For Better, For Worse

For Better, For Worse
Rebecca Winters

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

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

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 past few hours had shaken her and she needed to unburden herself to someone who cared.

“We were going back to Spain to be married. While we were driving through an intersection on our way to the airport, a Jeep and a van collided in the other lane. The impact dislodged a kayak fastened to the top of the van. It flew through the air and…and by some quirk of fate hit Rafe’s side of the car, striking his head through the open window.” Her voice quavered as she spoke.

The pastor shook his head gravely.

“Rafe didn’t lose consciousness, but I could tell by the difficulty he had in talking that he’d been dazed. The paramedics arrived and started an IV. At the hospital they discovered that a clot had formed where he’d been struck, so he was prepared for surgery. But Rafe insisted we be married first.”

“Your husband sounds like a strong, determined individual.”

“He’s remarkable,” she murmured, wondering how to explain Rafe to this sweet, unassuming Idaho chaplain. Educated in the most prestigious schools in Europe, conversant with several different languages, sophisticated, wealthy, Rafael de Mendez y Lucar appeared larger than life. He was a man whose roots went back to the Spanish aristocracy; his family was one of the most important landowners in Andalusia.

And he loved her, Kit Spring, an insignificant 25-year-old American schoolteacher who was all alone in the world. He loved Kit with a ferocity equal to her own love for him. But it had been a forbidden love that had torn the Mendez family apart, setting brother against brother, mother against son, changing the complicated fabric of their private lives forever.

Knowing that she was the reason Jaime was always at Rafe’s throat, the reason Rafe and his mother were estranged, Kit had seen no other choice but to remove herself from their sphere. If she bowed out of their lives for good, Jaime, who had always walked in Rafe’s shadow and had a propensity for self-destruction, would be spared the humiliation of losing Kit to his elder brother. Then they’d be able to put their family back together and go on as before.

At least Kit had prayed that her disappearance would effect a reconciliation, even if it meant the end of her world. Without telling a soul about her plans, she resigned her teaching job in Spain and flew back to the United States—to Inkom, Idaho, the tiny town of 850 people where she’d been born and lived with her parents who’d worked at the cement plant until they died. She doubted Rafe would be able to trace her there.

But in that assumption she’d been wrong. Yesterday afternoon, when she was on the verge of phoning Rafe to tell him she couldn’t stand to be away from him any longer, he had miraculously appeared in the lobby of the tiny six-unit motel where she worked as a part-time receptionist. The owner, a friend of her parents’, had been kind enough to let her live in one of the units and work for room and board.

When she heard the buzzer signaling that someone had come in the door, she looked up from the desk to discover Rafe walking toward her. The joy of seeing him again, combined with the thrill of alarm that coursed through her body at his furious expression, made her retreat until she’d backed up against the wall. “H-How did you know I was here?”

“You should be terrified of me,” he said in his lightly accented English, ignoring her question. He levered his lean body over the counter with effortless grace. “There’ve been moments in the past eight weeks when I wondered if I’d ever find you or hold you again. How could you have done this to us?” From the raw emotion in his voice, she could tell he’d suffered torment as great as her own.

“You know why I left,” she whispered, noting that he’d lost weight, yet was more darkly attractive than ever. “I didn’t want to make matters worse between you and Jaime.”

He closed the distance separating them and covered her body with his own. She felt alive for the first time in two months as the familiar weight of his hard thighs and chest pressed heavily against her. How had she thought she could live the rest of her life without him, without this?

His black eyes smoldered. “Your sacrifice could make no possible difference to the situation between my brother and me. Our father made certain of that long before he died. A break was inevitable. Jaime has left the estate, amorada, to make a new life for himself. And now I’m taking you back to Spain with me, where you belong.”

He lowered his head and claimed her mouth with an intensity that left her clinging to him, unable to deny him any part of her self.