cradle by the bed, Susannah bent over her sleeping son.
“You’re a whole week old today, starshine,” she said softly. “Happy birthday, Daniel Tyler.”
She’d made the right decision, she told herself, stroking a fine curl of hair from his delicately veined temple. She and her baby had disappeared without a trace. She’d bought them time, and for now Danny was safe.
That safety had come at a cost.
“I know there’s people who don’t believe in miracles, Danny, but that’s like not believing in rain or puppies or fresh-baked bread,” she murmured. “God gives us presents every day. He gave me you. And the day you were born, two more miracles dropped into my life.”
She bit her lip, her gaze darkening. “One of them was Tyler Adams, the man who made sure you came into this world safely,” she whispered.
When he grew old enough to ask questions, what would she tell her little boy about the man whose name he bore? she wondered. That even when she’d first laid eyes on him, convinced he was working for the killers who’d been hunting her for the last nine months, she’d thought he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen? That his hair had been the color of burnished gold, his eyes bluer than the sky? That he’d been so tall and broad-shouldered he’d blocked out the sun?
He’d stood there gazing down at her, his perfectly chiselled features remote and unreadable, his skin slightly windburned. Under his unzipped leather jacket she’d seen the white of a T-shirt. There’d been an oil smear high up on one hard cheekbone, and his jeans and boots had been grimy with road dust.
He’d looked dangerous and beautiful at the same time. He’d looked like a picture she’d seen long ago in a children’s book of Bible stories, of an angel who’d fallen from grace.
She’d come close to blowing her miracle away with a .38 caliber bullet.
“I could have killed him.” In the quiet room her voice was hoarse with remembered horror. “He must have thought I was crazy—but still he stayed.”
He’d not only stayed with her, he’d delivered her baby. And when he’d gently put Daniel Tyler into her arms, he’d looked at her as if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Unconsciously Susannah pressed her palms to her cheeks, feeling hot color rise under her fingertips. After a minute, the heat subsided and she dropped her hands to her sides.
She had to have imagined that part, she told herself.
“You were the first miracle,” she said to the tiny sleeping form in the cradle. “Tye was the second. And Greta was the third.”
“As a hard-headed Minnesota Swede, I don’t believe in miracles.” The comment came from the tall blonde in the doorway. “I certainly don’t see myself as one.”
Her stride, long-legged and elegant as she approached, was in contrast to the paint-smeared jeans and shirt she wore. Platinum strands escaped the careless braid hanging halfway down her back.
“But if I did, I’d say this angel definitely qualified.” Placing a finger on the edge of the cradle, she gave it a gentle push. “I would have liked to have had one just like you, little man. I would have traded everything else for that.”
The ice-blond braid swung forward over the denim-clad shoulder. She met Susannah’s gaze. “Instead I had ten years on the covers of Vogue and Harper’s, and when I walked away from it all I was free to devote the rest of my life to my painting.” Her smile was crooked. “I should be ashamed of myself, crying for the moon.”
“But sometimes the moon’s so pretty, isn’t it?” Unnecessarily Susannah adjusted Danny’s blanket again. “Sometimes a body just can’t help wishing she could haul it down from the sky and hold on to it for a while.”
Greta’s cat-green gaze softened. Slinging an arm over Susannah’s shoulder, she steered her toward the door. “If it really was the moon either one of us was talking about, the solution would be easy. There’s going to be a full one tonight and I thought we could sit out on the portale and watch it rise over the desert. White wine for me, guava juice for you,” she added, her perfect nose wrinkling.
As they entered the spacious, stone-flagged kitchen, she shot Susannah a glance before opening the refrigerator door. “You still feel guilty about that Adams man, don’t you?”
“He did me a kindness.” Susannah looked away. “I don’t feel right about the way I repaid him.”
“You did what you had to.” Chunking a couple of cubes of ice into a tall glass, Greta filled it to the brim with pink juice. Pouring a glass of wine for herself, she took a sip. “Salut,” she said briefly. “Let’s go smell my roses and howl at the moon.”
Startled into laughter despite herself, Susannah followed her new friend into the living room. A traditional kiva fireplace and exposed beams on the ceiling were striking focal points, as were the three unframed abstracts hanging on the walls—abstracts, she’d learned from Greta’s offhand comments, that would each bring a small fortune if they were ever placed in a New York gallery. Blocks of color danced joyfully across the canvases. Only on second look did a viewer notice the underwashes of dark blues and purples anchoring the backgrounds.
They were like their creator, she reflected. Although she had to be in her forties, Greta Hassell’s beauty was still the first thing a stranger would see, but behind that flawless facade was a compassionate woman with her own hidden pain.
Tye had been gone less than ten minutes when the pickup had pulled over and the slim blonde had gotten out. Her perfect features had paled in shock as she’d taken in the situation—Susannah, her obviously newborn baby at her breast, freezing in the act of grabbing for the revolver at her feet as she realized the newcomer was a woman. The blonde’s lips had tightened.
“You’re in trouble,” she’d said shortly. “And your baby should get out of this heat. I’m taking you to my place.”
Automatically Susannah had started to explain the situation. Then she’d stopped, her gaze going to her son.
“I—I need to disappear,” she’d said after a moment, her tone low and rapid. “Disappear completely—right down to this no-good vehicle that stranded me here. If you can help me do that I’d be obliged, ma’am.”
“There’s a tow-hitch on the back of my truck.” The emerald eyes had narrowed to slits, but Susannah had seen faint humor in them. “The deal is you tell me what this is all about when you and your baby are rested up.” The woman had leaned into the sedan, one arm going around Susannah’s shoulders to help her up. “And call me Greta, not ma’am, sweetie.”
Just like that they’d become friends, Susannah thought, entering the miniature courtyard—what Greta called the portale—attached to the house. Wrought-iron gates set into the enclosing adobe walls kept the outside world at bay, the walls themselves pierced here and there with small openings. Inside each opening sat a small flickering candle in a votive holder.
“If your little guy wakes up we’ll hear him easily enough.” Greta set Daniel’s baby monitor on the glass-topped table, two tiny lines between her brows. “You know I’ve been careful not to buy Danny’s diapers and supplies in Last Chance, Susannah, but when I ran into town yesterday to get turpentine I kept my ears open. No one was talking about a woman and a baby going missing.”
“Maybe
