My Darling Melissa Read Free Page A

going to be ‘deposited’ in some hotel like a runaway child,” Melissa, sitting bolt upright in bed, informed him. In that moment she knew that she could never go home—her pride wouldn’t let her—until she’d accomplished something real and lasting all on her own. Otherwise the family would fuss over her ever after, as if she were an eccentric spinster.
    The prospect was alarming; the reality would be unbearable.
    She got to her knees and moved aside the window blind to peer out at the passing countryside. The moon bathed the barren country of central Washington State in an eerie light. “I can look after myself,” she said, hiding all her uncertainties in a bright tone of voice.
    And then she lay down again, closed her eyes, and slipped into a fitful sleep.
    When Melissa awakened the car was filled with sunlight, and an elephant seemed to be balancing on one foot on her chest. Her nose was clogged, and the heat emanating from her body was so intense that it threatened to smother her.
    A stranger with a bristly white mustache and a stethoscope affixed to his bald head was bending over the bed. “You’ll be just fine, miss,” he told her.
    Melissa was certain that she was dying of some mysterious plague the likes of which had never been documented before. She started to croak out her last words and found they wouldn’t come.
    “Lots of lemon juice, that’s what she needs,” the doctor said jovially. And then he turned away.
    Accommodatingly, Quinn soon brought her a steaming mug. He looked damnably handsome and damnably healthy in his clean, well-tailored clothes. Melissa could see the ridges left by a comb in his still-damp hair.
    Despite her proximity to the hereafter, she managed to drag herself to a sitting position and reach out for the mug. The lemon juice had been liberally laced with liquor.
    “Sorry about your new start in life and all that,” Quinn said merrily. “Guess you’ll just have to go on with the old one.”
    Melissa narrowed her eyes at him. The moment she arrived on the other side she’d get permission to become a ghost. And then she meant to haunt Mr. Rafferty until all his hair either turned white or fell out.
    Rafferty laughed as though he could read her impotent thoughts and patted her fever-hot cheek. “If you’re very good, I’ll bring you a present,” he condescended to say. “Mind Eloise now, and rest yourself.”
    Eloise, a dour woman in black sateen, appeared at the end of the bed. She was holding a Bible to her bosom and peering through the tiny square lenses of her glasses. It was clear that she had the wrong idea entirely about who Melissawas and what she was doing in Mr. Rafferty’s railroad car, sick unto dying or not.
    Melissa closed her eyes. They must be in Spokane, she realized, too ill to care what it was she’d meant to do there.
    The day was a difficult one. Melissa slept deeply at intervals, but then the fever and her fiery throat would awaken her, making her toss and turn in abject misery.
    She was delighted when Mr. Rafferty arrived at nightfall. He brought a present, just as he’d promised, and sent Eloise away.
    With the last shreds of her failing strength—she was sure to be dead by morning—Melissa clawed the wrapping paper from the gift Quinn had laid in her lap. It was a book, and Melissa would have laughed if she’d been able to, because she’d written the opus herself—under a pseudonym, of course.
    Her eyes sparkled with more than fever as she looked questioningly at her benefactor.
    “They’re bringing beef stew from the dining car,” he said, undoing his tie beside the bed. His glance fell again to the book. “Pure trash, according to the bookseller,” he said, “but women love it.”
    He looked completely baffled when Melissa hurled the volume at his head.

Two
    Quinn dragged a chair to Melissa’s bedside, determined to lend comfort whether it was wanted or not, and sat down to read from the book she had just thrown at him.