My Darling Melissa (20 page)

Harlan told her Adam was off delivering a baby and
hadn’t returned yet, and he said he’d send the wire himself. Melissa wrote out Quinn’s name and felt gratitude as well as liking for the elegant rancher as he left to saddle a horse.

“He’s wonderful, Mama!” Melissa crowed the moment she and Katherine were alone.

Katherine smiled softly. “I know.”

“When are you going to marry him?”

“Some of us are not so impetuous as to marry on a whim,” Katherine replied dryly. “We like to wait until we know a man.”

Exasperated, Melissa sank into a chair and sighed. “Honestly, Mama—how long do you want? You told me in Port Riley that you met Mr. Sommers two years ago.” She waved her index finger at Katherine. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten that you married Papa two weeks after you met him.”

Katherine shook her head. “Your brothers are right,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve gotten completely out of hand.”

Melissa smiled sadly, thinking of one particular brother. “I’m worried about Jeff and Fancy,” she admitted, feeling rueful. She had been so caught up in her own life and her planned marriage to Ajax that she hadn’t even noticed that two of the people dearest to her were hurting.

Her mother sighed. “The problem is rooted, I think, in Fancy’s newfound devotion to the suffrage cause,” she said.

“Have you talked to either of them?”

Katherine smoothed her skirts. “No, and I don’t intend to,” she said firmly. She assessed Melissa with tenderness in her eyes. “You look different somehow,” she observed.

Melissa blushed and lowered her eyes, never knowing what she’d revealed.

Katherine was smiling when their gazes met. “You’re tired, darling,” she said. “Why don’t you go upstairs? I’ll have your bed done up while you’re bathing.”

Melissa nodded and excused herself, so weary she could barely climb the steps, but when she’d had her bath and crawled into her own bed, in her own room, she could not sleep.

She was too busy wondering about Quinn. Was he worried about her? Did he even know she was gone?

Quinn had been from one end of Port Riley to the other looking for his wife. He’d tried the mercantile, the cannery, the library, and even Miss Bradberry’s house, and he hadn’t turned up a trace of Melissa or the man who had visited her that morning.

Mrs. Wright and Helga were both blubbering away in the kitchen, convinced that their mistress had run away with her erstwhile bridegroom, and Quinn was doing his best not to believe the same thing.

After refilling his glass with brandy Quinn continued what he’d been doing for the past twenty minutes—he paced the length of his study, searching his mind and his memory for any clue to Melissa’s whereabouts. There was a knock at the front door, and he answered it himself, hoping against hope.

It was only Mitch. “Any word?” his friend asked quietly, stepping inside the house at a curt gesture from Quinn.

Quinn shook his head.

Mitch hung up his hat in the study and then went to pour himself a drink. Hesitantly, his back still turned to his host, he ventured, “Do you think she’s left you?”

Quinn ran splayed fingers through his hair. Once before, when faced with a situation she couldn’t handle, Melissa had fled without a word of explanation to anyone. It was possible that she’d had some dramatic change of heart after sending Ajax away from the house that morning and had gone after him. But some instinct told Quinn that Melissa would have told him good-bye face to face, or at least left a note, because of the new closeness between them.

“I don’t know,” he answered at last.

“Was there an argument?”

Quinn bit his lower lip, remembering how it was to make love to Melissa, how it was to hold her. There had been a few minutes of upheaval over the delivery of that damned printing press, but nothing that should have caused her to leave without saying good-bye.

“No,” he rasped finally. “Things were good between us. Better than they’ve ever been.”

Mitch sighed and then froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. He muttered a swear word.

“What?” Quinn demanded instantly.

“It’s a crazy idea, but—”

“Tell me, damn it!”

“When I left my office tonight I noticed that the railroad car wasn’t on the spur. Did you send it up the mountain or something?”

A light glowed in Quinn’s mind. He’d given Melissa the spare key to the car, and she’d never returned it… .

He began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Mitch frowned.

Quinn’s amusement had subsided slightly. “I think I know what happened to my bride,” he said, setting aside his drink and snatching his coat from the peg. He started toward the door, and Mitch had no real choice but to follow him.

“You think she was in the car when the train pulled out?”

Quinn nodded, grinning as he pictured the expression that would have come over Melissa’s face when the wheels started turning. “That’s what I think, all right,” he confirmed, “but I intend to find out for sure.”

They’d walked no more than a block when they were met by the telegraph operator’s little girl, bearing a yellow envelope in one hand. She held it out to Quinn with a solemn expression on her face. “This here’s for you, Mr. Rafferty.”

Quinn gave the child a coin and ripped open the message. It was all very well to imagine that Melissa had been accidentally carried off in his railroad car, but there were other possibilities that weren’t so appealing.

MELISSA HERE IN PORT HASTINGS, SAFE AND SOUND,
the missive read. It was signed with the initials
H.S
., and Quinn wondered who the devil that was even as he silently thanked God that his wife was all right.

The child lingered. “My papa said to find out if you
wanted to send an answer,” she told Quinn. “If you do, you better get there quick, ’cause this is his poker night.”

Five minutes later, inside the telegraph office, Quinn wrote out his response with an amused Mitch looking over his shoulder.

They were halfway to the saloon, where they planned to celebrate his recovery of Melissa, when it occurred to Quinn to wonder what the hell she’d been doing in that railroad car in the first place. There was still the possibility that Melissa had reconsidered after sending Ajax away. Maybe she’d found him again, and their passion had been too great to resist, and she’d taken him by the hand and led him into the luxurious privacy of the car. ...

Quinn whirled on one heel without a word to Mitch and started toward home, his strides long and purposeful.

“What the devil—?” Mitch complained, hurrying along beside him.

“I’m going to Port Hastings,” came the abrupt answer.

“Tonight?”

Quinn nodded, his jawline tight.

“On horseback? Good Lord, man, you’ll be riding all night!”

The prospect didn’t daunt Quinn in the least.

Melissa had slept very well, and she was lounging in bed when a smiling Katherine brought her a breakfast tray. Beside the plate was a telegram.

“It arrived late last night, after you were asleep,” her mother informed her.

Melissa’s heartbeat quickened. She ripped the envelope open and unfolded the paper inside, her fingers trembling.

LIFE IS MUCH TOO PEACEFUL WITHOUT YOU. COME HOME SOON. QUINN.

Melissa read the message again carefully, looking for a word that wasn’t there. Her disappointment must have shown clearly in her face, for Katherine smiled and said, “Don’t worry, darling. The man adores you.”

“What makes you so sure?” Melissa retorted, setting the telegram aside and taking up a piece of toast.

Before Katherine could answer, some kind of disagreement broke out downstairs, and Maggie, the housekeeper, could be heard yelling, “You’d better stop right where you are, mister, or I’ll shoot!”

Melissa upset her tray scrambling out of bed, but Katherine got to the door first.

“In the name of God, Maggie,” she cried, “hold your fire! That man is my son-in-law!”

Melissa put one hand to her mouth. Sure enough, Quinn was midway up the stairs, looking as though he hadn’t slept in a month. When he caught sight of his wife he smiled.

“It’s good to know you’re so well guarded, Calico,” he said.

She ran to put her arms around him, heedless of her tangled hair and the splotches of spilled tea on her nightgown. Maggie was still standing at the bottom of the stairs with her shotgun in hand, and wild images of Quinn lying bloody and broken filled Melissa’s mind. She held her husband all the more tightly.

He kissed her forehead. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” he asked gruffly.

She drew back far enough to look into his eyes, her head tilted to one side, her gaze questioning.

Quinn let out a ragged sigh. “I’m a jealous fool, that’s why,” he confessed. “Melissa, I have to know—are you still in love with Ajax?”

It dawned on Melissa that Helga or Mrs. Wright must have told him about Ajax’s visit the morning before, and she was quick to shake her head. “No,” she answered with a smile. “I’m not in love with him.”

Dark eyes searched Melissa’s face, but she said no more. She’d already declared her feelings for him on two occasions and been ignored both times. If anyone said “I love you,” it would have to be Quinn.

Twelve

Quinn said nothing, but the weary relief in his eyes touched Melissa so deeply that she reached out and took his hand in hers. “You must be exhausted,” she said, and she led him down the hallway to her room. There she closed the door, entirely forgetting the world that lay beyond it, and began loosening Quinn’s string tie.

He caught her hands in his and held them still. His voice sounded gravelly when he asked, “What were you doing in that railroad car?”

Melissa was hurt. “You think I was with Ajax, don’t you?” She tried to pull her hands free, but Quinn wouldn’t let them go. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she blinked them away before bursting out in a ragged whisper, “I was writing, if you must know!”

Quinn’s expression was a mixture of skepticism and wariness. “Writing what?”

“My new novel.” Melissa made the confession defiantly, with her chin high and her gaze direct.

His weariness appeared to be surpassed only by his
annoyance. “Not another towering epic about a woman ‘bound for destruction,’ I hope.”

Melissa felt her cheeks turn hot. “Your opinion of the quality of my work is not important to me, Mr. Rafferty,” she lied stalwartly.

Quinn had released her hands, but only to take her waist in a gentle grasp. “Good,” he said, and warmth caressed her lips as his mouth drew near. “I’ve missed you very much.”

She longed for the strength to resist him, even to box his ears, but it was not forthcoming. It was as though she’d been away from Quinn for years, and as he held her close to him, as he kissed her, every nerve ending in her body leapt in response. Melissa stood trembling, barely breathing, when he drew her nightgown up over her head and tossed it aside.

She was naked before him and could make no move to cover herself, for he had already defeated her. She was his, without question or quarter, and as he removed his clothes, she felt as though he was already touching her. By the time Quinn lowered Melissa gently to the bed she was throbbing with need.

She whimpered, longing to be taken, as he caressed her and availed himself of her breasts. Only when she was tossing wildly and muttering incoherent pleas did Quinn make her his own, and even as he thrust himself within her he covered her mouth with his to quiet the welcoming cry she gave.

Her body flailed beneath his, and as satisfaction came Melissa flung her arms over her head and raised her hips high in order to receive him as completely as she could. Moments later, laughing breathlessly, she kissed the fingers that had clamped themselves over her mouth to silence her.

By this time Quinn was caught in the throes of his own pleasure. Melissa kept pace with him, both taunting and encouraging him with her body and her words until rapture seized him and he stiffened upon her in a violence of joyous despair. The flesh along her neck muffled his groans, and her hands moved wildly over his back and buttocks as she held him prisoner.

They talked a while when they’d regained the breath for it, but it was plain to Melissa that Quinn could barely keep his eyes open. Finally, her head resting on his shoulder, one hand making a slow, soothing circle on his belly, Melissa let the conversation die. Moments later Quinn was asleep.

She got out of bed, took a bath, and assessed the contents of her wardrobe. Even though Katherine had sent many of her things to Port Riley, there were still enough clothes to accommodate three or four women.

She selected a green corduroy skirt and high-necked, frilly blouse and put them on over taffeta underthings and silk stockings. She groomed her hair with the sterling comb and brush set her father had given her the Christmas before his death and went downstairs.

The place was a happy bedlam, with children running in every direction. Melissa was smiling as she knocked at the door of her mother’s study and slipped inside.

“How on earth do you manage to concentrate in this place?” she asked, seeing that her mother was sitting pensively at her desk, frowning at her typewriting machine.