Melissa McClone - Winning Back His Wife

Sheriff’s Deputy Will Townsend approached the table with Sean Hughes at his side. Concern clouded their gazes. Worry was etched in their features.

Cullen wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. He hoped the climber hadn’t taken a turn for the worse on the helicopter ride or at the hospital. The guy was married with two young kids.

“Hey, Doc.” Will tipped his deputy’s hat. “Cell phone turned off?”

“Battery died.” Cullen wondered what his cell phone had to do with anything. He placed his cup on the table. “Not a lot of places to recharge up there.”

Will’s eyes darkened. “We’ve been trying to reach you.”

The deputy’s words tightened Cullen’s throat. He recognized the serious tone and steady cadence. He’d used both when delivering bad news at the hospital. “What’s going on?”

“You’re listed as Sarah Purcell’s emergency contact.”

Hearing the name startled Cullen. His coffee spilled, spreading across the table. “Damn.”

Paulson grabbed napkins. “No worries, Doc. I’ve got it.”

Cullen stood and faced the deputy. “What about Sarah?”

The deputy’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“There was an accident on Mount Baker.”

“Accident?” Cullen asked.

A muscle twitched at Will’s jaw. “The details are sketchy, but it appears Sarah was at the crater rim when a steam blast occurred. She was hit by rock and fell a significant distance.”

Shock reverberated through Cullen’s body. His vision blurred. The world tilted sideways.

A hand tightened around his arm. “Steady, Doc.”

Hughes.

“Deep breaths,” another voice said.

Paulson.

Cullen felt himself being seated.

Sarah. Please, God, not her .

His emotions swirled like a whirlpool. Fear and dread spiraled, one on top of the other. Nightmares from another time joined in. Images of his twin brother, Blaine, flashed with strobe-light intensity until Cullen thought his head would explode. He forced himself to breathe. “Is she…?”

What was happening? He was a doctor. Death was something he saw almost every time he worked a shift at the hospital. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

Will leaned forward. “Sarah’s at a hospital in Seattle.”

Not dead . A hundred pounds of anxiety melted away from each of Cullen’s bone-weary shoulders. Tears of relief pricked his eyes. He hadn’t seen Sarah in months. Cullen had wanted her out of his life, but he hadn’t wanted anything bad to happen to her.

Will named one of the top trauma centers in the Pacific Northwest.

Cullen blinked, gaining control in an instant. He’d done his residency there. Sarah would receive top-notch treatment, but he needed to make sure it was the right care. A good thing Seattle was only a four-hour drive away.

He stood, nearly toppling over before he could catch his balance. Tired. He was tired from the mission. “I’ve got to go.”

Hughes steadied him. “Not so fast.”

“We’ve been getting updates,” Will explained. “Sarah is in surgery again.”

Again . Not good. Cullen’s hands fisted. Surgery could mean anything from pinning a fracture to relieving pressure on the brain. Volcanoes weren’t safe places. Being a volcanologist had put Sarah in danger, but no serious injuries had resulted. Bumps, bruises, a few stitches. But this…

Cullen dragged his hand through his hair. He was a doctor. He could handle this. “Any prognosis yet?”

Hughes touched Cullen’s shoulder with the strength of a rescue leader and the compassion of a friend. “She’s in critical condition.”

A snowball-size lump burned in his throat. While he’d been on the mountain saving a life, Sarah had been fighting for hers. Bitter-tasting regret coated his mouth. Oh-so-familiar guilt, too. He hadn’t been able to help Blaine. Cullen had to help Sarah.

He couldn’t waste any more time. Sarah needed someone with her, and he was all she had.

Cullen grabbed his pack. “I’ve got to get to Seattle.”

Hughes touched his shoulder again. “Johnny Gearhart has a plane. Porter’s making arrangements. I’m going to drive you home in your truck so you can change and pack a bag, then we’ll get you there. ASAP. I promise.”

A protest sat on the tip of Cullen’s tongue. He hadn’t lived in Hood Hamlet long, unlike several of these guys who’d grown up on the mountain. He’d climbed and drunk beer and watched sports on television with them, but he relied on himself and didn’t ask for help. He didn’t need help. But Sarah did. He swallowed the words he normally would have said and tried a new one instead. “Thanks.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Hughes said. “Let’s go.”

Cullen nodded once.

“I’m in.” Paulson, carrying his gear, fell into step with them. “So Sarah…Is she family? Your sister?”

“No,” Cullen said. “Sarah’s my wife.”

Where am I?

Sarah Purcell wanted to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt as if they’d been glued shut. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t open them.

What was going on?

Something pounded. It took her a minute—maybe longer—to realize the pounding was coming from her head. Maybe she shouldn’t try opening her eyes again.

Her head wasn’t the only thing hurting. Even her toenails throbbed. But the pain was a dull ache as if it were far off in the distance. Much better than being up close and personal like a battering ram of pain pummeling her.

She’d been hurting more. A whole lot more. This was…better.

White. She’d been surrounded by white.

Cold. She’d been so cold, but now she was warm. And dry. Hadn’t she been wet? And the air…It smelled different.

Strange, but it felt as if something were sticking out of her nose.

Beep. Beep. Beep .

She didn’t recognize the noise, the frequency of the tone or the rhythm. But the consistent beat made her think of counting sheep. No reason to try opening her eyes again. Not when she could drift off to sleep.

“Sarah.”

The man’s voice sliced through the thick fog clouding her brain. His voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. Not surprising, given she had no idea where she was or why it was so dark or what the beeping might be.

So many questions.

She parted her lips to speak, to ask what was going on, but no words came out. Only a strangled, unnatural sound escaped her sandpaper-dry throat.

Water. She needed water.

“It’s okay, Sarah,” he said in a reassuring tone. “You’re going to be okay.”

Glad he thought so. Whoever he might be.

She wasn’t sure of anything. Something told her she should care more than she did, but her brain seemed to be taking a sabbatical.

What had happened?

Clouds had been moving in. A horrible noise had filled the air. Swooshing. Exploding. Cracking. The memory of the teethgrinding sound, worse than two cars colliding on the freeway, sent a shudder through her.

A large hand covered hers. The warmth of the calloused, rough skin felt as familiar to Sarah as the voice had sounded. Was it the same person? She had no idea, but the touch comforted and soothed. Maybe now she could go back to sleep.

“Her pulse increased.” Concern filled his voice. He seemed to be talking to someone else. “Her lips parted. She’s waking up.”

Not her. He couldn’t mean her.

Sarah wanted to sleep, not wake up.

Someone touched her forehead. Not the same person still holding her hand. This one had smooth, cold skin. Clammy skin.

“I don’t see a change,” another man said, a voice she didn’t recognize. “You’ve been here a long time. Take a break. Eat a decent meal. Sleep in a real bed. We’ll call if her condition changes.”

The warm hand remained on hers. Squeezed. “I’m not leaving my wife.”

Wife .

The word seeped through her foggy mind until an image formed and sharpened. His eyes, as blue as the sky over Glacier Peak on a clear day, had made her feel like the only woman in the world. His smile, rare to appear but generous when it did, had warmed her heart and made her want to believe happy endings might be possible, even if she’d known deep in her heart of hearts they didn’t exist. His handsome face, with its high forehead, sculpted cheekbones, straight nose and dimpled chin, had haunted her dreams for the past year.

Memories rushed forward, colliding and overlapping with each other, until one came into focus.

Cullen.

He was here.

Warmth flowed through her like butter melting on a fresh-from-the-oven biscuit.

He’d come for her. Finally.

Urgency gripped Sarah. She wanted—no, needed—to see him to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

But the heavy curtain, aka her eyelids, didn’t want to open. She struggled to move her fingers beneath his hand. It had to be Cullen’s hand, right? Nothing happened.

A different machine beeped at a lower frequency. Another machine buzzed.

Cullen .

Sarah tried to speak again, but couldn’t. Whatever was stuck in her nose seemed to be down her throat, too. No matter. She was so thankful he was with her. She needed to tell him that. She wanted him to know how much…

Wait a minute.

Common sense sliced through the cotton clogging her brain.

Cullen shouldn’t be here. He’d agreed divorce was the best option. He no longer lived in the same town, the same state as she did.

So why was he here?

Sarah forced her lips apart to ask, but no sound emerged. Her frustration grew.

“See,” Cullen said. “Something’s going on.”

“I stand corrected, Dr. Gray,” the other person said. “This is a very good sign.”

“Sarah.”

The anxiety in Cullen’s voice surprised her as much as the concern. She tried to reconcile what she was hearing. Tried and failed. She wanted to believe he cared about her and that even if they’d both given up on marriage, their time together hadn’t been so bad he’d wanted to forget about everything.

Maybe if she could open her eyes a little she could let him know that.

Sarah used every bit of strength she could muster.

A slit of light appeared. So bright. Too bright. She squeezed her eyes shut.

The light disappeared as darkness reclaimed her, but the pounding in her head increased. No longer far away, the pain was in her face, as if someone were playing Whac-A-Mole on her forehead.

She gritted her teeth, unsure if the awful growling sound she’d heard came from her. Everything felt surreal, as if she were a part of some avant-garde indie film. She wanted out. Now.

“It’s okay, Sarah. I’m right here.” Cullen’s rich, warm voice covered her like one of his grandmother’s hand-sewn quilts. “I’m not leaving you.”

Not true. He had left her.

As soon as she’d mentioned divorce, he’d moved out of their apartment in Seattle, taking everything of his except the bed. After completing his residency, he’d taken off to Hood Hamlet, Oregon. She’d finished her PhD at the University of Washington, then accepted a postdoctorate position with MBVI—Mount Baker Volcano Institute—in Bellingham, a town in northwest Washington.

Another memory crystalized.

Sarah had been developing a program to deploy additional seismometers on Mount Baker. She’d been trying to determine if magma was moving upward. She’d needed more data. Proof one way or the other. Getting the information meant climbing the volcano and digging out seismometers to retrieve data. Putting in expensive probes that provided telemetered data didn’t make sense with their limited funding and the volatile conditions near the crater.