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 Rebecca’s latest book, which will be available from Mills & Boon® Romance in May!
For Better, For Worse
by
Rebecca Winters
Chapter One
“I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU—” the chaplain frowned as he stumbled over the words printed on the special license “—Raf-fael de Mendez y-y Lucar, and you, Kit Spring, husband and wife.”
Even with the preoperative medication starting to take effect, Rafe’s black eyes flickered a private message of love to Kit.
He’d searched frantically on two continents for eight hellish weeks to find her, not knowing if he would ever see her again. It wasn’t until a friend of Kit’s had remembered the name of Kit’s birthplace that he’d 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 chaplain’s 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.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mendez, but I should have administered the Halothane five minutes ago.” 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 Rafe’s powerful body lying there so helpless, his normally olive-toned skin a sickly gray color. She couldn’t 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 doctor’s arm.
“Please,” she whispered, her eyes beseeching him, “don’t let anything happen to Rafe. I couldn’t bear it. Not after—” 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 hadn’t realized the Mendez crest on Rafe’s signet ring, the one used for their marriage ceremony, was cutting into her palm.
“A subdural hematoma is serious, but the operation to relieve the pressure is fairly routine. I have no doubt he’ll be fine.” Before the doors closed the surgeon flashed her what she suspected was his professional smile of reassurance, but she wasn’t comforted.
“Mrs. Mendez?” The chaplain cupped her elbow. “Since I know you’ll be unable to rest until you learn the outcome, at least allow me to sit with you until the operation is over.”
The last thing she wanted right now was company. However, she couldn’t be rude to Pastor Hughes, the chaplain who’d been on duty at the hospital and had performed the two-minute marriage ceremony on a moment’s notice.
Still lucid after the freak accident that had caused his head injury, Rafe had refused to undergo surgery until he’d made Kit his wife. She wanted that, too—more 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 patient’s 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.
“Thank you, Chaplain,” 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. “Are you all right?” 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.
“Here. Drink this.”
Since arriving at the hospital—she’d followed the ambulance in the rental car Rafe had been driving—Kit had refused anything to eat or drink. Now even the lukewarm water tasted good.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
His kind smile reminded her to thank him for everything he’d done. It was then that she remembered Diego Silva, Rafe’s 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. She’d met the good-looking pilot on one other occasion, when he’d flown her and Rafe to North Africa, ostensibly on business. But Rafe’s 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.
Diego’s distraught response to the bad news let her know how much he cared for his employer. When she told him that she and Rafe were now married, he wept over the phone, thanking her for making the señor so happy. His open devotion to both Rafe and herself warmed her heart. He kept murmuring a lot of unintelligible words in Spanish, a language she was trying to learn, though she wondered if she’d ever become fluent. He said something about wanting to come to the hospital at once, but she told him to wait until the doctor said Rafe could have visitors.
Diego rushed to assure her that he would get in touch with the family; she was to do nothing but look after the señor.
When she returned to the waiting room, the chaplain was still there. “You know, I’ve had occasion to perform a few emergency wedding ceremonies here at the hospital, but I must confess your particular situation intrigues me. Your husband is obviously not an American citizen. Perhaps you would tell me about him over dinner. What brought you two together? I find it very romantic.”
Kit smiled through the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing and ran an unsteady hand through her short, golden blond curls. “If you really want to hear.”
“Of course I do. Shall we walk to the cafeteria and get ourselves a bite to eat? Dr. Penman said the operation would take at least an hour and a half, so we have plenty of time.”
His suggestion made sense, and Kit was glad she’d agreed to eat with him, after all. She actually enjoyed the potatoes and fried chicken, and the chaplain had an easy, gentle manner that inspired her confidence. As time went on, she found herself telling him things she’d never told anyone else. She supposed it was because the events of the
