Gabriel's Angel

by Roberts, Nora

  He turned, brushed against her belly and was amazed at the wave of discomfort he felt. And the tug of fascination. “Here’s the coffee,” he mumbled, handing her a fresh can.

  “Got a pot?”

  It was in the sink, which was filled with water that had once been sudsy. He had been trying to soak out the stains from the last time he’d used it. He moved to get it, bumped her again and stepped back.

  “Why don’t you let me take care of it?” she suggested. “I’ll put this stuff away and start the coffee, and you can call a tow truck.”

  “Fine. There’s milk. Fresh.”

  She smiled. “I don’t suppose you have any tea.”

  “No.”

  “Milk’s fine, then. Thank you.”

  When he left, Laura busied herself in the kitchen. It was too small for it to be complicated. She used her own system in storing the goods since it appeared Gabe had none. She’d only emptied the first bag when he reappeared in the doorway.

  “Phone’s out.”

  “Out?”

  “Dead. We lose service a lot when there’s a storm.”

  “Oh.” Laura stood holding a can of soup. “Is it usually out for long?”

  “Depends. Sometimes a couple hours, sometimes a week.”

  She lifted a brow. Then she realized that he was perfectly serious. “I guess that puts me in your hands, Mr. Bradley.”

  He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “In that case, you’d better call me Gabe.”

  Laura frowned down at the can in her hand. When things got bad, you made the best of them. “Want some soup?”

  “Yeah. I’ll, ah … put your things in the bedroom.”

  Laura simply nodded, then began to search for a can opener.

  She was a piece of work, all right, Gabe decided as he carried Laura’s suitcase into his room. Not that he was an expert when it came to women, but he wasn’t what anyone would have called a novice, either. She hadn’t batted an eye when he’d told her that the phone was dead and they were effectively cut off from the outside world. Or, to put it more precisely, that she was cut off from everyone but him.

  Gabe glanced into the streaked mirror over his battered dresser. As far as he knew, no one had ever considered him harmless before. A quick, cocky smile flashed over his face. He hadn’t always been harmless, when it came right down to it.

  This, of course, was an entirely different situation.

  Under other circumstances he might have entertained some healthy fantasies about his unexpected guest. That face. There was something haunting, something indefinable, about that kind of beauty. When a man looked at it, he automatically began to wonder and imagine. Even if she hadn’t been carrying a child, the fantasies would have remained only that. Fantasies. He’d never been enthusiastic about flings and one-night stands, and he certainly wasn’t in any shape for a relationship. Celibacy had been the order of the day for the last few months. The desire to paint had finally seduced him again. Gabe needed no other love affair.

  But as for more practical matters, he did have a guest, a lone woman who was very pregnant—and very secretive. He hadn’t missed the fact that she’d told him only her first name and hadn’t volunteered any information about who she was and where and why she was traveling. Since it was unlikely that she’d robbed a bank or stolen secrets for terrorists, he wouldn’t press too hard right now.

  But, given the strength of the storm and the seclusion of the cabin, they were likely to be together for a few days. He was going to find out more about the calm and mysterious Laura.

  What was she going to do? Laura stared at the empty plate in her hand and saw a hint of her reflection. How could she get to Denver or Los Angeles or Seattle—or any huge, swallowing city that was far enough away from Boston—when she was trapped here? If only she hadn’t felt that urgent need to move on this morning.

  If she’d stayed in that quiet little motel room another day she might still have had some control over what was happening.

  Instead, she was here with a stranger. Not just any stranger, Laura reminded herself. Gabriel Bradley, artist—wealthy, respected artist from a wealthy, respected family. But he hadn’t recognized her. Laura was certain of that. At least he had yet to recognize her. What would happen when he did, when he found out who she was running from? For all she knew, the Eagletons might be close family friends of the Bradleys. The gesture of her hand over the mound of her stomach was automatic and protective.

  They wouldn’t take her baby. No matter how much money and how much power they wielded, they wouldn’t take her baby. And if she could manage it they would never find her or the child.

  Setting down the plate, she turned her attention to the window. How odd it was to look out and see nothing. It gave her a nice, settled feeling to know that no one could see in, either. She was effectively curtained off from everyone. Or nearly everyone, she corrected, thinking again of Gabe.

  Perhaps the storm had been a blessing. When there was no choice, she found it best to look on the bright side. No one could follow her trail in this kind of weather. And who would think of looking for her in some tiny, out-of-the-way cabin in the mountains? It felt safe. She would cling to that.

  She heard him moving around in the next room, heard the sound of his boots on the hardwood, the thud of a log being added to the fire. After so many months alone she found even the sound of another human being a comfort.

  “Mr. Bradley … Gabe?” She stepped through the doorway to see him adjusting the screen in front of the fire. “Could you clear off a table?”

  “Clear off a table?”

  “So we could eat … sitting down.”

  “Yeah.”

  She disappeared again while he tried to figure out what to do with the paints, brushes, canvas stretchers and general disorder on the picnic table that had once served as a dining area. Annoyed at having his space compromised, he spread his equipment throughout the room.

  “I made some sandwiches, too.” Using a bent cookie sheet as a makeshift tray, she carried in bowls and plates and cups. Embarrassed and edgy, Gabe snatched it from her.

  “You shouldn’t be carrying heavy things.”

  Her brows lifted. Surprise came first. No one had ever pampered her. And certainly her life, which had rarely been easy, had been hardest over the last seven months. Then gratitude came, and she smiled. “Thanks, but I’m careful.”

  “If you were careful, you’d be in your own bed with your feet up and not snowbound with me.”

  “Exercise is important.” But she sat and let him set out the dishes. “And so’s food.” With her eyes closed, she breathed in the scents. Hot, simple, fortifying. “I hope I didn’t put too much of a dent in your supplies, but once I got started I couldn’t stop.”

  Gabe picked up half a sandwich that was thick with cheese, crisp bacon and sliced hothouse tomatoes. “I’m not complaining.” The truth was, he’d gotten into the habit of eating right out of the pan over the kitchen sink. Hot food made with more care than hurry tasted one hell of a lot better from a plate.

  “I’d like to pay you back, for the bed and the food.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He scooped up clam chowder while he studied her. She had a way of sticking out her chin that made him think of pride and will. It made an interesting contrast with the creamy skin and the slender neck.

  “That’s kind of you, but I prefer paying my own way.”

  “This isn’t the Hilton.” She wore no jewelry, he noted, not even a plain gold band on her finger. “You cooked the meal, so we’ll call it even.”

  She wanted to argue—her pride wanted to argue—but the simple truth was, she had very little cash, except for the baby fund she’d scrupulously set aside in the lining of her suitcase. “I’m very grateful.” She sipped at the milk, though she detested it. The scent of his coffee was rich and forbidden. “Have you been here long, in Colorado?”

  “Six months, seven, I guess.”

  That gave her h
ope. The timing was good, almost too good. From the looks of the cabin, he didn’t spend much time poring over the newspapers, and she hadn’t noticed a television. “It must be a wonderful place to paint.”

  “So far.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when I walked in. I recognized your work right away. I’ve always admired it. In fact, my—someone I knew bought a couple of your pieces. One of them was a painting of a huge, deep forest. It seemed as though you could step right into it and be completely alone.”

  He knew the work, and, oddly enough, he’d had the same feeling about it. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it had been sold back east. New York, Boston, perhaps Washington, D.C. If his curiosity about her persisted, it would only take a phone call to his agent to refresh his memory.

  “You didn’t say where you were traveling from.”

  “No.” She continued to eat, though her appetite had fled. How could she have been foolish enough to describe the painting? Tony had bought it, or rather had snapped his fingers and arranged for his lawyers to buy it on his behalf because Laura had admired it. “I’ve been in Dallas for a while.”

  She’d been there almost two months before she’d discovered that the Eagletons’ detectives were making discreet inquiries about her.

  “You don’t sound like a Texan.”

  “No, I suppose I don’t. That’s probably because I’ve lived all over the country.” That was true enough, and she was able to smile again. “You’re not from Colorado.”

  “San Francisco.”

  “Yes, I remember reading that in an article about you and your work.” She would talk about him. From her experience men were easily distracted when the conversation centered on themselves. “I’ve always wanted to see San Francisco. It seems like a lovely place, the hills, the bay, the beautiful old houses.” She gave a quick gasp and pressed a hand to her stomach.

  “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 Two

  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 n
odded, 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.”