My Darling Melissa by Linda Lael Miller Page A

kicked his feet up onto the desk. “She’s got a job shucking oysters,” he said.
    A sigh escaped Mitch. “I’m afraid that’s partly my fault,” he said. “She asked me where she could find work, and I pointed her in the direction of the cannery, thinking she’d find out how hard it was and come home.”
    Quinn closed his eyes. “You should see her hands,” he despaired. “They’re all swollen and cut. And she’s so tired she can’t see straight.”
    “But she’s going back tomorrow,” Mitch guessed.
    “That’s right.”
    “They’re bound to give her the sack,” Mitch said. “No way she could keep up.”
    Quinn opened his eyes again. He was exhausted himself—God, what he wouldn’t give to make love to Melissa and then sleep for a solid week. “I know,” he agreed. “I’m worried about what that’s going to do to her, even though I’dbe happy as hell if they showed her the road. Do you think I should pay them to keep her on or something?”
    “No,” Mitch answered immediately. “I figure if you interfere in this, one way or the other you’re going to be sorry.”
    Quinn knew that his friend was right, but he hated sitting back and watching Melissa take a blow like that. It was easy enough to see that things had gone her way all her life.
    After a few more minutes of quiet, companionable conversation Mitch set aside his glass and left.
    Quinn was drawn to Melissa, but he forced himself to stay in his study until the numbers in his ledgers began to blur in front of his eyes. When Mrs. Wright came in to collect his supper tray he couldn’t refrain from asking, “Has my wife eaten?”
    “Oh, yes, sir,” Mrs. Wright answered without hesitation. “She’s had her supper and her bath and fallen sound asleep. I haven’t seen a body so tired since that flume collapsed last fall and you spent a week up on the mountain seeing to it.”
    Quinn allowed himself a half smile. Overseeing the repair of a flume was simple stuff compared to dealing with Melissa. “She’s got a job,” he confessed.
    Mrs. Wright looked embarrassed. “Yes, sir,” she said in a hushed voice. “I know.” It was clear that the old woman found Melissa a consuming mystery, and she wasn’t alone.
    “I want everything done for her comfort,” Quinn said, sliding back his chair and stretching. “Make sure, if you will, that she has a good breakfast and something to eat at midday.”
    The housekeeper nodded and went out.
    Quinn looked up at the ceiling. More than anything he wanted to go to Melissa, take her into his arms, and teach her all the sweet pleasures he knew she’d enjoy. There was no way that he could do that, however, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep even though he was worn out. With both these avenues cut off, Quinn was at a loss as to how to spend the rest of the evening.
    Gillian came into his mind, but his blood didn’t heat the way it used to, nor did his heart rate pick up speed. Itamazed him that things could change so quickly, but his whole world had turned around the moment he’d hauled Melissa aboard the train. He’d desired her in the most desperate way ever since.
    With a sigh Quinn took the spare key to his bedroom from the corner of a desk drawer and flipped it into the air, catching it in his palm. One day—one day soon—he was going to have to win Melissa’s trust.
    He glanced up at the ceiling again and swallowed hard. He had a feeling that he was going to have to crawl through that doorway when the time came, rather than walk.
    Presently Quinn dropped the key back into its drawer. He’d go out for a while, and when he came back he’d let himself into the bedroom and collapse on the sofa, just as he had the night before.

Six
    Jeff had hoped that Fancy would be asleep by the time he got home; instead, she was sitting up by the parlor fire, talking with Adam’s wife, Banner.
    The conversation ceased the instant the women noticed he was there. Jeff felt hurt by that,