Gabriel's Angel

by Nora Roberts

  they were wet and brilliant.

  “To Michael,” she murmured, and after a sip she leaned down to kiss the baby’s cheek. Looking up, she smiled at Gabe. “Your father and I have something in the car for the baby. Would you get it?”

  Though they didn’t touch, and the glance lasted only a moment, Laura saw something pass between them. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  “We won’t eat her, for heaven’s sake,” Amanda muttered as her son left the room.

  With a laugh, Cliff rubbed her shoulder. There was something familiar about the gesture. It was Gabe’s, Laura realized. The same casual intimacy.

  “Have you been to San Francisco before?” he asked Laura, snapping her back to the present.

  “No, I— No. I’d like to offer you something, but I don’t know what we have.” Or even where the kitchen is, she thought miserably.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Cliff draped his arm comfortably over the back of the chair. “We don’t deserve anything after barging in on your first day home.”

  “Families don’t barge,” Amanda put in.

  “Ours does.” Grinning, he leaned over and chucked the baby under the chin again. “Smiled at me.”

  “Grimaced, you mean.” With a laugh of her own, Amanda kissed her husband’s cheek. “Granddad.”

  “I take it the cradle’s for Michael and the roses are for me.” Gabe strode in, carrying a dark pine cradle heaped with frilly sheets and topped with a spray of pink roses.

  “Oh, the flowers. I completely forgot. And no, they’re certainly not for you, but for Laura.” Amanda handed the baby to her husband and rose. Though she moved to rise, Laura saw Cliff tuck the baby easily in the crook of his arm. “We’ll need some water for these,” Amanda decided. “No, no, I’ll get it myself.”

  No one argued with her as she marched out of the room, carrying the flowers.

  “It’s very lovely,” Laura began, bending from the chair to run a finger along the smooth wood of the cradle. “We were just talking about the baby needing a bed of his own.”

  “The Bradley bed,” Cliff stated. “Fix those sheets, Gabe, and let’s see how he takes to it.”

  “This cradle’s a family tradition.” Obediently Gabe lifted out the extra sheets and smoothed on white linen. “My great-grandfather built it, and all the Bradley children have had their turn rocking in it.” He took the baby from his father. “Let’s see how you fit, old man.”

  Laura watched Gabe set the baby down and give the cradle a gentle push. Something seemed to break inside her. “Gabe, I can’t.”

  Crouched at her feet beside the cradle, he looked up. There was a dare in his eyes, a challenge, and, she was certain, a buried anger. “Can’t what?”

  “It isn’t right, it isn’t fair.” She drew the baby from the cradle into her arms. “They have to know.” She might have fled right then and there, but Amanda came back into the room holding a crystal vase filled with roses. Sensing tension, and intrigued by it, she continued in.

  “Where would you like these, Laura?”

  “I don’t know, I can’t— Gabe, please.”

  “I think they’ll look nice by the window,” she said mildly, then moved over to arrange them to her satisfaction. “Now, then, don’t you three gentlemen think you could find something to occupy yourselves while Laura and I have a little talk?”

  Panic leaping within, Laura looked from one to the other, then back at her husband. “Gabe, you have to tell them.”

  He took the baby and settled him on his shoulder. His eyes, very clear and still sparking with anger, met hers. “I already have.” Then he left her alone with his mother.

  Amanda settled herself on the sofa again. She crossed her legs and smoothed her skirts. “A pity there isn’t a fire. It’s still cool for this time of year.”

  “We haven’t had a chance—”

  “Oh, dear, don’t mind me.” She waved a hand vaguely at a chair. “Wouldn’t you rather sit?” When Laura did so without a word, she lifted a brow. “Are you always so amenable? I should certainly hope not, as I liked you better when you stuck your chin out at me.”

  Laura folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t realized Gabe had explained things to you. The way you were acting …” She let her words trail off. Then, when Amanda continued to wait patiently, she tried again. “I thought you believed that Michael was, well, biologically Gabe’s.”

  “Should that make such a big difference?”

  She was calm again, at least outwardly, and able to meet Amanda’s eyes levelly. “I would have expected it to, especially with a family like yours.”

  Amanda drew her brows together as she thought that through. “Shall I tell you that I’m acquainted with Lorraine Eagleton?” She saw the instant, overwhelming fear and backed up. She wasn’t often a tactful woman, but she wasn’t cruel. “We’ll save talk of her for another time. Right now, I think I should explain myself instead. I’m a pushy woman, Laura, but I don’t mind being pushed back.”

  “I’m not very good at that.”

  “Then you’ll have to learn, won’t you? We may be friends, or we may not, I can’t tell so soon, but I love my son. When he left all those months ago, I wasn’t sure I’d ever have him back. You, for whatever reason, brought him back, and for that I’m grateful.”

  “He would have come when he was ready.”

  “But he might not have come back whole. Let’s leave that.” Again, the vague gesture. “And get to the point. Your son. Gabe considers the child his. Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No hesitation there, I see.” Amanda smiled at her, and Laura was reminded of Gabe. “If Gabe considers Michael his son, and you consider Michael his son, why should Cliff and I feel differently? ”

  “Bloodlines.”

  “Let’s leave the Eagletons out of this for the time being,” Amanda said. Laura merely stared, surprised that the mark had been hit so directly. “If Gabe had been unable to have children and had adopted one, I would love it and think of it as my grandchild. So, don’t you think you should get past this nonsense and accept it?”

  “You make it sound very simple.”

  “It sounds to me as though your life’s been complicated enough.” Amanda picked up the glass of champagne she’d discarded before. “Do you have any objections to our being Michael’s grandparents?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “An honest woman.” Amanda sipped.

  “Do you have any objections to me being Gabe’s wife?”

  With the slightest of smiles, Amanda raised her glass to Laura. “I don’t know. So I suppose we’ll both have to wait and see. In the meantime, I’d hate to think that I’d be discouraged from seeing Gabe or Michael because we haven’t made up our minds about each other.”

  “No, of course not. I wouldn’t do that. Mrs. Bradley, no one’s ever been as kind or as generous with me as Gabe. I swear to you I won’t do anything to hurt him.”

  “Do you love him?”

  Uneasy, Laura cast a look toward the doorway. “We haven’t … Gabe and I haven’t talked about that. I needed help, and I think he needed to give it.”

  Pursing her lips, Amanda studied her glass. “I don’t believe that’s what I asked you.”

  The chin came up again. “That’s something I should discuss with Gabe before anyone else.”

  “You’re tougher than you look. Thank God for that.” Finishing off the sparkling beverage, she set down the empty glass. “I might just like you at that, Laura. Or, of course, we might end up detesting each other. But whatever is between the two of us doesn’t change the fact that Gabe has committed himself to you and the child. You’re family.” She sat back, lifting both brows, but inside she felt a faint twist of sympathy. “From the look on your face, that doesn’t thrill the life out of you.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not used to being in a family.”

  “You’ve had a very rough time, haven’t you?” There was compassio
n there, but not so much that it made Laura uncomfortable. Mentally Amanda made a note to do a little digging on the Eagletons.

  “I’m trying to put that behind me.”

  “I hope you succeed. Some things in the past need to be remembered. Others are best forgotten.”

  “Mrs. Bradley, may I ask you something?”

  “Yes. On the condition that after this question call me Amanda or Mandy or anything—except, please God, Mother Bradley.”

  “All right. Who was Michael named for?”

  Amanda’s gaze drifted to the empty cradle and lingered there. There was a softening, a saddening, in her face that compelled Laura to touch her hand. “My son, Gabe’s younger brother. He died just over a year ago.” With a long sigh, she rose. “It’s time we left you to settle in.”

  “Thank you for coming.” She hesitated because she was never quite sure what people expected. Then listening to her heart, she kissed Amanda’s cheek. “Thank you for the cradle. It means a great deal to me.”

  “And to me.” She brushed her hand over it before she left the room. “Clifton, aren’t you the one who said we shouldn’t stay more than a half hour?”

  His voice carried, muffled, from upstairs. Clucking her tongue, Amanda pulled on her gloves. “Always poking around in Gabe’s studio. The poor dear doesn’t know a Monet from a Picasso, but he loves to look over Gabe’s work.”

  “He did some beautiful things in Colorado. You must be so proud of him.”

  “More every day.” She heard her husband coming and glanced upstairs. “Do let me know if you want any help setting up the nursery or finding a good pediatrician. I also expect you’ll understand if I buy out the baby boutiques.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Not understand, then, but you’ll have to tolerate. Kiss your new daughter-in-law goodbye, Cliff.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.” Rather than the formal, meaningless kiss she was expecting, Laura received a hearty hug that left her dazed and smiling. “Welcome to the Bradleys, Laura.”

  “Thank you.” She had an urge to hug him back, to just throw her arms around his neck and breath in that nice, spicy aftershave she’d caught on his throat. Feeling foolish, she folded her hands instead. “I hope you’ll come back, maybe next week for dinner, when I’ve had a chance to find things.”

  “Cooks, too?” He pinched Laura’s cheek. “Nice work, Gabe.”

  When they were gone, she stood in the foyer, rubbing a finger over her cheek. “They’re very nice.”

  “Yes, I’ve always thought so.”

  The sting was still in his voice, so she steadied herself and looked at him. “I owe you an apology.”

  “Forget it.” He started to stride back into the library, then stopped and turned around. He’d be damned if he’d forget it. “Did you think I would lie to them about Michael? That I would have to?”

  She accepted his anger without flinching. “Yes.”

  He opened his mouth, rage boiling on his tongue. Her answer had him shutting it again. “Well, you shoot straight from the hip.”

  “I did think so, and I’m glad I was wrong. Your mother was very kind to me, and your father.

  “What about my father?”

  He hugged me, she wanted to say, but she didn’t believe he could possibly understand how much that had affected her. “He’s so much like you. I’ll try not to disappoint them, or you.”

  “You’d do better not to disappoint yourself.” Gabe dragged a hand through his hair. It fell in a tumble of dark blond disorder, the way she liked it best. “Damn it, Laura, you’re not on trial here. You’re my wife, this is your home, and for better or worse the Bradleys are your family.”

  She set her teeth. “You’ll have to give me time to get used to it,” she said evenly. “The only families I’ve ever known barely tolerated me. I’m through with that.” She swung away to start up the stairs, then called over her shoulder, “And I’m painting Michael’s nursery myself.”

  Not certain whether to laugh or swear, Gabe stood at the foot of the stairs and stared after her.

  Chapter Seven

  Laura brushed the glossy white enamel paint over the baseboard. In her other hand she held a stiff piece of cardboard as a guard against smearing any of the white over the yellow walls she’d already finished.

  On the floor in the far corner was a portable radio that was tuned to a station that played bouncy rock. She’d kept the volume low so that she could hear Michael when he woke. It was the same radio Gabe had kept on the kitchen counter in the cabin.

  She wasn’t sure which pleased her more, the way the nursery was progressing or the ease with which she could bend and crouch. She’d even been able to use part of her hospital fund to buy a couple of pairs of slacks in her old size. They might still be a tad snug in the waist, but she was optimistic.

  She wished the rest of her life would fall into order as easily.

  He was still angry with her. With a shrug, Laura dipped her brush into the paint can again. Gabe had a temper, he had moods. He had certainly never attempted to deny or hide that. And the truth was, she’d been wrong not to trust him to do the right thing. So she’d apologized. She couldn’t let his continuing coolness bother her. But, of course, it did.

  They were strangers here, in a way that they had never been strangers in the little cabin in Colorado. It wasn’t the house, though a part of her still blamed the size and the glamour of it. Before, the simple mechanics of space had required them to share, to grow close, to depend on each other. Being depended on had become important to Laura, even if it had only been to provide a cup of coffee at the right time. Now, beyond her responsibilities to Michael, there was little for her to do. She and Gabe could spend hours under the same roof and hardly know each other existed.

  But it wasn’t walls and floors and windows that made the difference. It was quite simply the difference—the difference between them. She was still Laura Malone, from the wrong side of the tracks, the same person who had been moved and shuffled from house to house, without ever being given the chance to really live there. The same person who had been handed from family to family without ever being given the chance to really belong.

  And he was … Her laugh was a bit wistful. He was Gabriel Bradley, a man who had known his place from the moment he’d been born. A man who would never wonder if he’d have the same place tomorrow.

  That was what she wanted for Michael, only that. The money, the name, the big, sprawling house with the stained-glass windows and the graceful terraces, didn’t matter. Belonging did. Because she wanted it, was determined to have it for her son, she was willing to wait to belong herself. To Gabe.

  The only time they were able to pull together was when Michael was involved. Her lips curved then. He loved the baby. There could be no doubt about that. It wasn’t pity or obligation that had him crouching beside the cradle or walking the floor at three in the morning. He was a man capable of great love, and he had given it unhesitatingly to Michael. Gabe was attentive, interested, gentle and involved. When it came to Michael.

  It was only with her, when they had to deal with each other one on one, that things became strained.

  They didn’t touch. Though they lived in the same house, slept in the same bed, they didn’t touch, except in the most casual and impersonal of ways. As a family they had gone out to choose all the things Michael would need—the crib and other nursery furniture, blankets, a windup swing that played a lullaby, soft stuffed animals that Michael would undoubtedly ignore for months. It had been easy, even delightful, to discuss high chairs and playpens and decide together what would suit. Laura had never expected to be able to give her son so much or to be able to share in that giving.

  But when they’d come home the strain had returned.

  She was being a fool, Laura told herself. She’d been given a home, protection and care, and, most of all, a kind and loving father for her son. Wishing for more was what had always led her to disappointment be
fore.

  But she wished he would smile at her again—at her, not at Michael’s mother, not at the subject of his painting.

  Perhaps it was best that they remained as they were, polite friends with a common interest. She wasn’t entirely sure how she would manage when the time came for him to turn to her as a woman. The time would come, his desire was there, and he was too physical a man to share the bed with her without fully sharing it much longer.

  Her experience with lovemaking had taught her that man demanded and woman submitted. He wouldn’t have to love her, or even hold her in affection, to need her. God, no one knew better how little affection, how little caring, there could be in a marriage bed. A man like Gabe would have many demands, and loving him as she did she would give. And the cycle she’d finally managed to break would begin again.

  Gabe watched her from the doorway. Something was wrong, very wrong. He could see the turmoil on her face, could see it in the set of her shoulders. It seemed that the longer they were here the less she relaxed. She pretended well, but it was only pretense.

  It infuriated him, and the harder he held on to his temper the more infuriated he became. He hadn’t so much as raised his voice to