Gabriel's Angel (4 page)

Her hands were gripped tightly together, but there was as much fear as fury in her voice. “I don't have to tell you anything.”

“No.” He felt a thrill of excitement—and, incredibly, one of desire—as he stroked the charcoal over the pad. The desire puzzled him. More, it worried him. Pushing it aside, he concentrated on prying answers from her. “But since I'm not going to let it drop, you may as well.”

Because he knew how to look, and to see, he caught the subtle play of emotions over her face. Fear, fury, frustration. It was the fear that continued to pull him over the line.

“Do you think I'd bundle you and your baby off to them, whoever the hell they are? Use your head. I haven't got any reason to.”

He'd thought he would shout at her. He'd have sworn he was on the verge of doing so. Then, in a move that surprised them both, he reached out to take her hand. He was more surprised than she to feel her fingers curl instinctively into his. When she looked at him, emotions he'd thought unavailable to him turned over in his chest.

“You asked me to help you last night.”

Her eyes softened with gratitude, but her voice was firm. “You can't.”

“Maybe I can't, and maybe I won't.” But as much as it went against the grain of what he considered his character, he wanted to. “I'm not a Samaritan, Laura, good or otherwise, and I don't like to add someone else's problems to my own. But the fact is, you're here, and I don't like playing in the dark.”

She was tired, tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of trying to cope entirely on her own. She needed someone. When his hand was covering hers and his eyes were calm and steady on hers, she could almost believe it was him she needed.

“The baby's father is dead,” she began, picking her way carefully. She would tell him enough to satisfy him, she hoped, but not all. “His parents want the baby. They want . . . I don't know, to replace, to take back, something that they've lost. To . . . to ensure the lineage. I'm sorry for them, but the baby isn't their child.” There was that look again, fierce, protective. A mother tiger shielding her cub. “The baby's mine.”

“No one would argue with that. Why should you have to run?”

“They have a lot of money, a lot of power.”

“So?”

“So?” Angry again, she pushed away. The contact that had been so soothing for both of them was broken. “It's easy to say that when you come from the same world. You've always had. You've never had to want and to wonder. No one takes from people like you, Gabe. They wouldn't dare. You don't know what it's like to have your life depend on the whims of others.”

That she had was becoming painfully obvious. “Having money doesn't mean you can take whatever you want.”

“Doesn't it?” She turned to him, her face set and cold. “You wanted a place to paint, somewhere you could be alone and be left alone. Did you have to think twice about how to arrange it? Did you have to plan or save or make compromises, or did you just write a check and move in?”

His eyes were narrowed as he rose to face her. “Buying a cabin is a far cry from taking a baby from its mother.”

“Not to some. Property is property, after all.”

“You're being ridiculous.”

“And you're being naive.”

His temper wavered, vying with amusement. “That's a first. Sit down, Laura, you make me nervous when you swing around.”

“I'm not going to break,” she muttered, but she eased into a chair. “I'm strong, I take care of myself. I had an examination just before I left Dallas, and the baby and I are fine. Better than fine. In a few weeks I'm going to check into a hospital in Denver and have my baby. Then we're going to disappear.”

He thought about it. He almost believed the woman sitting across from him could accomplish it. Then he remembered how lost and frightened she'd been the night before. There was no use pointing out the strain she'd been under and its consequences for her. But he knew now what button to push.

“Do you think it's fair to the baby to keep running?”

“No, it's horribly, horribly unfair. But it would be worse to stop and let them take him.”

“Why are you so damn sure they would, or could?”

“Because they told me. They explained what they thought was best for me and the child, and they offered to pay me.” The venom came into her voice at that, black and bitter. “They offered to give me money for my baby, and when I refused they threatened to simply take him.” She didn't want to relive that dreadful, terrifying scene. With an effort she cleared it from her mind.

He felt a swift and dark disgust for these people he didn't even know. He buried it with a shake of his head and tried to reason with her. “Laura, whatever they want, or intend, they couldn't just take what isn't theirs. No court would just take an infant from its mother without good cause.”

“I can't win on my own.” She closed her eyes for a moment because she wanted badly to lay her head down and weep out all the fear and anguish. “I can't fight them on their own ground, Gabe, and I won't put my child through the misery of custody suits and court battles, the publicity, the gossip and speculation. A child needs a home, and love and security. I'm going to see to it that mine has all of those things. Whatever I have to do, wherever I have to go.”

“I won't argue with you about what's right for you and the baby, but sooner or later you're going to have to face this.”

“When the time comes, I will.”

He rose and paced over to the fire to light another cigarette. He should drop it, just leave it—her—alone and let her follow her own path. It was none of his business. Not his problem. He swore, because somehow, the moment she'd taken his arm to cross the road, she'd become his business.

“Got any money?”

“Some. Enough to pay a doctor, and a bit more.”

He was asking for trouble. He knew it. But for the first time in almost a year he felt as though something really mattered. Sitting on the edge of the hearth, he blew out smoke and studied her.

“I want to paint you,” he said abruptly. “I'll pay you the standard model's fee, plus room and board.”

“I can't take your money.”

“Why not? You seem to think I have too much for my own good, anyway.”

Shame brought color flooding into her cheeks. “I didn't mean it—not like that.”

He brushed her words aside. “Whatever you meant, the fact remains that I want to paint you. I work at my own pace, so you'll have to be patient. I'm not good at compromise, but owing to your condition I'm willing to make some concessions and stop when you're tired or uncomfortable.”

It was tempting, very tempting. She tried to forget that she'd traded on her looks before and concentrate on what the extra money would mean to the baby. “I'd like to agree, but the fact is, your work is well-known. If the portrait was shown, they'd recognize me.”

“True enough, but that doesn't mean I'd be obliged to tell anyone where we'd met or when. You have my word that no one will ever trace you through me.”

She was silent for a moment, warring with herself. “Would you come here?”

Hesitating only a moment, he tossed his cigarette into the fire. He rose, walked over, then crouched in front of her chair. She, too, had learned how to read a face. “Your word?”

“Yes.”

Some risks were worth taking. She held both hands out to his, putting her trust into them.

***

With the continuing fall of snow, it was a day without a sunrise, a sunset, a twilight. The day stayed dim from morning on, and then night closed in without fanfare. And the snow stopped.

Laura might not have noticed if she hadn't been standing by the window. The flakes didn't appear to have tapered off, but to have stopped as if someone had thrown a switch. There was a vague sense of disappointment, the same she remembered feeling as a young girl when a storm had ended. On impulse, she bundled herself in her boots and coat and stepped out onto the porch.

Though Gabe had shoveled it off twice during the day, the snow came almost to her knees. Her boots sank in and disappeared. She had the sensation of being swallowed up by a soft, benign cloud. She wrapped her arms around her chest and breathed in the thin, cold air.

There were no stars. There was no moon. The porch light tossed its glow only a few feet. All she could see was white. All she could hear was silence. To some the high blanket of snow might have been a prison, something to chafe against. To Laura it was a fortress.

She'd decided to trust someone other than herself again. Standing there, soaking up the pure dark, the pure quiet, she knew that the decision had been the right one.

He wasn't a gentle man, or even a contented man, but he was a kind one, and, she was certain, a man of his word. If they were using each other, her for sanctuary, him for art, it was a fair exchange. She needed to rest. God knew she needed whatever time she could steal to rest and recover.

She hadn't told him how tired she was, how much effort it took for her just to keep on her feet for most of the day. Physically the pregnancy had been an easy one. She was strong, she was healthy. Otherwise she would have crumpled long before this. But the past few months had drained every ounce of her emotional and mental reserves. The cabin, the mountains, the man, were going to give her time to build those reserves back up again.

She was going to need them.

He didn't understand what the Eagletons could do, what they could accomplish with their money and their power. She'd already seen what they were capable of. Hadn't they paid and maneuvered to have their son's mistakes glossed over? Hadn't they managed, with a few phone calls and a few favors called in, to have his death, and the death of the woman with him, turned from the grisly waste it had been into a tragic accident?

There had never been any mention in the press about alcohol and adultery. As far as the public was concerned, Anthony Eagleton, heir to the Eagleton fortune, had died as a result of a slippery road and faulty steering, and not his criminally careless drunk driving. The woman who had died with him had been turned from his mistress into his secretary.

The divorce proceedings that Laura had started had been erased, shredded, negated. No shadow of scandal would fall over the memory of Anthony Eagleton or over the family name. She'd been pressured into playing the shocked and grieving widow.

She had been shocked. She had grieved. Not for what had been lost—not on a lonely stretch of road outside of Boston—but for what had been lost so soon after her wedding night.

There was no use looking back, Laura reminded herself. Now, especially now, she had to look forward. Whatever had happened between her and Tony, they had created a life. And that life was hers to protect and to cherish.

With the spring snow glistening and untouched as far as she could see, she could believe that everything would work out for the best.

“What are you thinking?”

Startled, she turned toward Gabe with a little laugh. “I didn't hear you.”

“You weren't listening.” He pulled the door closed behind him. “It's cold out here.”

“It feels wonderful. How much is there, do you think?”

“Three and a half, maybe four feet.”

“I've never seen so much snow before. I can't imagine it ever melting and letting the grass grow.”

His hands were bare. He tucked them in the pockets of his jacket. “I came here in November and there was already snow. I've never seen it any other way.”

She tried to imagine that, living in a place where the snow never melted. No, she thought, she would need the spring, the buds, the green, the promise. “How long will you stay?”

“I don't know. I haven't thought about it.”

She turned to smile at him, though she felt a touch of envy at his being so unfettered. “All those paintings. You'll need to have a show.”

“Sooner or later.” He moved his shoulders, suddenly restless. San Francisco, his family, his memories, seemed very far away. “No hurry.”

“Art needs to be seen and appreciated,” she murmured, thinking out loud. “It shouldn't be hidden up here.”

“And people should?”

“Do you mean me, or is that what you're doing, too? Hiding?”

“I'm working,” he said evenly.

“A man like you could work anywhere, I think. You'd just elbow people aside and go to it.”

He had to grin. “Maybe, but now and again I like to have some space. Once you make a name, people tend to look over your shoulder.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad you came here, for whatever reason.” She brushed the hair away from her face. “I should go back in, but I don't want to.” She was smiling as she leaned back against the post.

His eyes narrowed. When he cupped her face in his hands, his fingers were cold and firm. “There's something about your eyes,” he murmured, turning her face fully into the light. “They say everything a man wants a woman to say, and a great deal he doesn't. You have old eyes, Laura. Old, sad eyes.”

She said nothing, not because her mind was empty, but because it was suddenly filled with so many things, so many thoughts, so many wishes. She hadn't thought she could feel anything like this again, and certainly not this longing for a man. Her skin warmed with it, even though his touch was cool, almost disinterested.

The sexual tug surprised her, even embarrassed her a little. But it was the emotional pull, the slow, hard drag of it, that kept her silent.

“I wonder what you've seen in your life.”

As if of their own volition, his fingers stroked her cheek. They were long, slender, artistic, but hard and strong. Even so, he might merely have been familiarizing himself with the shape of her face, with the texture of her skin. An artist with his subject.