Page 62 of Gabriel's Angel

They took turns walking, rocking, rubbing tender gums. Each time Michael was laid back in his crib he woke with a wail. Dizzy with fatigue, Laura leaned over the rail, patting and rubbing his back. Each time she moved her hand away he cried again.

“I guess we’re spoiling him,” she murmured.

Gabe sat heavy-eyed in the rocking chair and watched her. “We’re entitled. Besides, he sleeps like a rock most of the time.”

“I know. This teething’s got him down. Why don’t you go to bed? There’s no sense in both of us being up.”

“It’s my shift.” He rose and discovered that at 5:00 a.m. the body could feel decades older than it was. “You go on to bed.”

“No—” Her own yawn cut her off. “We’re in this together, remember?”

“Or until one of us passes out.”

She would have laughed if she had had the energy. “Maybe I’ll just sit down.”

“You know, I’ve been known to watch the sun come up after a night of drinking, card playing or... other forms of entertainment.” He began to pat Michael’s back as Laura collapsed in the rocker. “And I can’t remember ever feeling as though someone had run over me with a truck.”

“This is one of the joys of parenting,” she told him as she curled her legs under her and shut her eyes. “We’re actually having the time of our lives.”

“I’m glad you let me know. I think he’s giving in.”

“That’s because you have such a wonderful touch,” she murmured as she drifted off. “Such a wonderful touch.”

Inch by cautious inch, Gabe drew his hand away. A man backing away from a tiger couldn’t have taken more care. When he was a full two feet from the crib, he nearly let out a breath of relief. Afraid to push his luck, he held it and turned to Laura.

She was sound asleep, in an impossibly uncomfortable position. Hoping his energy held out for five minutes longer, Gabe walked over to pick her up. She shifted and cuddled against him instinctively. As he carried her from the room, she roused enough to murmur. “Michael?”

“Down for the count.” He walked into their room, but rather than taking her to bed he moved to the window. “Look, the sun’s coming up.”

Laura stirred and opened her eyes. Through the window she could see the curve of the eastern sky. If she looked hard enough she could see the water of the bay, like a mist in the distance. The sun seemed to vibrate as it rose. And the echoes brought colors: pinks, mauves, golds. Softly at first, with the darker night sky still dominating above, the colors spread, then, deepened. Pinks became reds, vibrant and glowing.

“Sometimes your paintings are like that,” she thought aloud. “Changing, shifting angles, with the colors intensifying from the core to the edges.” She nestled her head against his shoulder as they watched the new day dawn. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sunrise.”

His skin was warm beneath her cheek, his arms strong, firm with muscle, as they held her to him. She could feel the light, steady beating of his heart. She turned her face toward his as the first birds woke and began to sing. When love was so easily reached, only a fool questioned it.

“I want you, Gabe.” She laid her hand on his cheek, her lips on his lips. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. She felt it, understood it, then coaxed him past it. This wasn’t the time to think of yesterdays or tomorrows. Her lips softened and parted against his and her hand slipped back to brush through his hair.

“You were right,” she murmured.

“About what?”

“I don’t think of anyone but you when we make love.”

He hadn’t meant to ask her for anything. He found there was nothing he couldn’t ask.

She was so beautifully open. It made it possible, even easy, to put that part of her life that left him angry and bitter aside. That had nothing to do with where they could take each other. With his mouth still on hers, he moved to the bed. She wrapped her arms around him as he lay beside her. For a moment that was enough.

Morning embraces, sunrise kisses, after a long, sleepless night. Her face was pale with fatigue, but still she trembled for him. The sigh that passed from her lips to his was soft and drowsy. Her body arched, lazy, limber, at the stroke of his hands.

The dawn air was balmy as it fluttered through the window and over their skin. She parted his robe, pushed it back from his shoulders, so that she could warm his skin herself. Just as slowly, he drew off her nightgown. Naked, they lay on the rumpled sheets and made long, luxurious love.

Neither of them set the pace. It wasn’t necessary. Here they were in tune, without words or requests. Demands were for other moments, night moments, when passion was hot and urgent. As the light turned gray with morning, desire was deliciously cool.

Perhaps the love she felt for him was best displayed this way, with ease and affection that lasted so much longer than the flare of a flame. She moved with him and he with her, and they brought pleasure to each other that came in sighs and murmurs instead of gasps and shudders.

She felt the roughness of his cheek when she stroked her hand there. This was real. Marriage was more than the band she wore on her finger or the coming together full of need and excitement in the dark. Marriage was holding on at daybreak.

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