Page 10 of Gabriel's Angel

“And you’re being naive.”

His temper wavered, vying with amusement. “That’s a first. Sit down, Laura, you make me nervous when you swing around.”

“I’m not going to break,” she muttered, but she eased into a chair. “I’m strong, I take care of myself. I had an examination just before I left Dallas, and the baby and I are fine. Better than fine. In a few weeks I’m going to check into a hospital in Denver and have my baby. Then we’re going to disappear.”

He thought about it. He almost believed the woman sitting across from him could accomplish it. Then he remembered how lost and frightened she’d been the night before. There was no use pointing out the strain she’d been under and its consequences for her. But he knew now what button to push.

“Do you think it’s fair to the baby to keep running?”

“No, it’s horribly, horribly unfair. But it would be worse to stop and let them take him.”

“Why are you so damn sure they would, or could?”

“Because they told me. They explained what they thought was best for me and the child, and they offered to pay me.” The venom came into her voice at that, black and bitter. “They offered to give me money for my baby, and when I refused they threatened to simply take him.” She didn’t want to relive that dreadful, terrifying scene. With an effort she cleared it from her mind.

He felt a swift and dark disgust for these people he didn’t even know. He buried it with a shake of his head and tried to reason with her. “Laura, whatever they want, or intend, they couldn’t just take what isn’t theirs. No court would just take an infant from its mother without good cause.”

“I can’t win on my own.” She closed her eyes for a moment because she wanted badly to lay her head down and weep out all the fear and anguish. “I can’t fight them on their own ground, Gabe, and I won’t put my child through the misery of custody suits and court battles, the publicity, the gossip and speculation. A child needs a home, and love and security. I’m going to see to it that mine has all of those things. Whatever I have to do, wherever I have to go.”

“I won’t argue with you about what’s right for you and the baby, but sooner or later you’re going to have to face this.”

“When the time comes, I will.”

He rose and paced over to the fire to light another cigarette. He should drop it, just leave it—her—alone and let her follow her own path. It was none of his business. Not his problem. He swore, because somehow, the moment she’d taken his arm to cross the road, she’d become his business.

“Got any money?”

“Some. Enough to pay a doctor, and a bit more.”

He was asking for trouble. He knew it. But for the first time in almost a year he felt as though something really mattered. Sitting on the edge of the hearth, he blew out smoke and studied her.

“I want to paint you,” he said abruptly. “I’ll pay you the standard model’s fee, plus room and board.”

“I can’t take your money.”

“Why not? You seem to think I have too much for my own good, anyway.”

Shame brought color flooding into her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it—not like that.”

He brushed her words aside. “Whatever you meant, the fact remains that I want to paint you. I work at my own pace, so you’ll have to be patient. I’m not good at compromise, but owing to your condition I’m willing to make some concessions and stop when you’re tired or uncomfortable.”

It was tempting, very tempting. She tried to forget that she’d traded on her looks before and concentrate on what the extra money would mean to the baby. “I’d like to agree, but the fact is, your work is well-known. If the portrait was shown, they’d recognize me.”

“True enough, but that doesn’t mean I’d be obliged to tell anyone where we’d met or when. You have my word that no one will ever trace you through me.”

She was silent for a moment, warring with herself. “Would you come here?”

Hesitating only a moment, he tossed his cigarette into the fire. He rose, walked over, then crouched in front of her chair. She, too, had learned how to read a face. “Your word?”

“Yes.”

Some risks were worth taking. She held both hands out to his, putting her trust into them.

***

With the continuing fall of snow, it was a day without a sunrise, a sunset, a twilight. The day stayed dim from morning on, and then night closed in without fanfare. And the snow stopped.

Laura might not have noticed if she hadn’t been standing by the window. The flakes didn’t appear to have tapered off, but to have stopped as if someone had thrown a switch. There was a vague sense of disappointment, the same she remembered feeling as a young girl when a storm had ended. On impulse, she bundled herself in her boots and coat and stepped out onto the porch.

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