My Darling Melissa

by Linda Lael Miller

  Quinn gave a sigh. “Just that he’ll be in town tomorrow. Melissa, he’s a preacher, and he’s not going to look kindly on our situation.”

  “What situation is that?” Melissa chimed, secretly thinking that Quinn was right about the reason for Keith’s visit. If anyone in the family had fallen ill, she would surely have been asked to come home immediately.

  Rich color moved up Quinn’s neck. “You know damned well what situation—our marriage was a charade, and here you are pregnant!”

  “Shhh!” Melissa hissed, embarrassed. She didn’t know why someone didn’t just hire a bugler or a town crier and be done with it.

  “We’ve got to do something!” Quinn persisted. Though he tried to keep his voice down, people were still looking.

  Melissa sat back in her chair. Her chin was at a regal angle, and she kept her hands folded in her lap. The picture of serenity she presented was a false one. “What do you suggest we do, Mr. Rafferty?” she asked coolly.

  He glared at her. “I’m asking you to marry me. Now that that newspaper nonsense has been settled, there’s no reason for us to stay apart.”

  So he’d learned of Mr. Bradberry’s return to Port Riley. Melissa was so instantly and completely furious that she hadn’t the time to reflect on how fast gossip travels in a small community. “To think,” she whispered, sliding back her chair and rising, “that I expected comfort and understanding from you—that I actually went looking for you!”

  Quinn got to his feet. “Melissa, wait,” he said hoarsely.

  She willed herself not to cry. “I’m not in the market for a man to pat my head and wipe my nose, Quinn Rafferty,” she told him, gathering up her letters and leaving money on the table to pay for her lunch. “I can take care of myself!”

  With that she turned and swept majestically out of the dining room. Quinn caught up to her in the middle of the lobby and grasped her by one arm. Soon Melissa was being propelled out of the hotel.

  She knew it would be fruitless, as well as humiliating, to protest or try to break away, so she pretended to be willing. Except for the flush in Melissa’s cheeks and the stubborn set of Quinn’s jaw, a passerby would have seen nothing suspicious.

  They had stridden down the street to the depot and entered the railroad car before Melissa lost control. Filled with disappointment and pain, she began grabbing up the books that covered Quinn’s desk and hurling them at him. He dodged the first few, then simply walked through the onslaught to take Melissa by the wrists, forcing her to stop.

  “Melissa, listen to me,” he said, giving her a little shake. “What I said about the newspaper—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  She categorically refused to cry. No matter what, she had shed enough tears. “Get out and leave me alone,” she said, glaring up into his eyes. “I won’t let you hurt me anymore.”

  Her words seemed to wound him; it was as though he hadn’t known that he’d hurt her and found the knowledge shattering.

  Melissa turned away, unable to bear the look on his face. “You’ve got to let me get on with my life,” she said. Then she paused, drew in a deep breath, and let it out on a lie. “I don’t love you, Quinn. Maybe I never did. I can be fickle—just ask Ajax.”

  The silence that followed was long and dreadful. Quinn finally broke it by saying, “Let me hold you, Calico. Let me comfort you.”

  She shook her head, careful to keep her back to him. “I don’t need comforting,” she answered, and that was another untruth. “I feel perfectly fine.”

  Quinn turned her around by her shoulders. “You were counting on that newspaper for a way to make some kind of mark on the world,” he said gruffly. “Melissa, I’m sorry.”

  She kept her eyes lowered, fighting a desperate battle against the tears that came too readily these days. “It’s a little late for that,” she replied.

  He curved a finger under her chin and lifted it. “A few minutes ago you told me that you went looking for me. You want me to hold you—why can’t you admit that?”

  Melissa let her forehead rest against his shoulder, and he made a haven for her within the circle of his arms, linking his fingers together at the small of her back. “I really don’t need your sympathy,” she said with a little shuddering sigh.

  Quinn kissed the top of her head. “Of course you don’t,” he agreed, with a smile in his voice. His arms tightened, and he felt solid and good, even if he was dressed in oiled trousers, a woodsman’s shirt, and cork boots. It was obvious that he hadn’t been working, for he didn’t smell of sweat.

  One of his hands moved from her hip to her breast in a slow, caressing motion with hardly more substance than a whisper.

  “You probably don’t need this, either,” he teased, chafing an eager nipple to attention with the side of his thumb.

  Melissa moaned. “You are an unconscionable rascal,” she managed to say.

  “Thank you,” Quinn replied, his lips moving against hers now, soft and warm.

  “This wasn’t—exactly—the kind of comfort I expected,” Melissa murmured just before he kissed her. The torrent of longing he unleashed during that deep and thorough foray left her weak.

  Quinn circled her trembling lips with the tip of his tongue. “Surely you wouldn’t want me to pat you on the head or wipe your nose,” he muttered. “Not an independent, resourceful woman like yourself.”

  “Assuredly not.” Melissa sighed as he held her deliciously close to him and at the same time trailed his lips along the length of her neck. He lingered at the pulse point for a time, deliberately wreaking havoc with her heartbeat, then began unbuttoning the front of her dress and eased the material away from her breasts. Next he led her to the fur-covered bed, sat on its edge, and arranged her so that she was facing him, straddling his lap.

  The formidable Corbin will deserted her, as it always did whenever this man worked his magic. She admitted to herself, in those exquisite moments when he was baring her breasts, that this was what she had wanted when she’d gone looking for Quinn earlier. He’d been right, though he wouldn’t hear such a confession from her lips if he lived to be as old as that mountain of his.

  Instinct caused Melissa to lean back against the hard support Quinn’s left hand offered her. His right was busy paying a gentle homage to her naked breasts, preparing them for the work of his lips and tongue. She whimpered as she finally felt the heat of his mouth close over one nipple. Her hands were frantic and strong, gripping his shoulders as she offered up the sweet plumpness he sought.

  When he had reduced her to writhing need he gently removed her clothes garment by garment, loving each part of her as he bared it. At last she was naked, and she had never felt more beautiful than she did when he laid her gently on the fur spread and offered caresses of another sort while he removed his own clothes. His dark eyes moved over her, possessing her. It was as though he massaged her with some rich, spicy oil.

  At last he stretched out on the bed beside her, running one work-roughened hand over her belly, her breasts, her smooth white thighs. She was desolate; only a complete union with Quinn could appease her, and she pleaded with him as he put her pliant body slowly, methodically, through its paces.

  He took her only when she thought she had nothing left to give, when she wanted to sink into the soft fur beneath her and become a part of it. She was totally spent, having reached pinnacle after pinnacle. She would grant him the solace he demanded, and then maybe, when he was satisfied, he would allow her the deep sleep she craved.

  The first long, sliding stroke set her afire all over again. Shifting so that he was standing beside the bed, he held Melissa’s hands wide apart and kissed and suckled her breasts while taunting her with his hardness. He would give her a few inches, then withhold himself until she searched for him with her hips, trying to possess him.

  When at last she was frantic, her neck and back arched in utter surrender, Quinn plunged deep inside her. That single, powerful motion wrung a series of broken cries from Melissa as
her body convulsed repeatedly in a primal ecstasy unlike anything she’d felt before.

  By the time her fierce spasms had abated, Quinn’s were beginning. He grated out her name as both a blessing and a curse while his powerful muscles locked to thrust him as deep inside her as he could go. While he spilled himself into her he prayed to her and he berated her in a tangle of hoarse vows.

  She received him joyously, for his seed was precious to her even though it had already taken root in her darkness and her warmth. Her hands moved soothingly up and down his moist back, and she whispered gentle words, as though he’d been injured and needed consolation.

  It was only later, when they were both getting back into their clothes and their right minds, that Melissa grew angry once more. “I suppose you think everything is fine now,” she spat as she fastened the front of her dress. “You probably expect to do the same thing again right after supper, and then get my brother to marry us tomorrow morning in your front parlor!”

  Quinn chuckled and shook his head as he tucked in his shirt and closed his trousers. As he was buckling his belt he said, “Your mind has obviously been working along those lines, Calico, even if mine wasn’t.”

  Melissa went red at the implication that she’d been thinking in terms of marriage when he hadn’t. She put her hands on her hips, thrust back her shoulders, and drew in a deep, furious breath, but before she could unleash her fury Quinn gave her an impudent kiss.

  “Save the indignation, Your Majesty—I’m perfectly willing to make an honest woman out of you, and your brother is about the only man I’d trust to perform the ceremony. After what happened in Seattle, I’m taking no chances.”

  Melissa stepped back, incensed. “Do you call that a proposal, Quinn Rafferty?” she demanded. “I certainly wouldn’t. Why, you sound like you’re doing me a tremendous favor—”

  A muscle bunched in his jaw, and the look in his eyes was sharp enough to slice deep. “You’d better thank the good Lord that you’re pregnant,” he bit out, “because if you weren’t, I swear I’d blister your shapely little backside right here and right now!”

  She folded her arms and stood her ground. “So that’s how you mean for it to be? In between pregnancies you plan to wallop me whenever I step out of line?”

  He shoved one hand through his hair in frustration and made a sound that was half growl and half war cry. “Why the hell does this always happen?” he roared, flinging his arms wide of his body. “Five minutes ago you couldn’t get close enough to me. Now you’re twisting my words to make me sound like my father!” He stood close to Melissa now, his brown eyes scorching hot as they linked with her blue ones and held her prisoner as effectively as if he’d manacled her with his hands. “I’m not like him,” he hissed.

  Melissa’s eyes went wide. Her bravado was faltering in the face of Quinn’s anger, and she laid her hands on his upper arms to quiet him, to offer an unspoken apology. “Tell me about your father, Quinn,” she said quietly.

  He turned from her. “The devil himself wouldn’t keep company with that old man,” he answered in a low, rough voice. After a few moments Quinn looked back at Melissa over one shoulder, and she glimpsed an old, deep-seated misery in his eyes. “I’m tired of trying to reach you, Calico,” he said. “You know where I live. I’ll be around until I’ve met with Keith.”

  With that Quinn walked out of the railroad car, leaving Melissa to wonder what had happened to spoil the soaring closeness they’d enjoyed during their lovemaking.

  Once she could trust her knees to support her Melissa left the sanctity of the railroad car and went to talk with her banker. Frank Crowley didn’t say whether he approved of her decision to buy out Gillian’s share of the new hotel, and Melissa didn’t ask for his opinion. When she was satisfied that the proper papers were being drawn up she turned her efforts to the task of moving from the State Hotel to the Seaside.

  Her room was not so modest as Gillian had led her to expect; it was situated in a rear corner of the topmost floor, and the ceiling slanted at a steep angle, but there was a view of the water and a private bath. Of course, in summer the room would be suffocatingly hot, but Melissa decided not to do any advance worrying on that score. She had plenty of other things on her mind.

  She had an early dinner in the corner of the huge kitchen downstairs, wanting a chance to watch the chef in action, then retired to her room for a bath. When she’d dried herself and gotten into a nightgown she crawled into her narrow bed with a notebook and a pen, her ink bottle resting on the nightstand.

  The story she was writing was nearing its spectacular end, and Melissa felt a certain grief at the inevitable parting that would separate her from her beloved characters for all time. She worked diligently, from her heart, until the hour was late and she could not keep her attention focused. She set aside her work, went to sleep, and dreamed that she and Quinn lived in a tiny cabin in the woods. She had babies hanging from her skirts and sticking out of her apron pockets, and her husband got drunk and beat her with one of her own notebooks.

  In the morning Melissa took special care to look her best. She wore a cornflower-blue dress that set off her eyes, and she brushed her hair until it was as soft and glossy as sable. Then, weaving in a blue ribbon as she went, she plaited it into a single braid to trail down her back.

  She went to the kitchen, but the sight and smell of frying eggs drove her right out again, so Melissa ended up meeting Keith’s train with an empty stomach and a pounding heart.

  His smile was gentle as he stepped out onto the platform at the depot. “Hello, brat,” he said, and his very presence put a lot of her fears to rest.

  Melissa stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’ve been so worried!” she scolded, but she couldn’t be angry with him. She’d vented all those feelings on Quinn the day before. “Is the family all right?”

  Keith touched her cheek. “The family is fine, sweetheart,” he said. The spring sunshine glittered in his longish, dark gold hair, and his eyes, exactly the color of Melissa’s, swept her up in a look of affectionate reluctance. He was about to speak again when his attention shifted to someone standing behind Melissa.

  He put out his hand and said, “Hello, Quinn.”

  Melissa stiffened, then looked back over her shoulder and glared at Mr. Rafferty, silently warning him not to blurt out that the two of them weren’t married until she’d had a chance to break the news gently. After all, Keith was a preacher, and it wouldn’t be right to shock him.

  Quinn chuckled as though she’d said something extraordinarily funny and returned Keith’s handshake. “Welcome,” he said quietly, and then he turned and led the way down the platform steps, onto the sidewalk, and on toward his house. He was deliberately giving the impression that he and Melissa had come to meet the train together, she getting a little ahead of him in her eagerness to see her brother.

  Melissa did nothing to correct the misunderstanding, though she knew she wouldn’t be able to lie to Keith about her circumstances and hoped that Quinn didn’t expect that of her. She would cross her bridges as she came to them.

  They had all reached Quinn’s house, where Becky and Helga had set out a splendid brunch in the dining room. Keith looked at the food in polite despair, obviously, whatever he had come to say had affected his appetite.

  Melissa’s was no better. She helped herself to a cup of tea and left the scones and croissants and sliced fruit untouched on the sideboard.

  “What is it?” she finally demanded of her brother, too nervous to wait in suspense any longer. When Quinn’s hand closed around hers underneath the table she made no attempt to pull free.

  Keith sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Someone has probably written and told you that we had a rash of chicken pox in the family a while back,” he began.

  Melissa nodded, frightened again. “Fancy told me,” she said.

  After a moment’s reflection Keith went on, speaking very softly. “Jeff developed a high fever, and we almost lost him. Whil
e he was out of his head he told me something that he and Adam have been keeping from the rest of us for a long time.”

  Biting her lower lip and fidgeting in her chair, Melissa held tight to Quinn’s hand. Strength and balance seemed to be flowing into her through his fingers. “Go on,” she whispered.

  He sighed. “I’m not sure I’m right to tell you about this—believe me, Adam and I debated it. He thinks it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie, that what happened doesn’t have any bearing on your life now.” He paused, scanning the ceiling as if in search of some wisdom written there. “In my opinion, you have the right to know the truth, just as I did. Whether to tell Mama or not is something none of us has been able to decide.”

  “Keith!” Melissa blurted out in agony. Quinn’s thumb made a comforting circle on the back of her hand.

  Keith closed his eyes for a moment. When he finally spoke again his words rocked Melissa to her very soul. “Papa didn’t die when he and Adam had that accident on the water, Melissa. He was alive for five years after that.”

  The room seemed to dip and sway violently, like a wagon careening straight down a mountainside. “No,” Melissa whispered. “No—it can’t be true.”

  Quinn shoved back his chair to rise and stand behind Melissa’s, his hands resting strong and solid on her shoulders. She’d told him about her father and the boating accident that had taken place when she was thirteen. And the awesome, numbing grief she’d suffered afterward.

  Keith got out of his chair and sat on his haunches in front of Melissa, his hands holding both of hers in a tight, warm grip. “Sweetheart, Papa was sick. Really sick.”

  Moisture welled in Melissa’s eyes. “We would have taken care of him, Mama and I!”

  Her brother smoothed away a stray tear with one thumb. “I know that, brat, and so did Papa. There were reasons for what he did—good ones.”

  Melissa was beginning to recover a little from the initial shock. “Where was he, Keith? Where was Papa all that time?”

  “Remember how Adam used to make those mysterious trips up the mountain all the time when Banner first came to Port Hastings? Papa lived up there in a cabin.”