For Better, For Worse

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!

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 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.

“What about your mother?” Kit murmured long moments later. “She told me to…to go away and leave her sons alone.”

“That was her pain talking. She’s an intelligent woman, and in time, she, too, will grow to love you. I’ve made her understand how I feel—that my life is not worth living without you. I have a special license so we can be married as soon as we get back to Jerez. Where is the person in charge of this place so I can tell him you’re leaving with me today?”

“Here’s some ice cream.” The chaplain broke in on Kit’s private thoughts. She hadn’t even realized he’d left the table.

“I’m sorry. You must think me extremely rude.”

“Not at all, my dear. When the most important person in our lives is in difficulty, how can we concentrate on anything else? Tell me how you came to know him.”

She took a few spoonfuls of ice cream. “I met him through his brother, Jaime. Until a few months ago I was teaching math and English at the U.S. Naval Military Base in Rota, Spain. The town isn’t far from Jerez where the Mendez estate is located. Jaime helps Rafe run the family business. They have vineyards and export their sherry all over the world.

“Last fall some friends from the base invited me to go to a sherry-tasting party Jaime was hosting. One thing led to another and we began dating.”

“But it was the other brother who captured your heart.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“That must not have been an easy time for you.”

“It was awful. You see, Jaime asked me to marry him before I met Rafe, but I kept putting him off because I wanted to be sure that what I felt for him was love and that it would last. As soon as I met Rafe, I understood the difference between loving someone like a brother and being in love.”

On a rush of emotion, Kit found herself explaining her impossible position. She described Rafe’s desire to bring everything out in the open and Jaime’s heavy bouts of drinking after she turned down his proposal. Brokenly, she told of the painful exchange with their mother, which had precipitated Kit’s flight from Spain. And finally she talked about Rafe’s unexpected arrival in Idaho, after he’d traced her through one of her friends on the base. It felt so good to discuss all this with someone she could trust.

“I’m afraid Rafe and I have hurt Jaime very badly. It seems he’s left Jerez and is living in Madrid. Who knows what he’s thinking, what’s happening to him right now? He’s apparently cut himself off from everyone.” She shivered.

“But that’s all to the good. Your husband was right, you know. This kind of situation has to be dealt with in an honest, forthright manner. He knew that would force his brother to face his life, which is what this Jaime is doing now. Instead of the end, it could be the beginning for him. One day he’ll meet a woman who will love him in return. It’s not your fault.”

Her eyes misted over. “I know, but because of me the entire family is estranged.”

“Are you saying you wish you had never met your husband?”

“No!”

The chaplain chuckled at her vehement response, and she blushed. “I didn’t think so. And since I’m a great deal older than you, I’ll tell you a secret. Life has a way of working itself out, and right now your husband needs your love and support as never before. After all, over the past few months he’s searched nonstop for you, forsaking his business interests, everything. Don’t you see? He’s refused to let anything or anyone come between you. I would venture to say a love like that doesn’t happen very often.”

“He’s my whole life, Chaplain.” Her voice shook. “He’s got to be all right!”

“Where’s your faith?” he asked quietly as his tuftlike brows lifted in query. He patted her hand compassionately. “Why don’t we go back to the emergency room and find out if there’s been any news?”

Twenty minutes after their return, Kit heard her name called. She turned to find Dr. Penman at the front desk, still garbed in his surgical gown, smelling of anesthetic. She jumped to her feet and hurried over to him. “Dr. Penman? How did the surgery go? Is Rafe going to be all right?”

Chapter Two

“THE OPERATION was a success. Your husband came through it without complications.” The relief was exquisite and the doctor smiled at her reaction. “He’s in the ICU now. If he continues to do well, you’ll be allowed to see him for a few minutes tomorrow morning. Call around eight.”

His words robbed her of some of her euphoria. “Not until then?” It was only 10:30 p.m. Ten more hours….

“I’m sorry. But you want your husband back as strong and healthy as before, don’t you?”

“Of course. Thank heaven it went well,” she cried, grasping his hand. “Thank you for everything.”

“Your husband is a fortunate man,” he said, eyeing her slender curves and fine-boned, delicate features with obvious and very masculine appreciation. “I can’t say I blame him for wanting to marry you on the spot. I’ve got a hunch you’ll be the reason he recovers in record time, too. My advice is that you get some rest now, Mrs. Mendez. I’ll be around to see both you and your husband in the morning.”

After he left the desk the chaplain turned to her, smiling. “I told you that you had nothing to worry about, didn’t I? Are you ready to leave? I’m on my way home, and I’d be happy to drop you some place.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness more than you know, but our rental car’s outside with the luggage. It was hardly damaged—just a dent. I’ll find a motel and manage just fine.”

The chaplain recommended a nearby motel and wished her good-night and a safe drive.

But Kit hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to get back in the car, to sit where Rafe had been sitting when he was injured. It brought back the horror of his accident all too clearly. A new rush of pain almost immobilized her, and she arrived at the motel too distressed to think of resting.

She’d never known a night could pass so slowly. Her sleep, when it did come, was fitful. In her anxiety she got up repeatedly to pace the motel room floor, staring at Rafe’s gold and ruby seal ring, which was too large for her finger and kept slipping off. It had been passed down to the first-born son through four generations of Mendezes and given to him by his father, Don Fernando. Afraid of losing something so priceless, she reached for her handbag and put it in one of the zippered compartments where it would be safe.

By eight o’clock the next morning, she’d had some juice and a sweet roll provided by the motel, then gone straight to the hospital’s emergency room desk. Relief flooded through her when she was given permission to go straight to the ICU. Dr. Penman met her at the door and took her aside.

“Your husband had a good night and is resting comfortably. So far, there are no complications, no fever. Even so, I’m only allowing you to see him for a moment because he’s a little hazy and confused.”

“Is that normal?” Kit asked in alarm.

He nodded. “Quite often we see post-op head-injury patients experience this reaction. It doesn’t usually last very long. But every case is unique and no two patients respond the same way. I wanted you to be aware of this so you wouldn’t say or do anything to upset him. Just behave naturally. Shall we go in?”

Her emotions ranged from longing and anticipation to fresh anxiety as she hurried into the room ahead of the doctor. Rafe lay perfectly still in the hospital bed, his head swathed in a white bandage, his hard-muscled body hooked up to monitors. He was awake, following their progress with his eyes.

The relief of knowing he’d come through the operation so well and that his color was so much better had her rushing to his side. “Darling?” she whispered. She reached out to touch his upper arm where the bronzed skin was exposed below the hospital gown. “How are you? I’ve missed you,” she said anxiously.

His interested gaze wandered over her mouth and eyes, the shape of her face. But there was no hint of recognition. Until this moment she’d never seen him look at her with anything but desire and passion. And anger, when she’d told him she couldn’t see him anymore because their relationship was destroying his family.

The change in him staggered her.

She rubbed his arm gently, hoping the physical contact might help. “Darling? It’s Kit. I love you.”

“Kit?” He said her name experimentally, with that light Spanish accent she loved.

“Yes. Do you remember we were married last night? I’m your wife now.” He still didn’t respond. She fought to quell her rising panic. “How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

He muttered some Spanish phrases she couldn’t understand, then closed his eyes. Dr. Penman signaled to her from the other side of the bed, where he’d been conferring with the nurse. In acute distress Kit followed him into the hall.

“He didn’t know me!” She choked on the words. “When you told me he was confused I thought—” She shook her head. “I had no idea he wouldn’t even recognize me.”

The doctor looked at her with compassion. “This is only temporary. Do you remember the skier last year who fell during a race in Switzerland? She suffered a concussion and temporary amnesia after her fall. Give your husband another twenty-four hours and he’ll be himself again, just like she was.

“Call the desk tonight after I’ve made rounds. If he’s more lucid, you can visit him for a few minutes. If not, call again in the morning after eight.”

Kit phoned twelve hours later but there’d been no change in Rafe’s condition. When seventy-two hours passed and he still had no memory of her or what had happened to him, Dr. Penman ordered another CT test, along with blood tests and a toxicology screen. But the results indicated that nothing was organically wrong.

Feeling as though she were in the middle of a nightmare, Kit met with Dr. Penman and a Dr. Noyes, the staff psychiatrist who’d been called in for consultation.

“Why doesn’t he remember me, Dr. Noyes? What’s going on? I’m frightened.”

“I don’t blame you,” the psychiatrist replied. “Memory loss is not only disturbing to the patient, but to his loved ones, as well.”

“Have you ever seen a patient take this long to snap out of it?”

He nodded. “At the end of the Vietnam era, I was finishing up my residency in California. I worked with several patients who’d lost their memories as a result of a closed head injury during the war. These were men like your husband who had no prior physiological problem and no other complications.”

“How long did it take them to recover their memories?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and Kit gasped quietly. “Please allow me to explain, Mrs. Mendez. That was years ago and I only worked with them for a three-month period. Most likely all have regained their memories by now.”

“Three months?” She sat forward in the chair. “How can you compare war injuries to an accident as straightforward as my husband’s?”

He studied her for a long moment. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“In my opinion, your husband could be suffering from what we call psychogenic loss of memory. What that means in lay terms is memory loss when there is no organic disease present. In other words, the onset of amnesia by a head injury because of a stressful event prior to the injury. With soldiers, it’s battle fatigue, terror, isolation—all things the mind would want to suppress.”

Taking off his glasses to rub his eyes he said, “With most other people, the stress generally comes from serious financial problems or an insoluble family crisis such as a disturbed parent-child or sibling relationship. In such cases, the patient’s amnesia serves to help him escape from an intolerable situation. He can’t find a rational way to deal with the circumstances, so he retreats. Is there anything in your husband’s past like that? A problem so serious that he’d want to suppress it?”