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Gabriel's Mission
Margaret Way
GUARDIAN ANGELSTough boss, tender loverGabriel McGuire knew that Chloe Cavanaugh had never taken to him as her boss. Maybe he was ruthless and uncompromising, but she was certainly no angel! The way Chloe taunted him at work could be amusing, but her reckless actions could also be downright exasperating!If he was sometimes abrasive with her, couldn't Chloe see that it was for her own good? One of these days, she'd take one risk too many. She'd probably worn out a whole host of guardian angels, but some small voice kept telling Gabriel that someone had to protect her and he was the man for the job…Falling in love sometimes needs a little help from above!
“You don’t trust anyone with your heart?” (#u0c90f50e-57b6-5b17-a7bd-db54edec2f10)Letter to Reader (#ud44d4c59-0292-5667-8871-2c0896e82a75)Title Page (#u6a3aa5e3-1ae8-529a-b190-ab24f9a8ed57)PROLOGUE (#u906ca199-f15a-5943-98f0-30e86a6aeb14)CHAPTER ONE (#u68aa1ae9-3b43-5905-8c5a-db7735fe5be2)CHAPTER TWO (#u12714d45-17f3-59d0-8ddd-074e98291670)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You don’t trust anyone with your heart?”
The question was so smooth and gentle Chloe was taken aback. She answered sadly as if to herself. “No.”
“I had a very bleak childhood.” Gabriel empathized with her. “All I could ever think was run, run, run, but I stayed for my mother’s sake.”
Chloe was stunned by the revelation. “Gabriel, I’m so sorry.” A tremendous sympathy flowered from her body.
“Gracious lady.” His voice sounded both tender and a little scathing. He glanced at her. How beautiful. He had craved beauty all his life, yet something about her made his heart throb painfully. It had from that very first day when she walked into his office. “No need to be, Chloe.” He spoke dismissively. “It might have been a struggle, but it made me tough.” His rugged face was dark and shadowed. “I know the toughness bothers you.”
Chloe couldn’t answer. There was no way to deny it, but, tenderhearted, she sensed she had wounded him.
Dear Reader,
Remember the magic of the film It’s a Wonderful Life? The warmth and tender emotion of Truly, Madly, Deeply? The feel-good humor of Heaven Can Wait?
Well, we can’t promise you Alan Rickman or Warren Beatty, but we know you’ll be delighted with the latest miniseries in Harlequin Romanoe
: GUARDIAN ANGELS. It brings together all of your favorite ingredients for a perfect novel: great heroes, feisty heroines, breathtaking romance, all with a celestial spin. written by four of our star authors, this witty and wonderful series features four real-life angels—all of whom are perfect advertisements for heaven!
Already available are The Boss, the Baby and the Bride by Day Leclaire, Heavenly Husband by Carolyn Greene and A Groom for Gwen by Jeanne Allan. This month it’s the turn of popular Australian author Margaret Way with Gabriel’s Mission. This is an emotional story that sees Chloe taking one risk too many and, before she knows it, her boss is close by her side.
Have a heavenly read!
Falling in love sometimes needs a little help from above!
Gabriel’s Mission
Margaret Way
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
PROLOGUE
HEAVEN
TITUS and Thomas came tumbling down the grass, rolling ecstatically across the cushiony emerald sward, hurtling onwards to the stream that flashed silver in the all-pervading shining light. They often played this tumbling game. They loved it. Rolling from the very top of the undulating hill with its thick sprinkling of wildflowers, into the translucent water below. With their wings tucked back they dived to the bottom where gorgeous little fish, lovely little things, came to the hand, and flowers like jewels opened and shut amid the green reeds that grew out of the sand with its rich dusting of gold. Afterwards they floated with the immortal white swans that gently made way for them, bending their beaks to the still water that mirrored their snowy reflections. Afterwards they could ride the silky softness of the clouds calling on the Sky Wind to blow them to heaven’s brink or perhaps play with the cherubs who loved to fly through the great soaring trees of the forest on pretty little dragons, beautifully caparisoned. It was all marvellous fun! But sometimes Titus wished he had a job to do. He was bursting with love and miraculous energy so sometimes his aura flared like the sun.
They were almost at the bottom of the slope and into the crystal fountain when a voice like a golden trumpet echoed across the hillside and a great beam of pure white light approached them at enormous speed.
“Titus, Thomas, I haven’t seen you all day. A meeting at the Archives Building, if you please. Titus, Thomas, hello...hello...”
Mr. Bliss, Titus thought in surprise. Archangel in charge of recruitments for guardian angels.
Immediately Titus popped out his wings. Thomas followed suit, both soaring high in the air above the tops of the eternally blossoming trees.
“Ah, there you are, boys. A busy morning ahead,” Mr. Bliss said as soon as he saw them. Mr. Bliss stayed in place with a whirring of great wings, while Titus and Thomas flitted around him, all of them hundreds of feet off the ground.
Titus’s radiant blue eyes shone with excitement. Just maybe one day he would get to be a guardian angel. “What’s the meeting about, Mr. Bliss?” he asked with an eager inflection.
Mr. Bliss lifted his hands, light streaming from his fingertips. “Surely you can guess, Titus? Guardian angels have to be elected. We have to help our earthly friends. Poor souls, what would they do without us?”
What indeed!
The Great Hall of the Archives Building spired to God’s glory, its walls sculptured of sparkling crystal inlaid with silver and gold. Today it was filled with luminous beings wearing exquisite flowing robes, rose, saffron, azure, rich emerald and crimson and a wonderful violet, so that everywhere one looked there was rainbow upon rainbow of rippling colour. The higher one went through the nine angelic ranks the more the myriad colours gave way to an extreme white radiance like that of Mr. Bliss who now stood before them in a blinding flash of light and a great rushing whirl of majestic white wings. Wings they all had in common, from the cute double and triple wings of the adorable little cherubs to the six-foot splendour of the most awesome angels of all, the Cherubim and Seraphim, the highest-ranking heavenly beings who guarded the Divine Throne. These exulted angels, naturally, did not attend staff meetings.
Mr. Bliss lost no time getting things under way. Angels were encouraged to speak of their experiences; looking after their earthly charges, leading them to the realm of Heaven, a place of such joy and beauty no human mind could encompass it; or sending souls back through the long tunnel between near death and eternity to fulfil their destiny. Guardian angel roles were renewed, legions more appointed in the twinkling of an eye. A few angels spoke of exhaustion, a state rare among their ranks, although it was known. One angel in particular, Lucas, told the most wistful tale of all. For twenty-four years he had been the appointed guardian angel of one Chloe Cavanagh who was proving such a handful Lucas feared he had suffered a temporary burnout. In fact he was feeling a loss of power in his lower right wing.
“It’s not as though Chloe isn’t a fine compassionate young mortal with considerable spirituality, but she’s becoming something of a danger to herself,” he told his brilliant audience. “She has a tragic history you see.” Lucas went on to tell them Chloe had lost a sibling, a brother, Timothy, when she was six and the child barely eighteen months, leaving the family desolate. Then some two years ago tragedy struck again like a lightning bolt. Chloe’s parents were involved in a car crash that killed her father and put her mother into a coma from which she hadn’t emerged for months on end. The mother, still locked in a waking dream state, was now in a nursing home being cared for while Chloe tried to balance her career as a journalist in the high-powered world of network TV with being there for her mother.
Mr. Bliss was faced with a decision. To counsel Lucas and allow him to continue? Or allow Lucas a long rest and appoint a replacement. There were many positive angels he could rely on to do the job. Angels who wouldn’t collapse under the strain.
As Mr. Bliss looked around thoughtfully a glowing young face distracted him. Titus, of course, his garments radiating a flawless blue light. Angels’ beautifully sculptured tranquil features were seen mostly through a luminous haze rather like a vapour, but for some reason Titus’s sparkling face was almost flesh and blood. He glowed, with his burnished rose-gold curls, brilliant blue eyes and a tracery of gold freckles that danced across his nose. Curious to have freckles in this perfect realm where the sun spilled only adoration onto God and His heavenly kingdom. Mr. Bliss had the feeling there might be much to learn about young Titus’s past. Was it possible he had had an earthly life?
Even as Mr. Bliss considered a dip into Archives, Titus spoke up. “Please, Mr. Bliss, can’t you give us little guys a go?”
There it was again. Those unusual words. Guys? Of course Titus liked reading about life on earth. Didn’t they all!
Mr. Bliss folded his long, beautiful fingers together, the expression on his wonderful classic face not without sympathy. “Hmm. Not possible, young Titus, I’m afraid. I’m not saying not ever but not just yet.”
“It could be the answer,” Lucas suddenly interjected in a very deep mellow voice like a gong, reminding Mr. Bliss Lucas must be many thousands of years old. “I do realise Titus has had no experience but he’s so full of pep he just might be able to keep up with Chloe.”
Mr. Bliss’s singular eyes that were very dark but sparkled with light, began to sharpen and glow. “I rarely if ever send anyone so young, Lucas,” he pointed out gently.
“You started young, Mr. Bliss,” Titus piped up.
Another thing that struck Mr. Bliss as odd. How did Titus know? “So I did,” Mr. Bliss admitted.
There were chuckles all ’round, tender smiles for Titus.
“What joy it must be to be a guardian angel!” Titus exclaimed, bright curls abob. His expression was one of radiant hope.
Mr. Bliss pondered. Titus was an extremely helpful and cooperative young angel, given to playful games perhaps but excellent at supervising the cherubs. The experience of taking charge of a mortal life might catapult him into real responsibility, earn him his three-quarter wings. Really Titus wasn’t all that different from himself at the same state of transformation.
“All right, Titus,” Mr. Bliss announced to a rippling wave of applause and a familiar swishing of wings. “The position of guardian angel to Miss Chloe Cavanagh is yours as of now.”
Titus strove to control the great flame of excitement that sent far-distant memories raying through his mind.
While the cherubs played ball with the low-hanging silver stars, Titus embarked on his great flight to earth, accelerating through the vast sea of clouds with a rhythmic swishing of his wings, revelling in the freshness of the wind, the extraordinary smell of earth’s atmosphere as he entered it. While he watched the play of glittering golden sunlight on the near side of the planet, he was conscious of being happier than he had ever been in his experience. Maybe he had overdone the surging speed of descent. Even Heaven didn’t seem real.
“Hold on, Chloe,” he called in a sweet ecstasy, his glowing blue garments suddenly reflecting a white light. “I’m your guardian angel now. You can call upon my power.”
To keep Chloe safe would be his great mission.
A great wave of love engulfed him. Not so much glory, but something of a different lustre; warm, human affection.
The soul remembers.
CHAPTER ONE
IT was well after nine-thirty when Chloe finally made it back to BTQ8, thinking she mightn’t have a job at the end of the day. In the year since he had become Managing Director of the Brisbane link in the national network, McGuire had been reducing numbers at the drop of a hat. Downsizing, he said, in the quest to achieve better results. Not being a fan of McGuire’s, Chloe chose to ignore the fact the TV station had been staging a remarkable comeback from near disaster under her old mentor, Clive Connor, who had since been moved on with a very generous redundancy package. She had never taken to McGuire, Clive’s successor, but the Big Guys loved him. He was the Golden Boy with a big future in the industry. The man who could do no wrong. This might very well be her day to get the shove. The third monthly meeting she had missed in a row when she always started out with the very best intentions.
Hunching her shoulders against the heavy tropical downpour, Chloe dashed across the station car park and into the main building, struggling with her brolly which, being cheap, was playing up. When she looked up, McGuire was coming towards her. Six foot three of raw animal power. He had shoulders like a front rower which he had been apparently at University. She wouldn’t have cared to be his opposite number. She didn’t like men who were so dark, either. So in-the-face uncompromisingly male. For a man of Irish ancestry he was almost swarthy with thick jet-black hair he wore short to discourage the curl, a bronze skin and, it had to be admitted, rather fine near-black eyes with eyelashes most women would die for.
Chloe raised her hand and before she could help herself gave him a cheeky wave. Where for the love of mike was her sense of survival? Gone with the great wind from Hell that had blown away her entire world.
“Cavanagh, you’re late,” McGuire said with a touch of gravel, amused and irritated by the sort of cockiness she usually exhibited with him. He moved to join her, watching her fiddle with a floral umbrella that looked more like a child’s sunshade, then flip back her trademark mane of red hair. It was pouring outside and her hair curled extravagantly in the humid heat. Corkscrew locks spilled forward onto her forehead and flushed cheeks. She looked ravishing, like a heavenly illumination in a Medieval manuscript where the artist used precious pigments and gold inks. All that was missing was the bright halo and she sure didn’t deserve that. Three missed meetings in as many months. It made him so damned mad. Exaggeration. Exasperated. For some reason that evaded him, he had a soft spot for Cavanagh. Maybe it was the look of her, the finely constructed frame he would like to give a good shake. She appeared so light, so fragile, so feminine, the tender curves of her breasts, the willowy waist and delicate hips, the ballerina legs. Yet there was something strong about her, something supple and resilient that shone through the lightness. Of course he knew her tragic background, and that smote him. Not that she would ever confide in him. He was well aware of her hidden antipathy. Almost a revulsion, he sometimes thought, like a princess under siege with the barbarian at the gate. She had been ready to dislike him before he had ever been given the chance to open his mouth. He had no hand at all in Connor’s sacking. Poor old Clive had brought it all on himself.
Chloe looking up at McGuire towering above her suddenly coughed, making him aware he had been staring. “In my office in ten minutes,” he clipped off.
“Right, Chief.” She just barely refrained from saluting him. What had stopped her? Perhaps because McGuire had swung back on her. Lord, for a big man he was remarkably light on his feel A sudden vision of him in a tutu almost made her laugh aloud. “I’m so sorry I missed the meeting,” she found herself saying hastily, “I do most humbly apologise.”
It was so sweet he damn near lifted a hand to toy with her rain-sequined hair. Instead he asked sarcastically, “Another hot story breaking?”
“Could be a real scoop.” It was a fib. She had made an unscheduled early morning visit to see her mother then got caught up in road works. No use to tell McGuire that. She could see the flint in his all-encompassing dark eyes.
“Sure you’re not getting overly ambitious?” he challenged her, worried it might be the case. She had taken so many risks of late, even if they had managed to come off.
“It was you who persuaded us to lift our game, Chief,” she pointed out innocently.
“Then I’ll have to dissuade you from placing yourself in danger, as well. Get rid of these wet things then we’ll have a nice chat.”
Chat? Ha! As if she needed a chat with McGuire. Communications between the two of them were becoming increasingly edgy. She didn’t know why she disliked him so much. Every other woman in the building fell in a swoon as he passed. Hers was a feline reaction, much like her marmalade cat confronted by a very large Doberman. Chloe raced on, greeting fellow workers to her left and right in her bright, friendly fashion, beaming at Mike Cole, senior sports writer, as he held the door of the outer office for her.
“Chloe, damned if I’ve ever seen anyone look so pretty in the rain,” Mike exclaimed. “You’ve got messages, kid. They’re on your desk. Better warn ya, Gabe was browned off when you didn’t show up for the meeting.”
Chloe looked up at Mike with a little grimace. “Don’t I know. I saw the dear boy in the lobby. I started out so early, too, but I got caught up a traffic jam. Road works at Lang Park. Hopeless. They do everything right before an election. Fact is I called in on Mum. I had the weirdest dream last night. Mum was trying to tell me someone was coming. Pathetic isn’t it?”
Mike shook his head in sympathy. He had been on his way out but decided to walk back with her. He and his wife, Teri, were very fond of Chloe. A frequent visitor to their home, she was the godmother to their newest baby, Samantha. Chloe had been given a very rough deal in life. But she was such a fighter. “What about a coffee?” he suggested.
“Love one. A rushed one,” Chloe said. “I didn’t have time for breakfast. McGuire gave me a drop-dead invitation. In his office in ten minutes.” She glanced at her watch. “Correction, eight. He was looking at me so queerly as if he couldn’t figure me out.”
Mike snorted. “For such a tough guy, he’s mighty easy on you.” He walked to the coffee machine, came back with two steaming cups of black coffee. “And how is Mum?” he asked. He and Teri had accompanied Chloe to her mother’s nursing home on several occasions. Delia Cavanagh was still a beautiful woman but the life switch had been turned off. Probably for good, Mike thought sadly.
“She looks so serene, Mike,” Chloe said, a bright glitter of helpless tears in her dark blue eyes. “For all that has happened to her she doesn’t seem to have aged a minute. It’s like she’s locked in time.”
Mike shook his sandy head, receding rapidly at the hairline to his distress. “It’s been hard on you, Chloe, but you’re a daughter in a million.” Chloe visited her mother on almost a daily basis when Mike knew her packed schedule. No wonder she looked like a breeze could blow her out of town.
Chloe gulped her coffee, too hot. “Why did it have to happen, Mike? Isn’t it enough to lose your husband and child? I try, but I don’t know that I believe in God anymore.”
“Well, he sure isn’t selling this world,” Mike observed with a wry expression. “Maybe it’s the next we should be aimin’ for, kid.”
“I think McGuire is of the opinion I’m trying to get myself killed.”
Mike took a while to answer. “It makes sense, Chloe. Goodness knows Teri and I think you’re the bravest girl in the world but you haven’t quite come to terms with all the blows fate has dealt you. That’s what worries Gabe.”
Blue fire flashed from Chloe’s beautiful eyes. “What would McGuire know about it? He knows nothing about me.”
“Of course he does, Chloe. Don’t take it so hard.” Mike leaned back against Chloe’s desk, a gangling attractive figure. “Your father was a well-known physician. It was in all the papers. Gabe has access to anything he wants to know.”
“I wouldn’t put a great deal of faith in McGuire’s kind heart.” Chloe started to push her coffee away. “I don’t want him to know anything about me. I certainly don’t want his pity.”
“Chloe, love, settle down.” Mike’s voice carried a fatherly note. “I know you can’t see this, but Gabe’s a great guy.”
“Who gave our good friend, Clive, the push and laid off Ralph and Lindsey,” Chloe retorted.
“Connor had it coming. Be fair, in fact they all did. You have to admit Clive had lost his drive. I know we all liked him. You saw him as some sort of a father figure, but he totally lacked Gabe’s skills, let alone brilliance.”
“Gabriel McGuire, the one-man razor gang?” Chloe mocked, twiddling her fingers at a junior staffer.
“Everyone is cost conscious these days, Chloe. The shareholders want an adequate return and Gabe has to satisfy our national bosses. He’s single-handedly pulled us from disastrous near-bottom ratings to giving Channel Nine a run for their money.”
“All right, all right,” Chloe sighed, wishing she had a croissant. She was hungry. “He’s a dynamo but there’s something kind of ruthless about him. I don’t like men who look like that. So dark and overpowering.”
“You just cut your teeth on poor old Clive,” Mike pointed out gently.
“At least he was a gentle man.”
“You just don’t like Gabe, full stop.”
“I told you. Something about him frightens me away.”
“Hey, Chloe, like a muffin?” someone called. “Nice and fresh.”
Chloe looked up as a young production assistant sauntered up to her, holding out a white paper bag.
“Gee, thanks, Rosie. I’m hungry, missed breakfast.”
“Just popped into my head.” Rosie smiled and moved off.
Chloe made short work of the delicious apricot muffin, wiped her mouth and fingers, then adjusted the collar of her yellow silk crepe blouse and stood up. “That’s it, then. I’d better see McGuire.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Mike said. “I should have been over at the Broncos training session ten minutes ago.”
McGuire was watching her approach through the glass wall of his office, motioning her in with a near pugilistic lift of his arm. Needless to say he was on the phone, one hand riffling through some papers, the other holding the receiver slotted between his aggressive cleft chin and his broad shoulder. Chloe took a seat, sitting upright, slender legs neatly locked at knee and ankle. She wished now she hadn’t worn the yellow outfit, a favourite because it brightened her mood, but the short skirt was undeniably short. McGuire must have thought so, too, because his eyes moved slowly over her legs before settling on her face.
Drat. Why did he have to do that? He was carrying on a high-powered conversation while his near-black eyes almost bound her to the chair. He was openly studying her. Not politely, formally, but with confrontational male interest. Chloe couldn’t help knowing she was pretty—other people said beautiful—but Chloe, at twenty-four, was still a virgin with a very fastidious mentality. Having sex, for Chloe, involved falling in love, and Chloe knew better than anyone that love and the loss of it meant terrible suffering. She had friends, of course. Lots of friends. Male and female. But she couldn’t play the jump-into-bed game. One of the things about McGuire that bothered her was his sexual charisma, the certain knowledge that he would be a passionate maybe too demanding lover. She had known the second she had laid eyes on him, felt his eyes on her; recognised the looming battle ahead. She had readied herself, immediately raising her defences against such a threatening aura.
Now inexplicably she knew a bleak moment She was a mess. Had been since the fabric of her life had been ripped apart. No man could ever put his heart in her hands. She wouldn’t know what to do with it.
McGuire slammed the phone down and leaned across his massive mahogany desk, causing Chloe to audibly exhale.
“Tell me why you couldn’t make the meeting?” he asked, almost gently for him.
