My Darling Melissa (13 page)

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.

“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 told 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.