Rebecca Winters, whose family of four children has now swelled to include three beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wild flowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite holiday spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.
Rebecca loves to hear from her readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website at: www. rebeccawinters-author.com
Look out for Rebeccaâs latest book, which will be available from Mills & Boon® Romance in May!
Chapter One
âI NOW PRONOUNCE YOUââ the chaplain frowned as he stumbled over the words printed on the special license ââRaf-fael de Mendez y-y Lucar, and you, Kit Spring, husband and wife.â
Even with the preoperative medication starting to take effect, Rafeâs black eyes flickered a private message of love to Kit.
Heâd searched frantically on two continents for eight hellish weeks to find her, not knowing if he would ever see her again. It wasnât until a friend of Kitâs had remembered the name of Kitâs birthplace that heâd finally caught up with her. His arrival the day before at the obscure motel where she was working brought their painful separation to an end, and now the long-awaited words had finally been pronounced. She could tell he was relaxed now, at peace.
Without waiting for the chaplainâs directive, she leaned over the stretcher to kiss the pale lips she wanted so urgently to feel beneath her own. But the anesthetist assisting with the surgery prevented her from touching her new husband.
âIâm sorry, Mrs. Mendez, but I should have administered the Halothane five minutes ago.â He nodded to the orderly who helped guide the stretcher out of the emergency room cubicle and down the hall.
Kit hurried after them to the elevator, hardly able to believe it was Rafeâs powerful body lying there so helpless, his normally olive-toned skin a sickly gray color. She couldnât even see his black, wavy hair, which was hidden beneath the surgical drapes.
The very real possibility that she could lose him forever prompted her to catch hold of the doctorâs arm.
âPlease,â she whispered, her eyes beseeching him, âdonât let anything happen to Rafe. I couldnât bear it. Not afterââ Her voice broke as fresh pain welled up inside her. These two agonizing months of separation had taken their toll. Her tension was so great that she hadnât realized the Mendez crest on Rafeâs signet ring, the one used for their marriage ceremony, was cutting into her palm.
âA subdural hematoma is serious, but the operation to relieve the pressure is fairly routine. I have no doubt heâll be fine.â Before the doors closed the surgeon flashed her what she suspected was his professional smile of reassurance, but she wasnât comforted.
âMrs. Mendez?â The chaplain cupped her elbow. âSince I know youâll be unable to rest until you learn the outcome, at least allow me to sit with you until the operation is over.â
The last thing she wanted right now was company. However, she couldnât be rude to Pastor Hughes, the chaplain whoâd been on duty at the hospital and had performed the two-minute marriage ceremony on a momentâs notice.
Still lucid after the freak accident that had caused his head injury, Rafe had refused to undergo surgery until heâd made Kit his wife. She wanted that, tooâmore than anything in the world. When it became clear that his agitated state could adversely affect the outcome of the operation, Dr. Penman, the neurosurgeon, had given in to his patientâs demand and arranged for the ceremony to take place in the emergency room. In fact, everyone associated with the University Regional Hospital in Pocatello had been wonderful. Kit owed them a debt of gratitude she could never repay.
âThank you, Chaplain,â she said, but as she took a step forward, she felt suddenly light-headed and had to lean against him for a few seconds.
He put a supportive arm around her shoulders. âAre you all right?â he asked in a concerned voice.
After a moment, she murmured yes and together they walked to the waiting room area, where the chaplain guided her to a chair and brought her a cup of water.
âHere. Drink this.â
Since arriving at the hospitalâsheâd followed the ambulance in the rental car Rafe had been drivingâKit had refused anything to eat or drink. Now even the lukewarm water tasted good.
âThatâs better, isnât it?â
His kind smile reminded her to thank him for everything heâd done. It was then that she remembered Diego Silva, Rafeâs pilot, who would still be at the airport wondering what had happened to them. She had to talk to him and explain about the accident.
Excusing herself for a moment, she went in search of a pay phone and, after some difficulty, succeeded in getting through to Diego. Sheâd met the good-looking pilot on one other occasion, when heâd flown her and Rafe to North Africa, ostensibly on business. But Rafeâs work had only taken an hour to accomplish; it had been the necessary excuse to get away from his family for a short while, to have Kit all to himself. The rest of that day he had devoted to her, making those precious hours ones of enchantment.