Gabriel's Angel

by Nora Roberts

  compliance was the strength she’d always wanted to have? She had to believe that and, if she did, to act on it.

  Loving Gabe didn’t mean, couldn’t mean, that she would sit quietly by while he made decisions for her. It was time to take a stand.

  Rising, she walked out of the empty nursery and started down the hall. With each step her resolve wavered and had to be shored up again. At the door to his studio, she hesitated again, rubbing the heel of her hand on her chest, where the ache of uncertainty lodged. Taking one last breath, she opened the door and walked in.

  He was by the long bank of windows, a brush in his hand, working on one of the paintings that had been stacked half-finished against the wall of the cabin. She remembered it. It was a snow scene, very stark and lonely and somehow appealing. The whites and cold blues and silvers gave a sense of challenge.

  Laura was glad of it. A sense of challenge was precisely what she needed.

  He hadn’t heard her come in, so intent was he on his work. There were no sweeping strokes or bold slashes now, only a delicacy. He was adding details so minute, so exact, that she could almost hear the winter wind.

  “Gabe?” It was amazing how much courage it could take to say a name.

  He stopped immediately, and when he turned the annoyance on his face was very apparent. Interruptions were never tolerated here. Living alone, he hadn’t had to tolerate them.

  “What is it?” He clipped the words off, and he didn’t set down his brush or move from the painting. It was obvious that he intended to continue exactly where he’d left off the moment he’d nudged her out of his way.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  She nearly said yes, but then she brought herself up short. “No.” She left the door open in case the baby should cry out and walked to the center of the room.

  Her stomach twisted, knotted. Her chin came up. “Or, if it can, I don’t want it to.”

  He lifted a brow. He’d heard that tone in her voice only a handful of times in the weeks they’d been together. “All right, but make it fast, will you? I want to finish this.”

  Her temper flared too quickly to surprise her. “Fine, then, I’ll sum it up in one sentence. If I’m going to be your wife, I want you to treat me like one.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She was too angry to see that he was stunned, and too angry to recognize her own shock at her words. “No, you don’t. You’ve never begged anyone’s pardon in your life. You don’t have to. You do exactly what suits you. If that means being kind, you can be the kindest man I’ve ever known. If it means being arrogant, you take that just as far.”

  With deliberate care, he set his brush down. “If there’s a point to this, Laura, I’m missing it.”

  “Do you want me or don’t you?”

  He only stared at her. If she continued to stand in the pool of light, her eyes dark and defiant, her cheeks flushed with color, he might beg. “That’s the point?” he said steadily.

  “You tell me you want me, then you ignore me. You kiss me, then you walk away.” She dragged a hand through her hair. When her fingers tangled with the ribbon that held it back, she tugged it out in annoyance. Pale and fragile, her hair fell around her shoulders. “I realize the main reason we’re married is because of Michael, but I want to know where I stand. Am I to be a guest here who’s alternately indulged and ignored, or am I to be your wife?”

  “You are my wife.” With his own temper rising, he pushed himself off his stool. “And it’s not a matter of me ignoring you. I’ve simply got a lot of work to catch up on.”

  “You don’t work twenty-four hours a day. At night—” Her courage began to fail. She thrust out the rest of the words. “Why won’t you make love with me? ”

  It was fortunate that he’d set his brush down, or else he might have snapped it in half. “Do you expect performance on demand, Laura?”

  Embarrassed color flooded her cheeks. That had once been expected of her, and it shamed her more than she could say to think she’d demanded it. “No. I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I only thought it was best that you know how I felt.” She took a step back, then turned to go. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “Laura.” He preferred, much preferred, her anger to the humiliation he’d seen. And caused. “Wait.” He started after her when she whirled around.

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “All right.” There was still fire in her, he saw, and he wasn’t entirely sure he should be relieved. “I’ll just give you a more honest explanation.”

  “It isn’t necessary.” She started toward the door again, but he grabbed her arm and yanked her around. He saw it and cursed at it—the instant fear that leaped into her eyes.

  “Damn it, don’t look at me like that. Don’t ever look at me like that.” Without his realizing it, his fingers had tightened on her arm. When she winced, he released her, dropping his hands to his side. “I can’t make myself over for you, Laura. I’ll yell when I need to yell and fight when I need to fight, but I told you once before, and I’ll say it again. I don’t hit women.”

  The fear had risen, a bitter bile in her throat. It was detestable. She waited for it to pass before she spoke. “I don’t expect you to, but I can’t make myself over for you, either. Even if I could, I don’t know what you want. I know I should be grateful to you.”

  “The hell with that.”

  “I should be grateful,” she continued, calm again. “And I am, but I’ve found out something about myself this past year. I’ll never be anyone’s doormat ever again. Not even yours.”

  “Do you think that’s what I want?”

  “I can’t know what you want, Gabe, until you know yourself.” She’d gone this far, Laura told herself, and she would finish. “Right from the beginning you expected me to trust you. But after everything we’ve been through you still haven’t been able to make yourself trust me. If we’re ever going to be able to make this marriage work you’re going to have to stop looking at me as a good deed and start seeing me as a person.”

  “You have no idea how I see you.”

  “No, I probably don’t.” She managed a smile. “Maybe when I do it’ll be easier for both of us.” She heard the baby crying and glanced down the hall. “He doesn’t seem to be able to settle today.”

  “I’ll get him in a minute. He can’t be hungry again. Wait.” If she could be honest, he told himself, then so could he. He put a hand on her arm to hold her there. “It’s easy enough to clear up one misunderstanding. I haven’t made love with you, not because I haven’t wanted to, but because it’s too soon.”

  “Too soon?”

  “For you.”

  She started to shake her head. Then his meaning became clear. “Gabe, Michael’s over four weeks old.”

  “I know how old he is. I was there.” He held up a hand before she could speak. “Damn it, Laura, I saw what you went through. How hard it was on you. However I feel, it simply isn’t possible for me to act on it until I know you’re fully recovered.”

  “I had a baby, not a terminal illness.” She let out a huff of breath, but she found it wasn’t annoyance or even amusement she felt. It was pleasure, the rare and wonderful pleasure of being cared for. “I feel fine. I am fine. In fact, I’ve probably never been better in my life.”

  “Regardless of how you feel, you’ve just had a baby. From what I’ve read—”

  “You’ve read about this, too?”

  That infuriated him—that wide-eyed wonder and the trace of humor in her eyes. “I don’t intend to touch you,” he said stiffly, “until I’m sure you’re fully recovered.”

  “What do you want, a doctor’s certificate?”

  “More or less.” He started to touch her cheek, then thought better of it. “I’ll see to Michael.”

  He left her standing in the hall, unsure whether she was angry or amused or delighted. All that she was sure of was that she was feeling, and her fe
elings were all for Gabe.

  Chapter Eight

  “I can’t believe how fast he’s growing.” Feeling very grandmotherly but sporting a sleek new hairstyle, Amanda sat in the bentwood rocker in Michael’s new nursery and cuddled the baby.

  “He’s making up for being premature.” Still not quite certain how she felt about her mother-in-law, Laura continued to fold tiny clothes that were fresh from the laundry. “We had our checkup today, and the doctor said Michael was healthy as a horse.” She pressed a sleeper to her cheek. It was soft, almost as soft as her son’s skin. “I wanted to thank you for recommending Dr. Sloane. She’s wonderful.”

  “Good. But I don’t need a pediatrician to tell me this child’s healthy. Look at this grip.” Amanda chuckled as Michael curled his fingers around hers, but she stopped short of allowing him to suck on her sapphire ring. “He has your eyes, you know.”

  “Does he?” Delighted, Laura moved to stand over them. The baby smelled of talc—Amanda of Paris. “It’s too early to tell, I know, but I’d hoped he did.”

  “No doubt about it.” Amanda continued to rock as she studied her daughter-in-law. “And what about your checkup? How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” Laura thought about the slip of paper she’d tucked into the top drawer of her dresser.

  “Looking a bit tired to me.” There wasn’t any sympathy in the voice; it was brusque and matter-of-fact. “Haven’t you done anything about getting some help?”

  Laura’s spine straightened automatically. “I don’t need any help.”

  “That’s absurd, of course. With a house this size, a demanding husband and a new baby, you can use all the help you can get, but suit yourself.” Michael began to coo, pleasing Amanda. “Talk to Gran, sweetheart. Tell Gran just how it is.” The baby responded with more gurgles. “Listen to that. Before long you’ll have plenty to say for yourself. Just make sure ‘My gran’s beautiful’ is one of the first. There’s a sweet boy.” She dropped a kiss on his brow before looking up at Laura. “I’d say a change is in order here, and I’m more than happy to leave that to you.” With what she considered a grandmother’s privilege, Amanda handed the wet baby to Laura. She continued to sit as Laura took Michael to the changing table.

  There was a great deal she’d have liked to say. Amanda was accustomed to voicing her opinions loud and clear—and, if necessary, beating anyone within reach over the head with it. It chafed a bit to hold back, but she’d learned enough in the past few weeks about the Eagletons and about Laura’s life with them. Treading carefully, she tried a new tactic.

  “Gabe’s spending a lot of time at the gallery.”

  “Yes. I think he’s nearly decided to go ahead with a new showing.” Almost drowning in love, Laura leaned over to nuzzle Michael’s neck.

  “Have you been there?”

  “The gallery? No, I haven’t.”

  Amanda tapped a rounded, coral-tipped nail on the arm of the rocker. “I’d think you’d be interested in Gabe’s work.”

  “Of course I am.” She held Michael over her head, and he began to bubble and smile. “I just haven’t thought it wise to take Michael in and interrupt.”

  It was on the tip of Amanda’s tongue to remind Laura that Michael had grandparents who would delight in having him to themselves for a few hours. Again she bit the words back. “I’m sure Gabe wouldn’t mind. He’s devoted to the boy.”

  “Yes, he is.” Laura retied the ribbons on Michael’s pale blue booties. “But I also know he needs some time to organize his work, his career.” She handed her son a small cloth bunny, and he stuck it happily in his mouth. “Do you know why Gabe is hesitating about a showing?”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “No, I—I didn’t want to pressure him about it.”

  “A little pressure might be just what he needs.”

  Frowning, Laura turned. “Why?”

  “It has to do with Michael, my son Michael. I’d prefer it if you asked Gabe the rest.”

  “They were close?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. She’d learned it hurt less to remember than to try to forget. “They were very close, though they were very different. He was devastated when Michael was killed. I believe the time in the mountains helped Gabe get back his art. And I believe you and the baby helped him get back his heart.”

  “If that’s true, I’m glad. He’s helped me more than I can ever repay.”

  Amanda gave Laura an even look. “Payments aren’t necessary between a husband and wife.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Are you happy?”

  Stalling, Laura laid the baby in the crib and wound the musical mobile so that he could shake his fists and kick at it. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “That was my next question.”

  “I’m very happy.” She went back to folding and storing baby clothes. “It was nice of you to visit, Amanda. I know how busy your schedule is.”

  “Don’t think you can politely show me out the door before I’m ready to go.”

  Laura turned and saw the faint, amused smile on Amanda’s lips. Bad manners were enough out of character for her to make her flush. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I don’t expect for you to be comfortable with me yet. I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with you, either.”

  A bit more relaxed, Laura smiled back. “I’m sure you’re always comfortable. I envy that about you. And I am sorry.”

  Amanda brushed aside the apology and rose to roam the room. She liked what her daughter-in-law had done here. It was a bright, cheerful place, not overly fussy, and just traditional enough to make her remember the nursery she had set up herself so many years before. There were the scents of powder and fresh linen.

  A loving place, she thought. She knew she wouldn’t have wanted any more for her son. It was very obvious to her that Laura had untapped stores of love.

  “This is a charming room. I think so every time I step into it.” Amanda patted the head of the four-foot lavender teddy bear. “But you can’t hide here forever.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” But she did.

  “You said you’d never been to San Francisco, and now you’re here. Have you gone to a museum, to the theater? Have you strolled down to Fisherman’s Wharf, ridden a streetcar, explored Chinatown, any of the things a newcomer would surely do?”

  Defensive now, Laura spoke coolly. “No, I haven’t. But it’s only been a few weeks.”

  It was time, Amanda decided, to stop circling and get to the point. “Let’s deal woman-to-woman a moment, Laura. Forget the fact that I’m Gabe’s mother. We’re alone. Whatever is said here doesn’t have to go any further.”

  Laura’s palms were starting to sweat. She brushed them dry on the thighs of her slacks. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Whatever needs to be said.” When Laura remained silent, Amanda nodded. “All right, I’ll begin. You’ve had some miserable spots in your life, some of them tragic. Gabe gave us the bare essentials, but I learned a good deal more by knowing who and what to ask.” Amanda sat down again and crossed her legs. She didn’t miss the flash in Laura’s eyes. “Wait until I’ve finished. Then you can be as offended as you like.”

  “I’m not offended,” Laura said stiffly. “But I don’t see the purpose in discussing what used to be.”

  “Until you look what used to be square in the face, you won’t be able to go on with what might be.” She tried to keep her voice brisk, but even her solid composure wavered. “I know that Tony Eagleton abused you, and that his parents overlooked what was monstrous, even criminal, behavior. My heart breaks for you.”

  “Please.” Her voice was strangled as she shook her head. “Don’t.”

  “No sympathy allowed, Laura, even woman-to-woman?”

  Again she shook her head, afraid to accept it and, more, to need it. “I can’t bear to think back on it. And I can’t stand pity.”

  “Sympathy and pity are entirely
different things.”

  “All that’s behind me. I’m a different person than I was then.”

  “I have no way of agreeing, as I didn’t know you before. But I can say that anyone who stood on her own all these months must have great reserves of strength and determination. Isn’t it time you used them, and fought back?”

  “I have fought back.”

  “You’ve taken sanctuary, a much-needed one. I won’t argue that running as you did took courage and stamina. But there comes a time to take a stand.”

  Hadn’t she said that to herself time and time again? Hadn’t she hated herself for only saying it? She looked at her son, who gurgled and reached for the colorful birds circling over his head.

  “And what? Go to court, to the press, drag the whole ugly mess out for everyone to gawk at?”

  “If necessary.” Her voice took on a tone of pride that carried to all corners of the room. “The Bradleys aren’t afraid of scandal.”