Page 25 of Gabriel's Angel

“The Jeep drives like a tank.” He accepted the gloves she held out to him but didn’t put them on. “I don’t like leaving you alone.”

“Gabe, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

“Things have changed. My lawyers have probably sent the marriage license.”

Immediately she began to fuss with the breakfast dishes. “That would be quick work.”

“They get paid to work fast, and it’s been three days since I contacted them. If I can arrange it, I’d like to bring a justice of the peace back here with me.”

A cup slipped out of her hand and plopped into the soapy water. “Today?”

“You haven’t changed your mind?”

“No, but—”

“I want my name on the birth certificate.” He had a moment of panic, vague and disturbing, at her hesitation. “It would be less complicated if we were married before the baby’s born.”

“Yes, that makes sense.” It seemed so rushed. She plunged her hands into the water and began to wash. Her first wedding had been rushed, too, a whirlwind of flowers and champagne and white silk.

“I realize you might prefer something a little more festive, but under the circumstances—”

“No.” She turned and managed a smile. “No, I don’t care about that. If you can arrange it for today, here, that’s fine.”

“All right, then. Laura, I’d feel better if you rested until I got back. You didn’t sleep well.”

She turned back again. No, she hadn’t slept well. The nightmare had come back, and she hadn’t rested until Gabe had come in and finally slipped into bed with her. “I won’t overdo.”

“I don’t think it would tax your strength for you to kiss me good-bye.”

That made her smile. She turned, her hands still dripping, to lift her lips to his.

“Not even married yet and you’re already kissing me as though we’ve been together twenty years.” He changed the mood simply by nipping her lip. In seconds she was clinging to him, and there was nothing casual about the embrace.

“Better,” he murmured. “Now go lie down. I’ll be back in less than two hours.”

“Be careful.”

He closed the door. In moments she heard the sound of the Jeep’s engine chugging to life. Moving into the living room, she watched Gabe drive away.

Strangely enough, even as the quiet settled over the cabin, she didn’t feel alone. She felt nervous, she admitted with a little laugh. Brides were entitled to nerves. If Gabe had his way—and she’d come to believe that he nearly always did—they would be married that afternoon.

And her life, Laura realized, would change yet again.

This time it would be better. She would make it better.

As the ache in her lower back grew worse, she pressed her hand against it. Blaming the discomfort she’d been feeling all morning on the mattress and a restless night, she walked over to the portrait.

He’d finished it the day before. She knew, because he’d explained it to her, that the paint would take a few days to set and dry completely, so she didn’t touch it. She sat on the stool Gabe sometimes used and studied her own face.

So this was how he saw her, she thought. Her skin was pale, with only a faint shadow of color along her cheekbones. It was partly that whiteness, that translucence, that made her appear like the angel he sometimes called her. She looked as though she were caught in a daydream, one of the many she’d indulged in during the hours Gabe had painted. As she had told him—as she had complained—there was too much vulnerability. It was in her eyes, around her mouth. There was something strong and independent about the pose, about the way her head was tilted, but that lost, sad look in her eyes seemed to negate the strength.

She was reading too much into it, Laura decided as the pain dug, deep and dull, into her back. Rubbing at it, she rose to look around the cabin.

She would be married here, in a matter of hours. There would be no crowd of well-wishers, no pianist playing romantic songs, no trail of rose petals. Yet, with or without the trimmings, she would be a bride. She might not be able to make it look festive, but at least she could tidy up.

The pain in her back drove her to lie down. Two hours later she heard the Jeep coming down the lane. For a moment longer she lay there, working to block out the discomfort. Later, she told herself, she would soak the ache away in a hot tub. She walked into the living room just as Gabe ushered an elderly couple into the cabin.

“Laura, this is Mr. and Mrs. Witherby. Mr. Witherby is a justice of the peace.”

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