My Darling Melissa by Linda Lael Miller Page A

she burst out breathlessly.
    The expression on Quinn’s face was a guarded one. “Oh?” he said, and he turned his attention to the blaze snapping on the hearth.
    Melissa would have liked a little sympathy or perhaps some concern for her state of mind, but she didn’t pursue those objectives. There were more pressing matters to be dealt with. “My mother and one of my brothers are here. They’re staying at the State Hotel.”
    She had Quinn’s full attention now.
    He turned to face her squarely, studying her face for a moment, then reached for his coat, which was lying over theback of a leather-upholstered chair. Melissa was finally forced by his silence to speak again.
    “Where are you going?”
    “To meet your family,” he replied. “I won’t have it said that they had to come looking for me.” His eyes touched her briefly, then glanced away. “It’s too much to hope, I suppose, that you were wearing something else when they arrived?” he asked pointedly.
    Melissa didn’t want to hear Quinn’s opinion of calico. “You’re a fine one to talk,” she said, letting her gaze move over his filthy work clothes.
    Quinn allowed her remark to pass unchallenged. “I want to meet them tonight,” he told her. He paused to give Melissa a light, nibbling kiss that awakened all her nerve endings. “Sleep well, Mrs. Rafferty.”
    Melissa grasped at his arm. “Let me go with you,” she said, knowing from the moment she opened her mouth that this was something Quinn wanted to do alone.
    He shook his head, held her close for a long and deliciously torturous moment, and then strode out of the house.
    Melissa had ever been one to do exactly as she pleased, but the truth was that she was very tired that night, and very dispirited. After all, she’d lasted but forty-eight hours at the first real job of her life.
    She ate her supper before the parlor fire, reflecting on her situation as she tucked away the meal. Maybe, she reflected, she should think in grander, more sweeping terms than shucking oysters.
    She remembered a conversation she’d had with Quinn in his railroad car. He’d said that Port Riley had had its own newspaper until six months before, when it had been burned out.
    Excitement filled Melissa, restoring her energy, buoying her spirits. Mrs. Wright came in to collect her tray and was startled by her mistress’s exuberant “What this town needs is fearless journalism!”
    “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Wright, nearly dropping the tray. “Fearless what?”
    * * *
    Quinn walked into the lobby of the only inn in Port Riley, all too conscious of the impression he was going to make on Melissa’s family. He hadn’t wanted to take the time to bathe and change clothes; now he wished he had.
    A practical man, Quinn could see no point in mulling over a decision that had already been made. He shifted his thoughts to the State Hotel, which was old and a little on the seedy side. Chances were it wouldn’t last long once his new hotel was finished.
    He approached the desk and explained that he was looking for the Corbins.
    The clerk, who would soon be coming to work for Quinn at the other hotel, smiled obsequiously. “The lady’s in her room upstairs, Mr. Rafferty—number twenty-three. The gentleman’s in the bar.”
    Quinn took off his hat and left it at the desk. The saloon adjoining the hotel was a small one, and it was easy to pick out his brother-in-law. He stood a head taller than the other patrons and was obviously engaged in his own thoughts.
    Quinn paused for a moment to gather his forces, then cleared his throat almost inaudibly and approached the dark-haired man standing at the bar.
    Melissa’s brother spotted him in the mirror and turned to face Quinn. His expression was solemn as he assessed the man who had carried his baby sister off in a private railroad car.
    “Rafferty?” he finally demanded.
    Quinn put out his hand and nodded.
    “Adam Corbin,” was the response. A handshake was