Page 50 of Gabriel's Angel

She smiled as she drew back enough to look into his face. “You look so good tonight.”

“Really?” There was both discomfort and amusement in his tone.

“I’ve never seen you in evening clothes.” She ran her finger down the dark lapel, which rested against a crisp white shirt. “Sort of like Heathcliff in a tux.”

He laughed and cupped her face in his hands. “What a mind you have, angel. There’s no hero in here.”

“You’re wrong.” Her eyes were very solemn, very serious. “You’re mine.” He shrugged, but she kept him close. “Please, just this once, let me say it without you brushing it aside.”

He just flicked a finger down her nose. “Don’t expect me to walk around in armor too long. Let’s get the baby. My mother knows how to make you miserable if you’re late.”

He wasn’t a hero. He certainly wasn’t comfortable being seen as one. Gabe was much more at ease discussing his work or speculating on the Giants’ chances during the rest of the baseball season. He preferred arguments to good deeds.

When someone saw you as heroic, you invariably let them down. They expected you to have the right answers, the key to the lock, the light in the dark.

Michael had seen him as a hero. And, of course, he had let his brother down.

Michael had loved parties like this, Gabe thought as he sipped at the champagne that seemed to flow endlessly. He had loved the laughter, the people and the gossip. Michael had been unashamedly fond of rumors and whispers.

People had loved him moments after meeting him. He had been outgoing, funny, and as warm with strangers as with friends. It was Michael who had been the hero, doing favors without tallying the score, always willing to help or simply to be enthusiastic about a project.

Yet he’d had that streak of temper and toughness that had balanced him, prevented him from being overly... overly good, Gabe supposed.

God, he missed him still, at times unbearably.

There were people here who had known Michael, who had raised a glass with him or swapped stories with him. Perhaps that was what made it seem worse tonight, being in their parents’ home, where they had grown up and shared so much and knowing that Michael would never walk into that room again.

Somehow you went on. One part of your life closed up, and another opened. Gabe looked across the room to where Laura stood talking to his father.

Sometime between the moment she’d rolled down the window of a wrecked car and the moment she’d placed a newborn child in his arms he’d fallen in love with her. It had come not with trumpets and flares but with quiet, soothing murmurs.

If there were such things as angels, one had sent Laura to him when he’d needed her most.

She was grateful to him, and open enough to give him love and affection in return for what he had given her. There were days when he believed that would be enough, for today, and for the tomorrows they would have together.

Then there were the other times.

He wanted to grab her, to demand again and again that she look at him, see who he was, what he felt. That she forget what had happened before and trust in what was happening now. He wanted to erase, the way he might have blanked out a canvas, what had gone on before, all the things that had put shadows in her eyes, all the things that made her hesitate just that split second before she smiled.

But he knew better than most that when you painted over part of someone’s life you stole something. Bad experience or good, what had happened to Laura had made her what she was, the woman he loved.

But loving as he did, and being a selfish man, he wanted to be loved back, completely, without the strings of gratitude or the shadows of vulnerability. Wanting wouldn’t make it so, but time might. He could give her a little more of that.

Someone laughed across the room. Glasses chinked. There was a scent of wine, flowers and women’s fragrances. The night had cooperated with a full moon, and its glow shimmered just outside the open terrace doors. The room was ablaze with lamplight. Wanting a few moments away from the crowd and the noise, he slipped upstairs to check on his son.

***

“The boy looks more like you every time I see him,” Cliff was saying.

“Do you think so?” The thought had Laura lighting up. Perhaps she was vain after all.

“Absolutely. Though no one would believe you were a new mother, the way you’re looking tonight.” He patted her cheek in the way that always made her feel shy and delighted. “My Gabe has excellent taste.”

“Shame on you, Cliff, flirting with a beautiful woman when your wife’s not looking.”

“Marion.” Cliff bent down from his rangy height to give the newcomer a kiss. “Late as always.”

“Amanda’s already scolded me.” She turned, sipping at her champagne, to give Laura a thorough study. “So this is the mysterious Laura.”

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