grown with her. No, never that! He shoved his hands into his pockets and curled them into tight fists. She must never know that.
"Why?" He forced a smile. "Curiosity, of course."
"I see," Sara said dryly. "Since you saved my life, you wanted to see how I turned out?"
"You could put it that way."
"And how have I turned out?"
"Beautifully," he murmured.
"Beautiful but useless."
"Sara!" He was at her side in a heartbeat. "Never say that. Never feel that."
"Why not? It's true. I'm no good to anyone."
"You are. You are good for me."
"Really?" she asked skeptically. "How?"
How, he thought. How could he explain what she meant to him?
"You can't think of anything, can you?"
"I have no family," Gabriel said quietly. "No close friends. After I found you, you became my family. Sometimes I pretended that you were my daughter..."
"And you left me gifts, didn't you?" Sara glanced at the ballerina on her bedside table. "You brought me presents on my birthday, and at Christmas."
Gabriel nodded.
"I always wondered why there were no cards with the gifts." She smiled up at him. "I've loved all your presents, especially the music box."
"I'm glad they pleased you, cara," he said, rising smoothly to his feet. "And now I must go."
"Oh." She looked away, but not before he saw the disappointment in her eyes.
"Do you wish for me to stay?"
"Yes, please."
With a sigh, he drew a chair up beside her bed and sat down. "Shall I read to you?" he asked, glancing at the book she'd been reading.
"No, I finished it. But you could tell me a story."
"I'm not much of a story teller," he remarked and then, seeing the disappointment in her eyes, he acquiesced with a slight nod. "Many years ago, in a distant country, there was a young man. He came from a very large family. A very poor family. He was sixteen when a mysterious illness spread through their village. He watched his whole family die, one by one, and when they were all gone, he laid them side by side in their cottage and then set it on fire.
"For many years, he traveled the land, and then, when he was nine and twenty, he met a woman, and for the first time in his life, he fell in love, so much in love that he never questioned who she was, or why she would see him only at night.
"And then one day he contracted a fever, and he knew he was going to die the same horrible death that had claimed his family. Though he was loath to admit it, even to himself, he was terribly afraid to die.
"The woman he loved came to him when he was on the very brink of death. Weeping from pain and fear, he begged her to save him.
" 'I can do it,' she said. 'I can do as you wish, but the price will be dear.'
" 'Anything,' he said.
" 'And if the price is your soul, will you still pay it?'
"Foolish man that he was, he agreed. And the woman, whom he had thought was an angel, carried him away in a dance of darkness. And when he awoke again, he realized he'd struck a bargain, not with an angel, but with a devil. And though he would now live forever, he would never live at all."
"I don't understand," Sara said, frowning. "Who was the man? Who was the woman? How could he live forever, but not live at all?"
"It's only an old fairy tale, Sara," Gabriel replied. He glanced out the window, then stood up. "This time I really must go," he said. "Rest well, cara mia."
"Thank you for the story."
"You are most welcome," he replied softly, and bending, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "Good night."
"Will you come back tomorrow night?"
"If you wish."
"I do."
"Until tomorrow, then."
"Until tomorrow," she called as he moved through the doorway. "Sweet dreams."
A muscle twitched in Gabriel's jaw as he vaulted over the railing that enclosed the veranda. Sweet dreams, indeed, he mused bitterly.
And landing lightly on the damp ground, he disappeared into the darkness, as silent as the rising sun.
PART One Chapter Four
For Sara, the hours of the day had always passed slowly. Bound to her chair, there wasn't much she could do to pass the time. There were no other girls in the orphanage her age, so she had little companionship. True, she loved to read. She had a fine hand with a needle. She enjoyed painting. But they were all leisurely occupations, and none of