Cole just shook his head, picked up another rag, and walked around to the other side of the Amoskeag. The brasswork over here needed polishing, too, so he went to it, rubbing the smooth shiny surface probably a bit harder than was actually required to do the job properly.
Patsy was wrong, Cole was certain of that. Annabel would not respond favorably if he just up and grabbed her and gave her a kiss. She would never be what Patsy called a tenth time.
But what if he courted her properly? After the upcoming competition was over, he could call on her at Mrs. Noone's house, and they could sit in the parlor and sip tea and talk about . . . well, about something, even though Cole didn't know what. And he could take her for a cable car ride, and they could go out to eat again, and maybe when spring was further along, he could take her to Golden Gate Park and they could go rowing on one of the lakes. He would enjoy that, Cole decided as he thought about how Annabel would look sitting in one of the boats, wearing a white dress with little yellow flowers on it and a white hat with a yellow band. He would row the boat and she would laugh, and the sun would shine on both of them, and then when they got. back to shore he would step out first, of course, and reach out to take her hands and help her, and her fingers would twine with his and their palms would press together, and when she took the long step out of the rowboat it would bring her close to him, so that he could lean toward her and brush his lips over hers in a kiss that was supposed to be quick but lingered instead, their lips stroking and tasting and exploring the magical warmth that had sprung up between them . . .
"You're going to rub a hole in that bell if you're not careful," Lieutenant Driscoll said as he walked past the steam pumper.
Cole jerked and looked around, instantly transported back to the drab confines of the firehouse.
The lieutenant looked over his shoulder and frowned. "Are you all right, Cole?" he asked. "You're not still thinking about that confounded woman, are you?"
Cole managed to shake his head. "Ah, no, sir. I guess I just got a little . . . carried away with my polishing."
Still frowning, Driscoll went on about his business.
Cole heard a tiny whistle and looked over the top of the boiler. Patsy had climbed up on the other side of the pumper and was grinning knowingly at him.
Cole balled the rag in his hand and threw it at the ugly face. With a cackle of laughter, Patsy dropped back down out of sight and the rag sailed harmlessly over his head.
"The tenth time, laddybuck," he called softly. "Never ye forget. The tenth time makes it all worthwhile."
Chapter 11
Are you absolutely certain about this, my dear?" Mrs. Noone asked worriedly.
"It's true that wearing your hair down as you do is far from the height of fashion," Mellisande Dupree added. "But it's absolutely lovely when you put it up."
Lucius said in his deep voice, "For God's sake, it's the young woman's head. Let her do with it what she will."
Annabel smiled at the figures hovering around her. "Thank you, Lucius," she said. "And I am certain this is what I want."
"Very well, then." Mrs. Noone nodded to the portly, mustachioed man who stood waiting, wearing a waistcoat, a silk vest, and an elegant cravat with a diamond stickpin. "You may proceed, Luigi."
"As you wish, madam," the man murmured. He moved closer to Annabel and lifted the pair of scissors that he held in one pudgy hand.
Annabel closed her eyes as the snipping started. She didn't want to watch the expressions on the faces of Mrs. Noone, Mellisande, and Lucius as they observed the hair-cutting. Despite the positive tone of her voice, it had been a difficult decision to make. However, it was necessary if she was going to be able to proceed with her plan.
And it wasn't as if she had hair all the way down her back to her waist or had been growing it for years or anything like that. Hair that long would have been a definite impediment in her work as a firefighter. She'd always kept it short enough so that it could be pinned up and tucked under a helmet.
That wasn't good enough now. If her masquerade was going to work, she couldn't risk having her hair come loose and start tumbling down at an inopportune moment.
Maybe she should have waited until she knew for sure that Cole's lieutenant had refused to give his permission, she thought as Luigi worked his way around her, humming softly to himself, the scissors click-clacking around her ears. She might be sacrificing her hair for nothing.
Once she made a decision, though, she generally just plunged right ahead with it. And the more she thought about it, the more she knew that Cole's passing along her request to the lieutenant was just an empty formality. She was not going to be given permission to compete openly.
Which just meant she would have to compete secretly.