Page 42 of Gabriel's Angel

“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 feelings were all for Gabe.

Chapter 8

“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 aboutyourcheckup? 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.”

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