~ Wings of Love ~

by

Jewel Stone

One

For three days death hovered outside the cabin door, waiting to claim the man Abigail Harper once loved with her entire heart and soul. She could do nothing to save him, the mountain’s winter fury held her captive. A chill surged through her as a gust of wind rattled the door and blew a spray of icy snow over the small-pane window as if warning: The Angel of Death is ready to enter.

Arms wrapped around her waist to ward off the cold winter chill, Abby went to her desk to try the phone line once again. With trembling fingers, she lifted the receiver to her ear. No dial tone greeted her, only terminal silence.

Unable to escape the inevitable, her hope for Philip’s survival diminished. He was going to die on the cabin floor; she grew more certain of this as each day passed. Defeated, she lifted the layers of blankets that covered Philip to lie down beside him, wrapped her arms tightly around his chest, and prayed fervently for his life.

As if her petition was heard, a sound, low and deep, came from Philip. His head moved slightly.

Abby’s eyes flashed open, and she tilted her chin and looked to Philip’s face in utter disbelief. Seventy-two hours had passed since she dragged his body in out of the blizzard, where he’d collapsed on her front steps. There had been no movement or sound from him since.

"Philip…Philip, are you waking? It’s Abigail. Can you hear me? Philip, please! If you can hear me, move your hand or nod. Something…anything."

There was no sign, no sound, no response from him. Abby settled her head back on his chest and cried, her tears pooling on his clammy skin, sure her mind had conjured up the event out of desperate hope.

Outside the snow stopped falling. The sky parted, allowing angel fingers of light to filter through the dark clouds in soft rays, beam through the window, and warm their silhouetted bodies lying on the cabin floor.

His hand came up and ran through her hair. "Abigail?" he whispered.

She lifted her head. "Philip?" She couldn’t have imagined his word or touch this time for his hand still cupped her skull. Relief spiraled through her.

For the briefest moment, his eyes opened and he gazed at her in obvious confusion, then a slight smile formed on his chapped lips. "I…thought I…was…dreaming…of you…" His eyes fluttered closed again.

Abby gently shook him, trying to rouse him. He only slept, his arm around her shoulder, mouth upturned just a bit. Never before had she felt more joyous.

"Thank you. Oh! Thank you," Abby whispered toward the heavens, choking back a sob of joy. Exhausted from three days of stress and worry since she found Philip on her doorstep, she lay her head on his chest and let the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing rock her to sleep. Only in her slumber, she dreamed of a time she had been trying to forget about for three years.

~ * ~

Sidney Porter strummed her red manicured nails on the mahogany desktop as she waited for Charlie to finish fidgeting in his chair. "Any word from Gallagher yet?"

"No. It has only been three days. From what Philip told me before he left, the cabin is in a remote location deep in the Cascade Mountains. With the snow this time of year, he could be having trouble finding it, let alone reaching the cabin and making contact."

She leaned forward in her chair. "What do you know of the lead Gallagher got?"

Charlie took a hanky from his pocket and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, then repositioned his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Uh, not a lot. He just told me he got a solid lead, then boarded a flight to Washington."

Sidney stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the New York skyline. "If you hear from him, you are to report to me right away. Understand?"

"Yes."

Once the door shut behind Charles, Sidney turned and slammed back into her leather chair. She thrust a stack of papers off the desk onto the floor and braced her head on her palms, the pressure of her job enclosing on her like a noose. "Damn it Gallagher! Bring me back this story in time."

Her newspaper, The American Times, was falling behind The Continental, and Sidney needed a big story like the one Philip was investigating to pull ahead in the ratings. She would not let her newspaper be second!

Desiree Love would be the story to pull the paper ahead. The first book by Desiree Love came out three years ago, taking the literary market by storm and seducing readers with her romance novel, Intimate Affairs. The novel soared to the best-selling list immediately, knocking seasoned authors off the charts into forgotten dust. A phenomenal achievement for a first-time author. Desiree Love countered her first success with more novels, each book a hit, putting Danielle, Nora, and the like into a deep shadow.

Readers couldn’t get enough of Desiree Love’s savvy writing, the unique style of her script, or the characters that boldly came to life in her novels. But that alone didn’t start the craze. Rather the fact no one knew who or where Desiree Love was. There was no author biography at the back of the books, no photos, book signings, or interviews.

People started humming, wanting to know about the author claiming the spot of number one time and again on the bestseller list. Curiosity soared with each novel released. Her books were talked about on television, raved about in bookstores, and loved by readers. In a day in age where celebrities and their private lives were flaunted in every magazine, newspaper, and talk show, the secret identity of Desiree Love became a quest by her readers. Soon the need to know flowed into the greater population of people who normally did not pay much attention to the romance genre.

It seemed as if everyone sought to uncover Desiree’s identity. They wanted to have an intimate detail about her, discover what she looked like, learn if she lived a life comparable to the heroines of her novels. They needed a fix of information, as if addicted to Desiree Love like a powerful drug.

Soon it was a craze. Every reporter sought information, snooped, bribed, and looked for Desiree Love. People called into newspapers and television stations claiming that their neighbor or friend must be Desiree Love, for one crazy reason or another. Only for two years no one came up with anything. All leads proved wrong, dead ends. This only added to the fever of finding her.

Now Sidney’s top reporter, Philip Gallagher, had a lead to this desperately sought after information. And better yet, if this lead panned out, he would have time to make the report before Desiree Love’s latest novel was released in two weeks.

Sidney drew in, then exhaled a long cleansing breath. "I’m counting on you, Philip," she repeated, as if he could hear her thousands of miles away.