Page 4 of Gabriel's Angel

“Milk’s fine, then. Thank you.”

When he left, Laura busied herself in the kitchen. It was too small for it to be complicated. She used her own system in storing the goods since it appeared Gabe had none. She’d only emptied the first bag when he reappeared in the doorway.

“Phone’s out.”

“Out?”

“Dead. We lose service a lot when there’s a storm.”

“Oh.” Laura stood holding a can of soup. “Is it usually out for long?”

“Depends. Sometimes a couple hours, sometimes a week.”

She lifted a brow. Then she realized that he was perfectly serious. “I guess that puts me in your hands, Mr. Bradley.”

He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “In that case, you’d better call me Gabe.”

Laura frowned down at the can in her hand. When things got bad, you made the best of them. “Want some soup?”

“Yeah. I’ll, ah... put your things in the bedroom.”

Laura simply nodded, then began to search for a can opener.

She was a piece of work, all right, Gabe decided as he carried Laura’s suitcase into his room. Not that he was an expert when it came to women, but he wasn’t what anyone would have called a novice, either. She hadn’t batted an eye when he’d told her that the phone was dead and they were effectively cut off from the outside world. Or, to put it more precisely, that she was cut off from everyone but him.

Gabe glanced into the streaked mirror over his battered dresser. As far as he knew, no one had ever considered him harmless before. A quick, cocky smile flashed over his face. He hadn’t always been harmless, when it came right down to it.

This, of course, was an entirely different situation.

Under other circumstances he might have entertained some healthy fantasies about his unexpected guest. That face. There was something haunting, something indefinable, about that kind of beauty. When a man looked at it, he automatically began to wonder and imagine. Even if she hadn’t been carrying a child, the fantasies would have remained only that. Fantasies. He’d never been enthusiastic about flings and one-night stands, and he certainly wasn’t in any shape for a relationship. Celibacy had been the order of the day for the past few months. The desire to paint had finally seduced him again. Gabe needed no other love affair.

But as for more practical matters, he did have a guest, a lone woman who was very pregnant—and very secretive. He hadn’t missed the fact that she’d told him only her first name and hadn’t volunteered any information about who she was and where and why she was traveling. Since it was unlikely that she’d robbed a bank or stolen secrets for terrorists, he wouldn’t press too hard right now.

But, given the strength of the storm and the seclusion of the cabin, they were likely to be together for a few days. He was going to find out more about the calm and mysterious Laura.

What was she going to do? Laura stared at the empty plate in her hand and saw a hint of her reflection. How could she get to Denver or Los Angeles or Seattle—or any huge, swallowing city that was far enough away from Boston—when she was trapped here? If only she hadn’t felt that urgent need to move on this morning. If she’d stayed in that quiet little motel room another day she might still have had some control over what was happening.

Instead, she was here with a stranger. Not just any stranger, Laura reminded herself. Gabriel Bradley, artist—wealthy, respected artist from a wealthy, respected family. But he hadn’t recognized her. Laura was certain of that. At least he had yet to recognize her. What would happen when he did, when he found out who she was running from? For all she knew, the Eagletons might be close family friends of the Bradleys. The gesture of her hand over the mound of her stomach was automatic and protective.

They wouldn’t take her baby. No matter how much money and how much power they wielded, they wouldn’t take her baby. And if she could manage it they would never find her or the child.

Setting down the plate, she turned her attention to the window. How odd it was to look out and see nothing. It gave her a nice, settled feeling to know that no one could see in, either. She was effectively curtained off from everyone. Or nearly everyone, she corrected, thinking again of Gabe.

Perhaps the storm had been a blessing. When there was no choice, she found it best to look on the bright side. No one could follow her trail in this kind of weather. And who would think of looking for her in some tiny, out-of-the-way cabin in the mountains? It felt safe. She would cling to that.

She heard him moving around in the next room, heard the sound of his boots on the hardwood, the thud of a log being added to the fire. After so many months alone she found even the sound of another human being a comfort.

“Mr. Bradley... Gabe?” She stepped through the doorway to see him adjusting the screen in front of the fire. “Could you clear off a table?”

“Clear off a table?”

“So we could eat... sitting down.”

“Yeah.”

She disappeared again while he tried to figure out what to do with the paints, brushes, canvas stretchers and general disorder on the picnic table that had once served as a dining area. Annoyed at having his space compromised, he spread his equipment throughout the room.

“I made some sandwiches, too.” Using a bent cookie sheet as a makeshift tray, she carried in bowls and plates and cups. Embarrassed and edgy, Gabe snatched it from her.

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