My Darling Melissa by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online

husband hadn’t taken her up on her brazen offer.
    She sat up and began wriggling back into her shoes, and when she’d finished lacing the first one she raised her eyes to Quinn’s face. He was watching her with a frown.
    “The first thing you’ll have to do is get yourself some decent clothes,” he said.
    Melissa was taken aback. “I will,” she answered patiently, “as soon as I’ve gotten myself a job or started some sort of business.”
    Quinn turned and grasped the brass bed railing in his hands for balance as the train began its long, shuddering stop. The whistle was blowing again, punctuating his words. “No wife—of mine—will be seen—dressed like that!”
    “May I remind you of our agreement?” Melissa shouted, trying to be heard over the whistle. “I’m going to take care of myself!”
    The train came to a final and jarring halt, and Melissa and Quinn were still glaring at each other, speechless with vexation, when the door of the car opened and a sunny female voice sang out, “Quinn, darling, I’ve missed you terribly!”
    The woman was tall and blond, and she swept into the car, her violet eyes dancing with mischief and merriment. She was older than Melissa, and clearly more sophisticated, and the two women disliked each other within the instant.
    Melissa had already deduced that this was Gillian; she enjoyed the advantage that knowledge gave her, however briefly.
    “Who is this?” Gillian trilled, giving her closed parasol a pretty little spin with her fingers. It was pink and ruffled, to match her pink and ruffled gown. To Melissa’s mind, all the woman needed was a lamb and a hoop and she’d look exactly like Little Bo-Peep.
    Quinn cleared his throat, looking patently miserable. “This is—”
    Melissa bounded off the bed, hand extended. “I’m Quinn’s wife, Melissa,” she said happily. “So glad to make your acquaintance.”
    The parasol fell to the carpeted floor of the railroad car with a discreet little thump. “Wife?” Gillian echoed.
    “I can explain,” Quinn said quickly.
    Melissa’s high spirits were fading. It was obvious that Bo-Peep’s opinion was important to Quinn, and that was not a good sign. If he thought he was going to keep a mistress while she was his wife, he was sadly mistaken.
    “No, he can’t,” she argued. “He can’t explain. There isn’t a single thing he could say—”
    “Shut up,” Quinn warned.
    Gillian turned in a swirl of pink skirts and swept toward the back of the car. “I don’t have to stand here and endure this!” she cried with pathos.
    “Gillian!” Quinn yelled.
    “My, but she hates you now,” Melissa said sweetly, her hands folded in her lap.
    Quinn gave her a look that would have set a less sturdy soul to quaking and then hauled her roughly to her feet. “Go home and stay there!” he shouted.
    “I can’t,” Melissa responded with equal spirit. “I don’t know where we live!”
    For a moment Quinn looked as though he might do her bodily harm. His nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed, and his breathing was quick and shallow. In the end, however, he only marched Melissa to the door and outside.
    The weather was springlike and sunny, though recent rains had turned the ground to mud. Port Riley was a busy, bustling place, and from the depot platform Melissa could see the dancing blue waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
    There were stores and neat white houses set close together, and in the far distance, on a rocky point, the white column of a lighthouse towered against the blue sky.
    Melissa drew in a deep breath, enjoying the frankly curious stares she and Quinn were getting from passersby. It seemed that Gillian’s dramatic exit had not been wasted.
    A mud-splattered carriage drawn by two mud-splattered horses was waiting at the end of the platform. Quinn opened the door before the driver could do so and fairly flung Melissa inside.
    He remained in the street himself, his hands on his hips, and spoke brusquely