, she would have liked to go back in time and erase her behavior.
Hesitantly, Quinn took her hand in his. His grasp was strong and dry, and Melissa felt an overwhelming desire for him.
They passed the neatly painted houses and walked on. Melissa supposed that Quinn wanted to show her his mill, but she didn’t hear the screaming whine of saws or the sound of lumber being stacked.
When they rounded a bend in the tree-lined road Melissa drew in her breath. A few hundred feet ahead, facing the water, stood an enormous, truly elegant building of white brick, its windows gleaming in the sunlight. A broad veranda curved around the side in the style of a riverboat
In the yard two men were busy hoeing out places for flower beds. From inside came the sounds of laughter and preparation.
“Are you going to live here?” Melissa asked, gazing up at Quinn. There was no hiding that she was impressed.
Quinn laughed and held her close for a moment, letting her go too soon. “No, m’lady. This is a hotel. The Seaside.”
Melissa had seen many a hotel in her travels with her mother, but this one had a special magic about it: It was Quinn’s. “I want a tour!”
Grinning, he took her hand and led her along a walkway sparkling with quartz. They climbed the steps, crossed the wide porch, and entered through doors carved even more ornately than the one at Quinn’s house.
The lobby was enormous, with an ivory fireplace so big that Melissa could have stood inside it and stretched her arms full length above her head. There were leather settees and chairs set about, and the floor was covered by the largest Persian rug Melissa had ever seen.
On the second and third floors railed mezzanines overlooked the spectacular fountain that stood in the middle of the lobby.
Quinn showed Melissa an enormous ballroom with a stage and mirrored walls. He introduced her to the chef in the kitchen and took her through the elegant suite on the top floor. This had a terrace looking out over the sea and a gigantic round bed buried in silken cushions.
Melissa’s heart rushed into her throat when Quinn drew her close and kissed her with a thoroughness that left her dazed.
With some reluctance he withdrew from her, took her hand in a resolute grasp, and led her out of the suite and down the grand stairs to the lobby. Instead of going out the way they’d come in, however, Quinn led Melissa toward the back.
“This is the best part of all,” he said, pulling her along behind him. They passed along a covered walkway into a round building reminiscent of a gazebo.
Inside was a natural pool lined with small white pebbles. The water bubbled and steamed, and with a gasp Melissa crouched to test it with her hand. It was deliciously warm.
“You’ll have more guests than you can possibly accommodate,” she said, looking up at Quinn with round, delighted eyes.
He drew her gently back to her feet, and for a moment Melissa thought he was going to kiss her again. She would have welcomed that, but alas, he only gave her a little swat on the bottom and answered, “You’re right. The place is booked up from opening day until Christmas.”
Melissa longed to bathe in that lovely pool. “When is opening day?” she asked innocently.
Quinn smiled, pleased at her interest, and led her outside. “A week from Saturday. There’ll be several hundred people here—besides the registered guests—for the party my partner and I are giving.”
Melissa was wounded. Not only had Quinn failed to invite her to this party, he’d kept the hotel itself a secret. “Y-your partner?” she echoed as they reentered the building through the kitchen.
Both of them stopped cold when they saw Gillian standing there chatting with the chef. She gave Quinn a sizzling smile that said all was forgiven and ignored Melissa completely.
“Did somebody mention little ol’ me?” Gillian crooned. And then she walked right up to Quinn and straightened his collar with a practiced and very graceful motion of her hands.
“She’s your partner?” Melissa asked in a thin voice.
Quinn didn’t look away from Gillian’s face; it struck Melissa that he was mesmerized, like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a cobra. “Yes,” he answered, slowly removing the lady’s hands from his chest.
Melissa wanted to die, but no one would ever have guessed that from her manner. “Oh,” she said cheerfully. “That’s nice.”
Quinn gave her a quizzical glance, as though he didn’t quite recall who she was. He started to say something but gave up before a sound had passed his throat.
Gillian, meanwhile, linked her arm through his. She looked radiant in a light blue woolen suit trimmed in ribbon a shade darker. “We need to talk,” she purred.
To his credit, Quinn had not forgotten his wife—not entirely. He looked at her questioningly.
Melissa was damned if she’d let either of them know how threatened she felt. “Go ahead and have your meeting,” she said brightly. “I’ve got things to do anyway.”
She hurried out the nearest door before anyone could respond and didn’t slow down until she’d rounded the bend in the road. Then, certain that no one could see her, Melissa gave way to the tears that had been burning behind her eyes.
By the time she’d reached Port Riley proper, however, she’d regained control. She sought out Mr. Mitch Williams’s office, which turned out to be above the general store, and held out sixty-five dollars the moment they were face to face.
“Here is the money I owe you, Mr. Williams,” she said with dignity. “Thank you very much for the loan.”
Mitch looked at the currency and shook his head. “Can’t take it, Mrs. Rafferty. Your husband already paid me back.”
Melissa sank into a chair, even though she hadn’t been invited to sit. “You told Quinn?”
The blond man smiled apologetically and spread his hands as he leaned against the edge of his desk. “We’re old friends, Quinn and I. I was worried that he might be in some kind of financial trouble.”
Melissa felt small. Her mother’s implied warning about causing Quinn humiliation came back to her. “Why didn’t he say anything?” she wondered aloud.
Mitch reached down and took one of Melissa’s hands into both of his. “There’s no harm done, now is there?”
Although Melissa wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, Mr. Williams’s sympathy felt rather good. In some ways she missed being fussed over.
The lawyer was looking at the small gouges on her hand. “I’m sorry about this, love. I’d never have recommended work at the cannery if I’d thought you really meant to follow through with it.”
Despite the ache that had formed inside her the moment Gillian had made Quinn forget that he even had a wife, Melissa smiled. “I t
old you that I wanted to work,” she reminded him.
He grinned ingenuously. “I know, Mrs. Rafferty, but I didn’t believe you.” He paused. “What are you going to do now?”
Melissa smoothed her calico skirts and sat up very straight. “I’m going to start a newspaper,” she answered.
Mr. Williams let her hand drop. “What?”
“Port Riley needs its own paper,” Melissa explained patiently.
“Just how do you mean to go about this?” Mitch challenged, and he sounded almost angry.
“I have no earthly idea,” Melissa said, rising from her chair. “I only know that I’m going to do it.”
With that she left Mr. Williams’s office and walked down the outside stairs, her mind diverted, mercifully, from Quinn and his obvious fascination with Gillian.
Eight
Melissa didn’t feel quite so resolute when, after five minutes, she was still standing on the rough plank sidewalk, having no idea how to go after her shining dream of starting a newspaper.
She would need presses and a building. Such items would surely require vast sums to purchase.
Melissa stood gazing into the window of the general store, seeing none of the merchandise displayed there. She gnawed at her lower lip as her thoughts whirled.
It wasn’t as though she didn’t have money at her disposal. There was probably enough in her trust fund to buy ten newspapers, but Melissa’s desire to make a success of herself on her own wits and merit had not abated. If she used her inheritance to get her start, then the credit would not belong to her, but to her late father who had built an enormous fortune in timber and shipping, and to her brothers, who had overseen the investments since his death.
The door of Kruger’s Mercantile opened unexpectedly, startling Melissa out of her quandary.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” chimed a happy female voice. “I think you’d look splendid in that shade of lavender.”
Melissa turned to see a pretty young woman with thick brown hair and dancing hazel eyes watching her from the doorway of the mercantile. Reminded of Tess, her sister-in-law, she felt a pang of homesickness, but she covered that with a nervous chuckle. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she confessed.
“The dress!” the young lady cried good-naturedly, gesturing toward the window Melissa was standing before.
There was nothing to do but look at the dress, and when she did Melissa drew in her breath. The gown was made of pale orchid silk with a low neckline and puffed sleeves, and its very simplicity gave it a splendor all its own.
The woman was now standing beside the window, admiring the gown along with Melissa. She looked as proud and pleased as if she’d made the lovely garment herself.
“It’s you,” she said decisively. “It’s really you.”
Melissa was inclined to agree. In her mind’s eye she could see herself wearing that wonderful gown, whirling around and around the ballroom of the new hotel—in Quinn’s arms.
Melissa’s sweet revelry was interrupted by another announcement. “I’m Dana Morgan—Mr. Kruger’s niece.”
Remembering her manners at last, Melissa turned, offering her hand in greeting. “Melissa Cor—Rafferty,” she replied with a smile.
Dana’s eyes were twinkling with merriment. “I confess that I already knew who you were. Do come in for a few minutes,” she pleaded. “We’ll have some soda water and talk.”
Melissa’s eyes strayed back to the dress in the window. To buy it would be an extravagance, but she couldn’t go to the grand opening of the hotel in tattered calico… .
Maybe, she thought miserably, Quinn didn’t mean to invite her to the party anyway. Maybe he and Gillian were planning to share the evening.
While Dana went to the fountain and drew flavored seltzer water from the taps Melissa stood admiring the dress. “Do you think it would fit?” she asked.
“Try it on,” Dana responded practically. “Here, I’ll get it out of the window.”
Melissa slipped into the back room to change out of her calico and into the wondrous frock of silk.
The fit was perfect, and it was a delight to enjoy the familiar sensation of silk brushing against her skin again.
Mentally Melissa counted what remained of the sixty-odd dollars she had to spend. If she purchased the dress, she would need slippers, an ornament for her hair, and a petticoat. Fully a third of her funds would be gone.
She ought to have her head examined for thinking she could start a business without tapping her trust fund, but she still persisted in thinking exactly that.
She sighed as she came out of the back room wearing her calico again and feeling as Cinderella must have the day after the ball. Dana was waiting on a customer, but she approached Melissa as soon as she could.
“Well? What do you think?”
“It’s very expensive,” Melissa replied. It was so strange to worry about money.
Dana seemed to notice the disreputable dress Melissa wore for the first time. “But your husband is rich,” she marveled. “Besides,” she went on after a brief pause, “he has an account here. I’ll just write down what you spend, and that will be all there is to it.”
The mention of Quinn had swayed Melissa in one way: She would have the gown because she wanted him to see her in it. But she would never charge so much as a postage stamp to his account. “I can pay for the dress myself,” she said.
Dana gave her no further argument. “Come and drink your soda,” she said, setting the dress aside on the counter. “I haven’t made a single friend since I arrived in this town, and I’m absolutely perishing for a nice, sociable chat.”
Melissa joined Dana at the soda fountain counter and took a sip of the orange drink that had been drawn for her. She was realizing that her own chums were all either terminally married or off traveling somewhere. Like Dana, she’d missed the company of women her own age.
Dana related that she had come to Port Riley to teach, having just completed normal school in Seattle, but the position had fallen through at the last minute. She’d been forced to depend upon the kindness of her aunt and uncle, who had given her a place to stay and work to do.
“What happened to the job?” Melissa asked.
With a sigh, Dana answered bleakly, “They found a man and hired him instead. The school board felt that he’d be better able to control the children than I would.”
Melissa’s strong sense of justice was outraged. She muttered a word that widened Dana’s eyes and then made her giggle.
“What about you, Melissa?” she asked after a few moments. “What brought you to Port Riley?”
Melissa didn’t feel up to relating the whole grisly story, so she simply said, with a shrug, “I married Mr. Rafferty.”
Once again Dana’s eyes took in Melissa’s old dress. “I surely never took him for a cheapskate,” she said.
Melissa flushed and averted her eyes. Even though Quinn had hurt her, and badly, she couldn’t let Dana’s misconception stand. “I want to provide for myself,” she told her friend.
Dana looked at her as though she’d gone mad, but she kept her opinion to herself. She helped Melissa choose a petticoat and slippers to go with the dress and was ringing up the sale when inspiration struck her customer.
Seeing a stack of paper tablets nearby, Melissa grabbed up ten, along with a pen and a bottle of ink. She would start writing another book that very day, and if her publishers bought it, there would soon be a small sum of money due her. In her spare time she would look for a building to house her newspaper and try to find a secondhand printing press.
Melissa stopped off at Quinn’s railroad car to leave all but one of the notebooks, then hurried home with the rest of her purchases.
She hung the dress in the armoire and was about to settle herself at the desk and make notes of the story ideas that were brewing in her mind when Quinn suddenly walked in and spoiled everything.
To Melissa’s utter and complete surprise, he was fu
rious. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again!” he shouted.
Melissa was taken aback, but only for a moment. “Anything like what?” she asked haughtily, raising her chin.
Quinn flung his arms wide of his body in a gesture of the purest agitation. “Anything like leaving!”
The memory of Gillian draping herself all over Quinn stung like venom, but she spoke in an even tone. “It seemed to me that my presence was quite superfluous, Mr. Rafferty.”
A muscle in Quinn’s jawline bunched. He muttered a swear word and strode across the room to the liquor cabinet. This time he did not resist temptation but poured himself a generous portion of brandy. It was when he turned to face Melissa, his mouth open to speak, that he saw the lavender dress through the half-closed door of the armoire.
He closed his mouth and crossed the room to touch the silken gown. “What’s this?”
“It’s a dress, Mr. Rafferty,” Melissa said with disdainful patience. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the writing materials she’d placed on the desk.
“Damn it, I know what it is,” he snapped, and he was near again; Melissa could feel him directly behind her, and she grew flushed at the heat of his body so near.
She wouldn’t have faced him, but he came around, looking at her quizzically, the brandy forgotten in his hand.
“You bought a dress,” he mused, as though some great mystery was afoot. “Could it be, Mrs. Rafferty, that you want to go to the party at the hotel next week?”
Melissa blushed. “I certainly wouldn’t intrude. I wasn’t invited, you know.”
The expression in Quinn’s dark eyes was one of gentle amusement. “Of course you’re invited. You’re my wife.”
She stepped back because Quinn was standing so close, and she knew what could happen when he did that. “I had no way of knowing that I was to be included, since ours is not a proper marriage.”
Quinn remembered the brandy and set it aside. “We could make it proper,” he suggested huskily.
My Darling Melissa Page 10
