Gabriel's Angel (3 page)

“What is it?”

“The baby's just restless.” She smiled, but he noted that her eyes were shadowed with fatigue and her complexion was pale again.

“Look, I don't know anything about what you're going through, but common sense tells me you should be lying down.”

“Actually, I am tired. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to rest for a few minutes.”

“The bed's through here.” He rose and, not certain she could get up and down on her own, offered her a hand.

“I'll take care of the dishes later if . . .” Her words trailed off as her knees buckled.

“Hold on.” Gabe put his arms around her and had the odd, rather humbling sensation of having the baby move against him.

“I'm sorry. It's been a long day, and I guess I pushed it further than I should have.” She knew she should move away, pull back on her own, but there was something exquisite about leaning against the hard, sturdy body of a man. “I'll be fine after a nap.”

She didn't shatter as he'd once thought she might, but now she seemed so soft, so delicate, that he imagined her dissolving in his hands. He would have liked to comfort her, would have liked to go on holding her like that while she leaned into him, trusting, depending. Needing him. Calling himself a fool, he picked her up.

Laura started to protest, but it felt so good to be off her feet. “I must weigh a ton.”

“That's what I was expecting, but you don't.”

She found she could laugh, even though the fatigue was smothering her. “You're a real charmer, Gabe.”

His own awkwardness began to fade as he moved through the door to the bedroom. “I haven't had many opportunities to flirt with pregnant ladies.”

“That's all right. You redeemed yourself by rescuing this one from a snowstorm.” With her eyes half-closed, she felt herself being lowered onto a bed. It might be nothing more than a mattress and a rumpled sheet, but it felt like heaven. “I want to thank you.”

“You've been doing that on an average of every five minutes.” He pulled a slightly ragged comforter over her. “If you really want to thank me, get some sleep and don't go into labor.”

“Fair enough. Gabe?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you keep trying the phone?”

“All right.” She was nearly asleep. He had a moment's attack of guilt for wanting to press her while she was vulnerable. Right now, she didn't look as though she had the strength to brush away a fly. “Do you want me to call anyone for you? Your husband?”

She opened her eyes at that. Though they were clouded with fatigue, they met his levelly, and he saw that she wasn't down for the count yet.

“I'm not married,” she said, very clearly. “There's no one to call.”

Chapter 2

In the dream she was alone. That didn't frighten her. Laura had spent a large portion of her life alone, so she was more comfortable in solitude than in a crowd. There was a soft, misty quality to the dream—like the seascape she had seen on the wall of Gabe's cabin.

Oddly, she could even hear the ocean, purring and lapping off in the distance, though a part of her knew she was in the mountains. She walked through a pearl-colored fog, listening to the waves. Under her feet sand shifted, warm and soft. She felt safe and strong and strangely unencumbered. It had been a long, long time since she had felt so free, so at ease.

She knew she was dreaming. That was the best part. If she could have managed it, she would have stayed there, in the soft-focused fantasy of it, forever. It would be so easy to keep her eyes closed and cling to the utter peace of the dream.

Then the baby was crying. Screaming. A pulse began to beat in her temple as she listened to the high, keening wails. She started to sweat, and the clean white fog changed to a dark, threatening gray. No longer warm, the air took on a chill that whipped straight to the bone.

The cries seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, echoing and rebounding as she searched. Sobbing for breath, she fought her way through the mist as it circled and thickened. The cries became louder, more urgent. Her heart was beating in her throat, and her breath rasped and her hands shook.

Then she saw the bassinet, with its pretty white skirt and its lacy pink-and-blue ruffles. The relief was so great that her knees sagged.

“It's all right,” she murmured as she gathered the child in her arms. “It's all right. I'm here now.” She could feel the baby's warm breath against her cheek, could feel the weight in her arms as she rocked and soothed. The fine scent of powder surrounded her. Gently she cradled the child, murmuring and comforting as she began to lift the concealing blanket from its face.

And there was nothing, nothing in her arms but an empty blanket.

Gabe was sitting at the picnic table, sketching her face, thinking of her, when he heard her cry out. The moan was so long, so desperate, that he snapped the pencil in two before he jumped up and raced to the bedroom.

“Hey, come on.” Feeling awkward, he took her by the shoulders. She jerked so hard that he had to fight back his own panic, as well as hers, to hold on to her. “Laura, take it easy. Are you in pain? Is it the baby? Laura, tell me what's going on.”

“They took my baby!” There was hysteria in her voice, but it was a hysteria that was laced with fury. “Help me! They took my baby!”

“No one took your baby.” She was still fighting him, with a strength that awed him. Moving on instinct, he wrapped his arms around her. “You're having a dream. No one took your baby. Here.” He clamped a hand around her wrist, where her pulse was beating like a jackhammer, and dragged her hand to her belly. “You're safe, both of you. Relax before you hurt yourself.”

When she felt the life beneath her palms, she slumped against him. Her baby was safe, still inside her, where no one could touch him. “I'm sorry. It was a dream.”

“It's okay.” Without being aware of it, he was stroking her hair, cradling her as she had cradled the baby of her imagination, rocking her gently in an age-old comforting motion. “Do us both a favor and relax.”

She nodded, feeling protected and sheltered. Those were two sensations she had experienced very rarely in her twenty-five years. “I'm all right, really. It must have been the shock from the accident catching up with me.”

He drew her away, angry with himself because he wanted to go on holding her, shielding her. When she had asked him for help, he had known, without understanding why, that he would do anything to protect her. It was almost as though he had been dreaming himself, or had been caught up in her dream.

The snow was still falling in sheets outside the window and the only light was what came slanting through the bedroom door from the main cabin. It was dim and slightly yellow, but he could see her clearly, and he wanted to be certain that she saw him, as well. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

“Don't lie to me. Under normal circumstances you'd be entitled to your privacy, but right now you're under my roof for God knows how long.”

“I'm not lying to you.” Her voice was so calm, so even, that he nearly believed her. “I'm sorry if I upset you.”

“Who are you running from, Laura?”

She said nothing, just stared at him with those dark blue eyes. He swore at her, but she didn't flinch. He sprang up to pace the room, but she didn't shudder. Abruptly he dropped down on the bed again and caught her chin in his hand. She went absolutely still. Gabe would have sworn that for an instant she stopped breathing. Though it was ridiculous, he had the odd sensation that she was bracing for a blow.

“I know you're in trouble. What I want to know is how big. Who's after you, and why?”

Again she said nothing, but her hand moved instinctively to protect the child she carried.

Since the baby was obviously the core of the problem, they would begin there. “The baby's got a father,” he said slowly. “You running from him?”

She shook her head.

“Then who?”

“It's complicated.”

He lifted a brow as he jerked his head toward the window. “We've got nothing but time here. This keeps up, it could be a week before the main roads are open.”

“When they do, I'll go. The less you know, the better off we'll both be.”

“That won't wash.” He was silent a moment, trying to organize his thoughts. “It seems to me that the baby is very important to you.”

“Nothing is or can be more important.”

“Do you figure the strain you're carrying around is good for it?”

He saw the regret in her eyes instantly, saw the concern, the almost imperceptible folding into herself. “There are some things that can't be changed.” She took a long breath. “You have a right to ask questions.”

“But you don't intend to answer them.”

“I don't know you. I have to trust you, to a point, because I have no choice. I can only ask you to do the same.”

He moved his hand away from her face. “Why should I?”

She pressed her lips together. She knew he was right. But sometimes right wasn't enough. “I haven't committed a crime, I'm not wanted by the law. I have no family, no husband looking for me. Is that enough?”

“No. I'll take that much tonight because you need to sleep, but we'll talk in the morning.”

It was a reprieve—a short one, but she'd learned to be grateful for small things. With a nod, she waited for him to walk to the door. When it shut and the darkness was full again, she lay down. But it was a long, long time before she slept.

***

It was silent, absolutely silent, when Laura woke. She opened her eyes and waited for memory to return. There had been so many rooms, so many places where she'd slept, that she was used to this confusion upon waking.

She remembered it all . . . Gabriel Bradley, the storm, the cabin, the nightmare. And the sensation of waking in fear to find herself safe, in his arms. Of course, the safety was only temporary, and his arms weren't for her. Sighing, she turned her head to look out the window.

The snow was still falling. It was almost impossible to believe, but she lay and watched it, thinner now, slower, but still steady. There would be no leaving today.

Tucking her hand under her cheek, she continued to watch. It was easy to wish that the snow would never stop and that time would. She could stay here, cocooned, isolated, safe. But time, as the child she carried attested, never stopped. Rising, she opened her suitcase. She would put herself in order before she faced Gabe.

The cabin was empty. She should have felt relieved at that. Instead, the cozy fire and polished wood made her feel lonely. She wanted him there, even if it was just the sound of his movements in another room. Wherever he had gone, she reminded herself, he would be back. She started to walk into the kitchen to see what could be done about breakfast.

She saw the sketches, a half dozen of them, spread out on the picnic table. His talent, though raw in pencil or charcoal drawing, was undeniable. Still, it made her both uneasy and curious to see how someone else—no, how Gabriel Bradley—perceived her.

Her eyes seemed too big, too haunted. Her mouth was too soft, too vulnerable. She rubbed a finger over it as she frowned at the drawing. She'd seen her face countless times, in glossy photographs, posed for the best angle. She'd been draped in silks and furs, drenched in jewels. Her face and form had sold gallons of perfume, hawked fortunes in clothes and gems.

Laura Malone. She'd nearly forgotten that woman, the woman they'd said would be the face of the decade. The woman who had, briefly, held her own destiny in her hands. She was gone, erased.

The woman in the sketches was softer, rounder and infinitely more fragile. And yet she seemed stronger. Laura lifted a sketch and studied it. Or did she just want to see the strength, need to see it?

When the front door opened, she turned, still holding the pencil sketch. Gabe, covered with snow, kicked the door shut again. His arms were loaded with wood.

“Good morning. Been busy?”

He grunted and stomped the worst of the snow from his boots, then walked, leaving a wet trail, to the firebox to dump his wood. “I thought you might sleep longer.”

“I would have.” She patted her belly. “He wouldn't. Can I fix you some breakfast?”

Drawing off his gloves, he tossed them down on the hearth. “Already had some. You go ahead.”

Laura waited until he'd stripped off his coat. Apparently they were back on friendly terms again. Cautiously friendly. “It seems to be letting up a little.”

He sat on the hearth to drag his boots off. Snow was caked in the laces. “We've got three feet now, and I wouldn't look for it to stop before afternoon.” He drew out a cigarette. “Might as well make yourself at home.”

“I seem to be.” She held up the sketch. “I'm flattered.”

“You're beautiful,” he said offhandedly as he set his boots on the hearth to dry. “I can rarely resist drawing beautiful things.”

“You're fortunate.” She dropped the sketch back on the table. “It's so much more rewarding to be able to depict beauty than it is to be beautiful.” Gabe lifted a brow. There was a trace, only a trace, of bitterness in her tone. “Things,” she explained. “It's strange, but once people see you as beautiful, they almost always see you as a thing.”

Turning, she slipped into the kitchen, leaving him frowning after her.

She brewed him fresh coffee, then idled away the morning tidying the kitchen. Gabe gave her room. Before night fell again, he would have some answers, but for now he was content to have her puttering around while he worked.

She seemed to need to be busy. He had thought a woman in her condition would be content to sleep or rest or simply sit and knit for most of the day. He decided it was either nervous energy or her way of avoiding the confrontation he'd promised her the night before.

She didn't ask questions or stand over his shoulder, so they rubbed along through the morning without incident. Once, he glanced over to see her tucked into a corner of the sagging sofa reading a book on childbirth. Later she threw some things together in the kitchen and produced a thick, aromatic stew.

She said little. He knew she was waiting, biding her time until he pushed open the door he'd unlocked the night before. He, too, was waiting, biding his time. By midafternoon he decided she looked rested. Taking up his sketch pad and a piece of charcoal, he began to work while she sat across from him peeling apples.

“Why Denver?”

The only sign of her surprise was a quick jerk of the paring knife. She didn't look up or stop peeling. “Because I've never been there.”

“Under the circumstances, wouldn't you be better off in some place that's familiar?”

“No.”

“Why did you leave Dallas?”

She set the apple down and picked up another. “Because it was time.”

“Where's the baby's father, Laura?”

“Dead.” There wasn't even a shadow of emotion in her voice.

“Look at me.”

Her hands stilled as she lifted her gaze, and he saw that that much, at least, was true.

“You don't have any family who could help you?”

“No.”

“Didn't he?”

Her hand jerked again. This time the blade nicked her finger. The blood welled up as Gabe dropped his pad to take her hand. Once again she saw her face in the sweeping charcoal lines.

“I'll get you a bandage.”

“It's only a scratch,” she began, but he was already up and gone. When he returned he dabbed at the wound with antiseptic. Again Laura was baffled by the care he displayed. The sting came and went; his touch remained gentle.

He was kneeling in front of her, his brows drawn together as he studied the thin slice in her finger. “Keep this up and I'll think you're accident-prone.”

“And I'll think you're the original Good Samaritan.” She smiled when he looked up. “We'd both be wrong.”

Gabe merely slipped a bandage over the cut and took his seat again. “Turn your head a little, to the left.” When she complied, he picked up his pad and turned over a fresh sheet. “Why do they want the baby?”

Her head jerked around, but he continued to sketch.

“I'd like the profile, Laura.” His voice was mild, but the demand in it was very clear. “Turn your head again, and try to keep your chin up. Yes, like that.” He was silent as he formed her mouth with the charcoal. “The father's family wants the baby. I want to know why.”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did.” He had to hurry if he was going to capture that flare of anger in her eyes. “Let's not beat that point into the ground. Just tell me why.”