Melissa McClone - Winning Back His Wife

“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

With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA McCLONEever 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.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Special thanks to Dave Tucker, John Scurlock,

Terri Reed and Jennifer Shirk.

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 removed his black parka with the white block letters spelling RESCUE on the sleeve, tucked it under one of the outside straps of his pack, then sat. His feet felt as if they were sighing in delight at not having to support any weight.

“Nice work up there, Doc.” Bill Paulson, another volunteer with OMSAR, sat on the opposite side of the table. He passed Cullen a cup of coffee from the extras sitting between them. “What you did in the Bergschrund to save that guy’s life…”

Cullen bent over to loosen his boots. He didn’t like anyone fussing over what he did, let alone another mountain rescuer. He didn’t want the praise. The result—a life saved—was payback enough. “All in a day’s work.”

“Maybe in the emergency department, but not down inside a crevasse.” Paulson raised his cup. “I’m buying the first round at the brewpub tonight.”

A beer was in order after this mission. “You’re on.”

Zoe Hughes, the pretty wife of OMSAR team leader Sean Hughes and an associate member herself, stood behind Cullen. “Want anything?”

Heat from the coffee cup warmed his cold fingers. “This is all I need right now.”

“Let me know when you want a refill.” Her wide smile reached all the way to her blue eyes. “Rumor has it you were a real hero up there today.”

He shifted in his seat. Some considered mountain rescue a reckless pursuit, but nothing could be further from the truth. Rescuer safety was the priority, no matter what the mission. “Just doing my job.”

She touched his shoulder. “Sean doesn’t think he’s a hero, either. But you’re all heroes. What you guys do, who you are, is the very definition of the word.”

“Damn straight. That’s why we always get the girls.” Paul-son winked. “You’re going to be my wingman tonight, Gray. We’re going to get so many numbers we’ll need more memory for our cell phones.”

Paulson, a firefighter with Hood Hamlet Fire and Rescue, had a reputation of being a player. No one would accuse Cullen of being one. He had never expected to be living like a monk, but he had a good reason. One that would end soon enough. Until then…

He stared into his coffee, black and strong, fighting memories and resentment.

Going out and doing anything other than drinking a beer and eating a burger didn’t appeal to Cullen in the slightest. The one woman he wanted didn’t want him. Time to move on. He understood that. He’d come to terms with it. But he saw no reason to frustrate or tempt himself with something he couldn’t have right now. He lifted his cup. “You’ll get those phone numbers whether I’m there or not.”

“True that,” Paulson agreed. “But think of the fun we’ll have together. Just so you know, I’m partial to blondes. Though I don’t mind brunettes or redheads.”

Zoe shook her head, her long hair swaying back and forth. “One of these days you’re going to have to grow up and realize women weren’t put on this planet solely for your enjoyment.”

Paulson flashed her a charming grin. “Not going to happen.”

Zoe grimaced. “Too bad, because love does conquer all.”

“Love sucks,” Paulson countered before Cullen could echo the sentiment.

“Sometimes.” A sigh seemed poised to float away from her lips at any moment. “But other times it’s pure magic.”

Yeah, right . Cullen sipped his coffee. Love caused nothing but heartache and pain. He’d stick with Christmas magic.

Zoe went to refill someone else’s cup. The din of conversation increased, and so did the number of people in the cafeteria. More rescue-team members arrived. A photographer snapped pictures. Someone placed a plate of cookies on the table. It had to be getting closer to briefing time.

He checked his watch. “What’s taking so long?”

Paulson grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the plate. “Hughes must still be outside talking to reporters.”

Cullen wasn’t a big fan of the media when it came to the way they covered and dramatized rescue missions on Mount Hood. Whenever anything went down on the mountain, reporters and news trucks raced to the rescue operation’s base at Timberline Lodge, eager to capitalize on some poor soul’s misfortune to increase ratings, web-page hits or circulation.

His stomach growled. He reached for an oatmeal raisin cookie. “Better Hughes than me. I want no part of that feeding frenzy.”

Paulson snickered. “Once the press finds out who was lowered into the Bergschrund…”

“How about we say it was you?” Cullen bit into his cookie.

“I’m game,” Paulson said. “Especially if the hot blond reporter from Channel Nine wants to talk to me again.”

Cullen took another bite. Tasted like one of Carly Porter’s cookies. Her husband had been on the mission, too. Jake owned the local brewing company and brewpub. A pint of Porter’s Wy’East Lager, with Paulson buying, would hit the spot tonight.