Read My Darling Melissa for Free Online

Riley if his wife was out trying to make something of herself every damned day of the week. Suppose, for example, she wrote another one of those outlandish books?
    “H-How long do you think it will be before you decide you’d like to be a mother?” he dared to inquire.
    Melissa shrugged. “Who knows?”
    Quinn glared at her as he tossed a bill down on top of the check the waitress had brought and pushed back his chair. Melissa waited, primly ladylike, until he drew hers back. “Thank you, Mr. Rafferty,” she said sweetly.
    Quinn rolled his eyes.
    * * *
    Evidently Quinn Rafferty was a man of no small influence. Before the train pulled out of Seattle, bound for the peninsula, he’d not only secured a special license, he’d followed through and married Melissa.
    The whole thing had happened with dizzying swiftness, and Melissa Corbin Rafferty sat in that fancy train caboose when it was all over, staring down at the shiny golden band on her finger and wondering what had possessed her to sell herself into veritable slavery. Tears of awe and fear brimmed in her eyes when she realized the full scope of what she’d done.
    She was alone, blessedly, since Quinn had gone to the club car the second they’d returned. No doubt he was drinking, gambling, and carousing at that very moment.
    Melissa paced the car, still wearing her oversized shoes and ugly calico dress, a wail of desperation gathering in her throat. If things had gone as they were supposed to, she would have been safely married to Ajax by now, happily honeymooning.
    She dashed away her tears with the back of one hand and sniffled. There was no point in pining away for Ajax, for nothing could ever come of her love for him. The only thing to do now was make the best of the situation.
    She would go ahead with her plans, just as though there had been no hasty wedding in a judge’s chambers, and make a life for herself. Even being a wife in name only would be better than having the whole family fussing over her for the rest of her days.
    Having decided all this, Melissa flung herself down on the chinchilla-covered bed and sobbed with despair.
    Quinn sat in the club car, enshrouded in the smoke of cigars and cheroots, and threw back a double shot of rye whiskey. He was married, by God, and he had no rights. No rights at all.
    What the hell had gotten into him?
    He snapped his fingers, and a fresh glass of whiskey appeared in them almost magically. He was seated beside one of the windows, having no desire to join in the rousingpoker game going on a few feet away. He’d lost his limit the night before.
    Someone dropped heavily into the seat facing his. “You look like a man with a problem,” a familiar voice observed.
    Quinn looked up to see Mitch Williams, his lawyer and best friend. Blond and blue-eyed, Mitch was a favorite with the women and a fair hand in a fight. Quinn was so surprised to see him that he nearly choked on his whiskey. “What the devil are you doing here?”
    “Got on in Seattle, like you.”
    Quinn let out a long breath. “So you saw her?”
    Mitch grinned and held out one hand, palm down. “Little smidgin of a thing, about this big, with blue eyes the size of saucers?”
    Quinn nodded.
    “Haven’t seen her,” Mitch said, and then he laughed at the expression on his friend’s face. After several moments had passed he asked patiently, “Who is she?”
    Quinn swallowed. “My wife.”
    “Your what?!” Mitch choked out the words.
    Gazing miserably at his friend, Quinn answered, “You heard me, damn it. Don’t make me say it again.”
    “You actually married that woman?”
    Again Quinn nodded.
    “Why?” Mitch snapped, rapid-fire.
    “I don’t rightly know.”
    Mitch let out a long, low whistle. “Gillian will have your teeth made into piano keys,” he said.
    Quinn gave him an acid look and held up his empty shot glass. It was replaced in a moment, and he swallowed the contents in a desolate gulp.
    The lawyer was leaning forward in his