“I’m right here, Sarah.” His warm breath fanned her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
Promise.
The word echoed through her fuzzy brain.
Promise.
They’d promised to love, honor and cherish each other until death do them part. But none of that had mattered in the end. She couldn’t believe Cullen was promising to stay now. Maybe not today, but tomorrow or the next day or the day after, he would be gone, leaving her with only memories and a gold wedding band. The knowledge hurt, a deep, heart-wrenching pain, worse than any physical pain she’d endured.
I’m not going anywhere.
A part of her wished Cullen would remain at her side. A part of her wished marriage vows were more than words exchanged in front of an Elvis impersonator. A part of her wished love…lasted.
Dear Reader,
I never realized when I set a book on Mount Hood that I would fall in love with the fictional town of Hood Hamlet and its residents, particularly a group of brave mountain rescue heroes with Oregon Mountain Search and Rescue (OMSAR). But I did, and I haven’t looked back. But with this story, I wanted to change things up a little.
I added another glacier-covered peak, Mount Baker, the second most active volcano in the Cascades, near Bellingham, Washington. The engineer in me really had fun researching volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest!
Instead of a November-to-January time frame, I used May to June. Not exactly when you’d expect to find Christmas magic at work, but spring is the perfect time for love to bloom. Or, in the case of mountain rescue volunteer Dr Cullen Gray and volcanologist Sarah Purcell, rebloom.
Their romance had been calling to me ever since Cullen made an oh-so-brief appearance in my book Firefighter Under the Mistletoe. I kept wondering why he was so serious and didn’t smile much. When I finally figured it out, I knew I had to tell his story next.
I hope you enjoy reading about Cullen and Sarah as well as Hood Hamlet. Christmas magic in June? You never know!
Enjoy!
Melissa
About the Author
With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA McCLONE ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analyzing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her happily-ever-afters. When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two lovable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty who has decided to call the garage home.
Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website, www.melissamcclone.com.
Winning Back
His Wife
Melissa McClone
Special thanks to Dave Tucker, John Scurlock,
Terri Reed and Jennifer Shirk.
CHAPTER ONE
DR. CULLEN GRAY trudged through the Wy’East Day Lodge, his sore feet entombed in climbing boots he couldn’t wait to remove. His muscles ached after two grueling days on Mount Hood. But whatever he’d been through was worth it.
A climber had been rescued.
That trumped a night spent in a warm, comfy bed, a hot shower in the morning and a homemade breakfast complete with scrambled eggs, chicken-apple sausage and buttermilk pancakes with huckleberry syrup.
The smell of coffee wafted in the air, the aroma tickling Cullen’s cold nose and teasing his hungry, grumbling stomach. A jolt of caffeine would keep him going long enough to survive the rescue debriefing and the short drive home to Hood Hamlet.
Twenty feet in front of him, members of Oregon Mountain Search and Rescue, OMSAR, sat at a long cafeteria table with coffee cups in front of them. Backpacks, helmets and jackets were scattered on the floor.
Almost there.
Cullen was looking forward to taking off his backpack and sitting, if only for the length of the debriefing.
He passed a group of teenagers, students at the Hood Hamlet Snowboarding Academy, who laughed while they took a break from riding. A little girl, around six years old and dressed in pink from her helmet to her ski boots, wobbled away from the hot-chocolate machine holding a cup with both hands.
A few hours ago, a life had hung in the balance, cocooned inside a rescue litter attached by cables to a hovering helicopter. But down here, lower on the mountain, everything had continued as usual, as if what run to take on the slopes was the most important decision of the day. He much preferred being up there, though not because of any element of danger or adrenaline rush. He took only calculated risks to help others and save lives.
Cullen lived simply in the quaint, Alpine-inspired village of Hood Hamlet. Work and the mountain comprised his life. Sometimes it was enough, other times not even close. But days like today reminded him why he did what he did, both as a doctor and as a volunteer mountain rescuer. Satisfaction flowed through his veins.
A successful mission.
It didn’t get much better than that. Well, unless the climber hadn’t fallen into the Bergschrund crevasse to begin with. But given the distance of the fall, the climber’s serious injuries and the technical nature of the rescue, Cullen thought Christmas magic—something Hood Hamlet was famous for—had been in play even though it was May, not December.
Either that or plain old dumb luck.
Cullen preferred thinking Christmas magic had been involved. Luck seemed too…random. He might be a doctor, but living here for almost a year had opened his mind. Not everything could be explained and proven scientifically. Sometimes patients defied their diagnosis and survived with no logical explanation.
As soon as he reached the table, he shrugged off his backpack. Gear rattled inside. Carabiners clinked on the outside. When the straps left his shoulders, relief shot straight to his toes.
The pack thudded against the floor. The sound echoed through the cafeteria and drew a few glances from the skiers, riders and tourists.
Let them look. Complain even. Nothing, not even his tight muscles or tiredness, could ruin this day.
He
