My Darling Melissa (34 page)

Charlotte shook her head so that her rich ebony hair flew, and the set of her face was stubborn. “All I’m going to say is that it isn’t what you think—Quinn didn’t have eyes for anybody besides that Gillian woman until you came along.”

The words chilled Melissa’s spirit. Now, of course, Quinn was perfectly free to return to his obsession with Gillian. They were probably closer than ever, despite his threats to force his way into Melissa’s bed if she ever took up residence above the Rip Snortin’ Saloon. She shrugged, letting Charlotte’s statement pass without comment or challenge.

The Indian woman looked at her curiously, then burst
out, “Quinn and I do have one thing in common, I’m afraid—the same drunken louse of a father.”

Melissa sat down on the edge of the bed, her mouth open. “Does Quinn know that?” she asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t think so, and I don’t have any intention of telling him, either. He might think I wanted something.”

It was easy to see that that possibility was anathema to Charlotte, so fierce was her pride. “Why did you tell me?” Melissa asked.

Charlotte lowered her head. “It’s always been such a big secret. I guess I just needed to say it to somebody.”

Convoluted as that reasoning was, Melissa understood it. She thoughtfully changed the subject. “I’ve seen bears’ dens that were cleaner than my building,” she said, “but if you really want to work for me, be there at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Charlotte nodded, thanked Melissa, and hurried out, leaving her new employer full of wary curiosity about Eustice Rafferty. She had only dimly seen the man that night on the street when Quinn had been prepared to do murder, but she had been able to discern that he was not a comely fellow. For all that, he had certainly cut a wide swath in his younger days.

By the time six o’clock rolled around Melissa was dressed in peach silk. A golden locket Jeff had given her for her sixteenth birthday was her only jewelry, and her hair was braided and wound into an impeccable coronet atop her head. Ajax, who was dressed very formally himself, drew in a breath at the sight of her.

“Ah, Cinderella,” he purred, offering her his arm, “I see that the fairy godmother has visited you.”

Melissa laughed and shook her head and allowed herself to be escorted outside, expecting to find a carriage waiting, or a horse and buggy.

Instead there was a quivering, chortling motorcar. The pipe by the rear fender made an unnerving popping sound, and a crowd had gathered in the street to look on as Ajax handed Melissa up into the cushioned leather seat. After
giving a suave little bow he walked around and got behind the wheel, carefully putting on a motoring cap and goggles that made him look like a very elite insect.

Melissa gave a giggle and then put one hand to her mouth. With a great shimmying lurch that set the onlookers cheering the automobile moved forward.

“Where did you get this?” Melissa cried, delighted, having to raise her voice to be heard over the engine.

“Ordered it!” Ajax shouted back. “Bought the thing purely to impress you, if you must know!”

The machine jostled them over the rutted road that led to Quinn’s fancy hotel, and another crowd had gathered on the lawn by the time they rounded the last bend. Foremost in the gathering, with Gillian at his side, stood Quinn Rafferty.

Melissa lifted her chin and was all elegant curves and angles when Ajax helped her down from the conveyance. She smiled at the snapping outrage in Quinn’s dark eyes as they passed him, pretending utter fascination as Ajax prattled on about owning the first motorcar ever to grace the roads of Port Riley.

Twilight gave way to night as Ajax and Melissa ate in the huge, beautifully appointed dining room, their meal interrupted intermittently by eager townspeople offering congratulations on the acquisition of Ajax’s modern wonder. Quinn was conspicuously absent from their number; in fact, Melissa didn’t see him again until dinner was over and the dancing was about to begin in the ballroom.

She knew she was probably the subject of much speculation and gossip. For that reason she entered that brightly lit room with all the regal dignity of a visiting princess.

All through that first waltz in Ajax’s practiced arms Melissa could feel Quinn’s gaze upon her. It wasn’t until they whirled past the massive French doors leading out into the hotel garden that she spotted him standing in the opening, one foot resting on the rim of a fancy marble planter. He held a cheroot between his strong white teeth, and the smoke was like a wispy fog trailing off into the night air.

The next time they passed Quinn was gone, and Melissa felt something twist deep down in her heart. At the end of the dance she excused herself to visit the powder room, and she was there a long time, fighting memories of the hotel. And of Quinn.

He was waiting for her when she reentered the lobby, looking rakishly handsome in his formal suit, and he favored her with a wicked little half smile before offering his arm.

Melissa stubbornly refused to take it, and he chuckled at this, his eyes dancing.

“Here I am,” he lamented, mocking her, “trying to help you through a touchy situation. And what do you do?”

“What touchy situation is that?” Melissa asked archly, keeping her distance. She knew what the man could do to her senses and her principles if he was allowed to get too close.

One powerful masculine shoulder moved in a shrug. Another smug grin creased his face. “I hate to be the one to tell you this,” he said, “but your—er—friend has left you to take a lady riding in his motorcar. Gillian, as it happens.”

Melissa was incensed, but not because she wanted Ajax for herself—far from it. No, it was the humiliation of being abandoned. Again. “I hope they have a very nice time,” she said stiffly.

One rusty guffaw of laughter escaped Quinn. “Sure you do, Calico,” he said. And then he put his hand on the small of Melissa’s back and steered her toward the glittering ballroom.

They danced, and it was a sweet torment for Melissa to be held so near to Quinn when she knew she must never allow him to make love to her again, no matter what.

“Does your friend Ajax have money to lend?” Quinn inquired as they swept through the other dancers.

Melissa smiled up at him. “Why? Do you intend to ask him for a loan?”

Quinn was as furious as Melissa had hoped he would be. Seeing her satisfaction, though, he took obvious care to
recover rapidly. “Gillian’s the one in dire financial straits. She’s been hinting that she might be willing to sell her share of the hotel.”

The thought of Ajax buying half of that grand structure and staying in Port Riley forever—and he was just obstinate enough to do it—made Melissa’s heart sink. “Why don’t you buy it?” she asked, looking up into Quinn’s handsome face.

He grinned. “I’m overextended as it is.”

Melissa flushed, remembering why he’d pretended to marry her—for money. “Too bad I found out we weren’t really husband and wife, isn’t it? Heaven knows what you might have accomplished if you’d just had a little more time.”

Quinn’s grin faded. “Melissa, that isn’t funny,” he said.

“I wasn’t making a joke,” Melissa replied.

The music stopped, and she would have walked away, but Quinn caught her hand in his and held on. When the orchestra began to play he drew her smoothly into another dance. For a time Melissa allowed herself to pretend that that was where she rightly belonged—in Quinn Rafferty’s arms.

Twenty

When Gillian returned from her automobile ride over dark roads she was covered with dust and glory. As she entered the ballroom Quinn chuckled at the sight of her, but Melissa was not amused.

Ajax, for his part, looked exhilarated. It had clearly not occurred to him to feel guilty for deserting Melissa. He was beaming as he approached, pulling Gillian along with him.

There was a befuddled look about the woman, and Melissa knew a brief, soaring hope that Gillian had fallen in love with Ajax and he with her.

“Here you are, little one!” he cried, as though it had been Melissa who had slipped away without a word, and not himself. “You must be very tired, and eager to get back to the hotel.”

Melissa felt Quinn stiffen beside her and knew a gentle twinge of pleasure at that. She yawned. “As a matter of fact, I am. And I have to be up early tomorrow to work.” She turned to Quinn, who had been her escort during Ajax’s brief defection, and smiled distantly. “Good night, Mr. Rafferty,” she said.

He said nothing, but the dark fire in his eyes threatened to consume Melissa before she could make herself look away.

The April night was chilly, and a fog had rolled in from the water. Even though Ajax’s automobile had headlamps, it was nearly impossible to see. Despite this, he insisted on speeding over the twisting road.

“Slow down!” Melissa cried, grasping the seat, frightened for her baby.

Ajax turned to her, laughing at her fear. The look on his face changed swiftly to terror as the machine, making a sound like corn popping in a kettle, careened around the first bend and slammed into a tree with a tremendous, jarring crash.

The impact simultaneously opened the door on Melissa’s side and sent her flying through the chasm. She landed, rolling on the grassy ground, a scream of terror trapped in her throat.

When at long last she stopped tumbling, she was lying on her stomach. She grasped handfuls of grass tightly in her hands to anchor herself to the earth and struggled to breathe.

After a little while she was aware of lanterns and voices nearby, and Quinn came to kneel beside her on the ground. “Melissa?” His voice was raspy with fear. “Are you hurt?”

She tightened her hold on the grass. “I-I don’t know,” she whispered. And she began to cry.

Very gently, very carefully, Quinn forced her to let go of the clumps of quack grass she was crushing into her palms. “See if you can turn over, Melissa,” he said.

She was badly bruised and scraped from head to foot, but there didn’t seem to be any real damage to muscle and bone. She sat up, pushing her hair back from her face, and mourned, “My gown is ruined!”

Quinn chuckled at this. She would have risen to her feet then, but he stopped her by sweeping her up into his arms. “You’re going home with me tonight,” he said bluntly. “You can’t lie around in a hotel with nobody to look after you.”

The truth was that Melissa was still shaken and scared,
though not really hurt, and she didn’t want to be alone. She let her head rest against Quinn’s shoulder. “Is—is Ajax—?”

Quinn was quick to reassure her. “Just a bloody nose and a few loose teeth,” he answered.

There were people and horses and buggies all around, but Melissa was only dimly aware of them. When Quinn set her in the seat of a rig and muttered a word of thanks to someone, she yawned and settled against his shoulder, her eyes closed.

It was ironic that immediately after a near miss she felt safer than she ever had before.

Quinn brought her to his house and carried her inside. A slender blond woman met them in the entryway, and Melissa wondered sleepily who she was.

“There’s been an accident,” Quinn said by way of explanation, and he started up the stairs. “I’ve sent for Doc Webster. When he gets here, bring him to my room.”

Melissa was strangely groggy, as though she’d been drugged, and she felt cold. She whimpered as Quinn undressed her quickly beside the fire in the master suite, then bundled her into a blanket and tucked her into bed beneath the fur spread and silken top sheet.

When the doctor arrived—he was the same man who had given her laudanum the day she learned of Quinn’s deception—he examined her carefully and then stepped away from the bed. Although it was a strain, Melissa could hear the two men talking softly over by the fireplace.

“My wife is pregnant,” Quinn said.

The doctor sighed in a way that brought both Melissa’s hands protectively to her abdomen. She didn’t stop to wonder why Quinn had referred to her as his wife when she wasn’t, for she was concentrating with her whole being on hearing the physician’s reply. “It’s important that she rest. If there’s going to be a miscarriage, it will happen in the next few days.”

Melissa closed her eyes tightly against tears, but they seeped through her lashes anyway. Please, God, she prayed silently, let me keep my baby.

When the doctor was gone Quinn came to the side of the bed and bent to kiss Melissa’s forehead. “Go to sleep, Calico,” he commanded, his gentle voice tinged with sadness. “And no worrying. Before you know it you’ll be settled in the Rip Snortin’ Saloon, publishing recipes, classified advertisements, and advice to the lovelorn.”

Melissa sniffled. She would be a fine one to tell other people what to do where affairs of the heart were concerned. There probably wasn’t another woman on the face of the earth who felt as lovelorn as she did. “I want this baby,” she confided in a broken whisper. “I want it more than anything.” Except possibly you, Quinn Rafferty, added a voice in her heart.

Quinn drew up a chair and sank into it, and the expression in his eyes was solemn. “I know, Calico,” he answered. “But sometimes things go wrong—”