Page 6 of Gabriel's Angel

She didn’t shatter as he’d once thought she might, but now she seemed so soft, so delicate, that he imagined her dissolving in his hands. He would have liked to comfort her, would have liked to go on holding her like that while she leaned into him, trusting, depending. Needing him. Calling himself a fool, he picked her up.

Laura started to protest, but it felt so good to be off her feet. “I must weigh a ton.”

“That’s what I was expecting, but you don’t.”

She found she could laugh, even though the fatigue was smothering her. “You’re a real charmer, Gabe.”

His own awkwardness began to fade as he moved through the door to the bedroom. “I haven’t had many opportunities to flirt with pregnant ladies.”

“That’s all right. You redeemed yourself by rescuing this one from a snowstorm.” With her eyes half-closed, she felt herself being lowered onto a bed. It might be nothing more than a mattress and a rumpled sheet, but it felt like heaven. “I want to thank you.”

“You’ve been doing that on an average of every five minutes.” He pulled a slightly ragged comforter over her. “If you really want to thank me, get some sleep and don’t go into labor.”

“Fair enough. Gabe?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you keep trying the phone?”

“All right.” She was nearly asleep. He had a moment’s attack of guilt for wanting to press her while she was vulnerable. Right now, she didn’t look as though she had the strength to brush away a fly. “Do you want me to call anyone for you? Your husband?”

She opened her eyes at that. Though they were clouded with fatigue, they met his levelly, and he saw that she wasn’t down for the count yet.

“I’m not married,” she said, very clearly. “There’s no one to call.”

Chapter 2

In the dream she was alone. That didn’t frighten her. Laura had spent a large portion of her life alone, so she was more comfortable in solitude than in a crowd. There was a soft, misty quality to the dream—like the seascape she had seen on the wall of Gabe’s cabin.

Oddly, she could even hear the ocean, purring and lapping off in the distance, though a part of her knew she was in the mountains. She walked through a pearl-colored fog, listening to the waves. Under her feet sand shifted, warm and soft. She felt safe and strong and strangely unencumbered. It had been a long, long time since she had felt so free, so at ease.

She knew she was dreaming. That was the best part. If she could have managed it, she would have stayed there, in the soft-focused fantasy of it, forever. It would be so easy to keep her eyes closed and cling to the utter peace of the dream.

Then the baby was crying. Screaming. A pulse began to beat in her temple as she listened to the high, keening wails. She started to sweat, and the clean white fog changed to a dark, threatening gray. No longer warm, the air took on a chill that whipped straight to the bone.

The cries seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, echoing and rebounding as she searched. Sobbing for breath, she fought her way through the mist as it circled and thickened. The cries became louder, more urgent. Her heart was beating in her throat, and her breath rasped and her hands shook.

Then she saw the bassinet, with its pretty white skirt and its lacy pink-and-blue ruffles. The relief was so great that her knees sagged.

“It’s all right,” she murmured as she gathered the child in her arms. “It’s all right. I’m here now.” She could feel the baby’s warm breath against her cheek, could feel the weight in her arms as she rocked and soothed. The fine scent of powder surrounded her. Gently she cradled the child, murmuring and comforting as she began to lift the concealing blanket from its face.

And there was nothing, nothing in her arms but an empty blanket.

Gabe was sitting at the picnic table, sketching her face, thinking of her, when he heard her cry out. The moan was so long, so desperate, that he snapped the pencil in two before he jumped up and raced to the bedroom.

“Hey, come on.” Feeling awkward, he took her by the shoulders. She jerked so hard that he had to fight back his own panic, as well as hers, to hold on to her. “Laura, take it easy. Are you in pain? Is it the baby? Laura, tell me what’s going on.”

“They took my baby!” There was hysteria in her voice, but it was a hysteria that was laced with fury. “Help me! They took my baby!”

“No one took your baby.” She was still fighting him, with a strength that awed him. Moving on instinct, he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re having a dream. No one took your baby. Here.” He clamped a hand around her wrist, where her pulse was beating like a jackhammer, and dragged her hand to her belly. “You’re safe, both of you. Relax before you hurt yourself.”

When she felt the life beneath her palms, she slumped against him. Her baby was safe, still inside her, where no one could touch him. “I’m sorry. It was a dream.”

“It’s okay.” Without being aware of it, he was stroking her hair, cradling her as she had cradled the baby of her imagination, rocking her gently in an age-old comforting motion. “Do us both a favor and relax.”

She nodded, feeling protected and sheltered. Those were two sensations she had experienced very rarely in her twenty-five years. “I’m all right, really. It must have been the shock from the accident catching up with me.”

He drew her away, angry with himself because he wanted to go on holding her, shielding her. When she had asked him for help, he had known, without understanding why, that he would do anything to protect her. It was almost as though he had been dreaming himself, or had been caught up in her dream.

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