The Winner Takes It All: Winning Back His Wife / In Her Rival's Arms / Royally Seduced

Their final stop hadn’t been all about Sarah. The truck had felt cramped. Confined. He’d needed some fresh air and space.

“If you’d rather have chocolate, we can trade.” She held out her cup to him. “I like vanilla.”

Memories of other road trips to rock climb flashed through his mind. Stopping to buy two different kinds of milk shakes had become the routine. Sharing them during the drive had been the norm. Pulling over to have sex had been his favorite break. Hers, too.

Whoa. Don’t go there. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Suit yourself, but I’m willing to share.”

Her lips closed over the end of the straw sticking out of the cup. She sipped. Swallowed.

His groin twinged. Blood boiled. Sweat coated his palms.

Damn. He needed to cool off. Quickly. “I’m happy with mine.”

Cullen snagged his milk shake from the cup holder and sucked a mouthful through the straw. The cold vanilla drink hit the spot. A few more sips and his temperature might return to normal.

He was much too aware of her—from the way she glanced sideward at him to the crooked part in her hair. Things he shouldn’t notice or care about.

And he didn’t. Care, that is.

But now that she was an arm’s distance away, her feminine warmth and softness called to him like a PLB, personal locator beacon, beckoning in the night. Only, no one was lost. Nothing was lost except the impulsive, reckless side of who he used to be. The side Sarah brought out in him. The side he had buried alongside his brother.

Sure, Cullen missed the sex. What man wouldn’t? But he’d been surviving without it. Without her. Celibacy was the better choice for now. Blaine had lost himself in drugs. Cullen had seen what losing control did to a man, to his brother. He wouldn’t lose himself in Sarah.

He returned his drink to the cup holder. Maybe if he didn’t say anything to her, she wouldn’t talk to him.

“Is Hood Hamlet much farther?” Sarah asked.

So much for that tactic. He gritted his teeth. “Twenty-five minutes if we don’t hit any traffic.”

“That sounds pretty exact.”

He’d been checking the clock on the dashboard every five minutes for the past two hours. “I drive this way to the hospital.”

“You work in Portland, right?” she asked.

Great, more small talk. “Gresham. Northeast of the city.”

“A long commute.”

“Twelve-hour shifts help.”

“Still a lot of driving,” she said. “Why do you live so far away?”

He tapped his left foot. “I like Hood Hamlet.”

“There have to be closer places.”

“Yes, but I prefer the mountain.”

“Why?”

“It’s…”

“What?”

“Charming.”

“You’ve never been one for charming,” she said. “You thought Leavenworth was, and I quote, ‘a Bavarian-inspired tourist trap on steroids.’”

He had said that of the small town on the eastern side of the Cascade Mountains. “I liked climbing there.”

“Nothing else.”

He’d liked spending time with her in Leavenworth. A glance at the speedometer made him ease up on the gas pedal. “Hood Hamlet is different.”

“Different, how?”

“There’s something special about it.”

“Special?”

He nodded. “Almost…magical.”

She half laughed as if the joke was on him. “When did you start believing in magic?”

He understood her incredulous tone. A year ago he would have laughed at such a thought himself. After Blaine died, Cullen’s belief in any kind of “magic” had died, too. He hadn’t believed in anything that wasn’t quantifiable—whether it was a diagnosis or a cure. Everything had to have an explanation. The one thing in his life that defied reason—his relationship with Sarah—had blown up in his face. “It’s hard not to believe when you’re there. A lot of people feel the same way.”

“Must be something in the water,” she joked.

A trained scientist like Sarah wouldn’t understand. He’d been the same way until three things had changed his mind—the rescue of two climbers trapped in a snow cave last November, the town pulling off its Christmas Magic celebration in mid-December and Leanne Thomas getting engaged on Christmas Day. The three events had defied logic, but had happened anyway. “Maybe.”

“The mountain air, perhaps,” she teased.

“You never know.” But he knew it was neither of those things.

“Whatever it is, I hope it’s not contagious.”

“I have no doubt you’re immune as long as Mount Hood remains dormant.”

He expected her to contradict him, if only to argue with him. She didn’t.

“What else does the town have beside magic?” Sarah asked.

“The people. It’s a great community.” He’d realized how supportive they truly were with the numerous offers of help following Sarah’s accident. “Very welcoming to strangers. That’s how I ended up moving there. I’d driven up to Mount Hood on a day off. I had lunch at the local brewpub and met the owner, Jake Porter. When he found out I was involved with mountain rescue in Seattle, he told me about their local unit, OMSAR. He invited me to go climbing, and we did. I met a few more people. One told me about a cabin for rent. Next thing I knew, I was signing my name on a year lease.”

“That’s serendipity, not magic.”