Page 7 of Gabriel's Angel

The snow was still falling in sheets outside the window and the only light was what came slanting through the bedroom door from the main cabin. It was dim and slightly yellow, but he could see her clearly, and he wanted to be certain that she saw him, as well. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

“Don’t lie to me. Under normal circumstances you’d be entitled to your privacy, but right now you’re under my roof for God knows how long.”

“I’m not lying to you.” Her voice was so calm, so even, that he nearly believed her. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“Who are you running from, Laura?”

She said nothing, just stared at him with those dark blue eyes. He swore at her, but she didn’t flinch. He sprang up to pace the room, but she didn’t shudder. Abruptly he dropped down on the bed again and caught her chin in his hand. She went absolutely still. Gabe would have sworn that for an instant she stopped breathing. Though it was ridiculous, he had the odd sensation that she was bracing for a blow.

“I know you’re in trouble. What I want to know is how big. Who’s after you, and why?”

Again she said nothing, but her hand moved instinctively to protect the child she carried.

Since the baby was obviously the core of the problem, they would begin there. “The baby’s got a father,” he said slowly. “You running from him?”

She shook her head.

“Then who?”

“It’s complicated.”

He lifted a brow as he jerked his head toward the window. “We’ve got nothing but time here. This keeps up, it could be a week before the main roads are open.”

“When they do, I’ll go. The less you know, the better off we’ll both be.”

“That won’t wash.” He was silent a moment, trying to organize his thoughts. “It seems to me that the baby is very important to you.”

“Nothing is or can be more important.”

“Do you figure the strain you’re carrying around is good for it?”

He saw the regret in her eyes instantly, saw the concern, the almost imperceptible folding into herself. “There are some things that can’t be changed.” She took a long breath. “You have a right to ask questions.”

“But you don’t intend to answer them.”

“I don’t know you. I have to trust you, to a point, because I have no choice. I can only ask you to do the same.”

He moved his hand away from her face. “Why should I?”

She pressed her lips together. She knew he was right. But sometimes right wasn’t enough. “I haven’t committed a crime, I’m not wanted by the law. I have no family, no husband looking for me. Is that enough?”

“No. I’ll take that much tonight because you need to sleep, but we’ll talk in the morning.”

It was a reprieve—a short one, but she’d learned to be grateful for small things. With a nod, she waited for him to walk to the door. When it shut and the darkness was full again, she lay down. But it was a long, long time before she slept.

***

It was silent, absolutely silent, when Laura woke. She opened her eyes and waited for memory to return. There had been so many rooms, so many places where she’d slept, that she was used to this confusion upon waking.

She remembered it all... Gabriel Bradley, the storm, the cabin, the nightmare. And the sensation of waking in fear to find herself safe, in his arms. Of course, the safety was only temporary, and his arms weren’t for her. Sighing, she turned her head to look out the window.

The snow was still falling. It was almost impossible to believe, but she lay and watched it, thinner now, slower, but still steady. There would be no leaving today.

Tucking her hand under her cheek, she continued to watch. It was easy to wish that the snow would never stop and that time would. She could stay here, cocooned, isolated, safe. But time, as the child she carried attested, never stopped. Rising, she opened her suitcase. She would put herself in order before she faced Gabe.

The cabin was empty. She should have felt relieved at that. Instead, the cozy fire and polished wood made her feel lonely. She wanted him there, even if it was just the sound of his movements in another room. Wherever he had gone, she reminded herself, he would be back. She started to walk into the kitchen to see what could be done about breakfast.

She saw the sketches, a half dozen of them, spread out on the picnic table. His talent, though raw in pencil or charcoal drawing, was undeniable. Still, it made her both uneasy and curious to see how someone else—no, how Gabriel Bradley—perceived her.

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