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because she wanted badly to lay her head down and weep out all the fear and anguish. “I can’t fight them on their own ground, Gabe, and I won’t put my child through the misery of custody suits and court battles, the publicity, the gossip and speculation. A child needs a home, and love and security. I’m going to see to it that mine has all of those things. Whatever I have to do, wherever I have to go.”
    â€œI won’t argue with you about what’s right for you and the baby, but sooner or later you’re going to have to face this.”
    â€œWhen the time comes, I will.”
    He rose and paced over to the fire to light another cigarette. He should drop it, just leave it—her—alone and let her follow her own path. It was none of his business. Not his problem. He swore, because somehow, the moment she’d taken his arm to cross the road, she’d become his business.
    â€œGot any money?”
    â€œSome. Enough to pay a doctor, and a bit more.”
    He was asking for trouble. He knew it. But for the first time in almost a year he felt as though something really mattered. Sitting on the edge of the hearth, he blew out smoke and studied her.
    â€œI want to paint you,” he said abruptly. “I’ll pay you the standard model’s fee, plus room and board.”
    â€œI can’t take your money.”
    â€œWhy not? You seem to think I have too much for my own good, anyway.”
    Shame brought color flooding into her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it—not like that.”
    He brushed her words aside. “Whatever you meant, the fact remains that I want to paint you. I work at my own pace, so you’ll have to be patient. I’m not good at compromise, but owing to your condition I’m willing to make some concessions and stop when you’re tired or uncomfortable.”
    It was tempting, very tempting. She tried to forget that she’d traded on her looks before and concentrate on what the extra money would mean to the baby. “I’d like to agree, but the fact is, your work is well-known. If the portrait was shown, they’d recognize me.”
    â€œTrue enough, but that doesn’t mean I’d be obliged to tell anyone where we’d met or when. You have my word that no one will ever trace you through me.”
    She was silent for a moment, warring with herself. “Would you come here?”
    Hesitating only a moment, he tossed his cigarette into the fire. He rose, walked over, then crouched in front of her chair. She, too, had learned how to read a face. “Your word?”
    â€œYes.”
    Some risks were worth taking. She held both hands out to his, putting her trust into them.
    ***
    With the continuing fall of snow, it was a day without a sunrise, a sunset, a twilight. The day stayed dim from morning on, and then night closed in without fanfare. And the snow stopped.
    Laura might not have noticed if she hadn’t been standing by the window. The flakes didn’t appear to have tapered off, but to have stopped as if someone had thrown a switch. There was a vague sense of disappointment, the same she remembered feeling as a young girl when a storm had ended. On impulse, she bundled herself in her boots and coat and stepped out onto the porch.
    Though Gabe had shoveled it off twice during the day, the snow came almost to her knees. Her boots sank in and disappeared. She had the sensation of being swallowed up by a soft, benign cloud. She wrapped her arms around her chest and breathed in the thin, cold air.
    There were no stars. There was no moon. The porch light tossed its glow only a few feet. All she could see was white. All she could hear was silence. To some the high blanket of snow might have been a prison, something to chafe against. To Laura it was a fortress.
    She’d decided to trust someone other than herself again. Standing there, soaking up the pure dark, the pure quiet, she knew that the decision