Page 19 of Gabriel's Angel

“No. Scared ten years off both of us, though.”

“I’ll bet. Afraid we’re going to have to tow the vehicle in, Mr. Bradley.” He glanced toward the house. His voice was casual, but Gabe sensed that he was alert. “Your wife, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“Name on the registration was Malone, Laura Malone.”

“My wife’s maiden name,” Gabe said easily.

On impulse, Laura pushed open the door. “Gabe?”

Both men turned to look at her. The trooper pulled off his hat. Gabe merely scowled.

“I’m sorry to interrupt—” she smiled “—but I thought the officer might like some hot coffee.”

The trooper replaced his hat. “That’s mighty tempting, ma’am, and I appreciate it, but I have to get along. Sorry about your car.”

“My own fault. Can you tell us when the road will be open?”

“Your husband ought to be able to manage a trip into town in a day or two,” Beecham said. “I wouldn’t recommend the drive for you, ma’am, for the time being.”

“No.” She smiled at him and hugged her elbows. “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for a little while yet.”

“I’ll just be on my way.” Beecham straddled the snowmobile again. “You got a shortwave, Mr. Bradley?”

“No.”

“Might not be a bad idea to pick one up next time you’re in town. More dependable than the phones. When’s your baby due?”

Gabe just stared for a moment. The pronoun had stunned him. “Four or five weeks.”

“You got yourself plenty of time, then.” With a grin, Beecham started the engine. “This your first?”

“Yes,” Gabe murmured. “It is.”

“Nothing quite like it. Got myself two girls. Last one decided to be born on Thanksgiving. Hardly had two bites of pumpkin pie when I had to drive to the hospital. My wife still says it was my mother’s sausage stuffing that started her off.” He raised a hand and his voice. “Take care, Mrs. Bradley.”

They watched, Gabe from the yard, Laura from the doorway, as the snowmobile scooted up the lane. And then they were alone.

Clearing his throat, Gabe started up the stairs. Laura said nothing, but she stepped out of the way and closed the door behind him. She waited until he was sitting on the low stone hearth, unlacing his boots.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You told the trooper that I was your wife.”

Still frowning, he pried off a boot. “It seemed less complicated that way.”

“For me,” Laura agreed. “Not for you.”

He shrugged his shoulders and then rose to go into the kitchen. “Any coffee?”

“Yes.” She heard the glass pot chink against the mug, heard the liquid pour into the stoneware. He’d lied for her, protected her, and all she had done was take from him. “Gabe.” Praying that her instincts and her conscience were right, she walked to the doorway.

“What the hell is this?” He had the pan she’d used to heat the milk in his hand.

For a moment the tension fled. “If you’re desperate enough, it’s hot chocolate.”

---