"That's not the way it was," Cole growled. He said again, "I did what you asked."
Annabel's head was spinning, and she controlled herself only with great effort. It was hard to believe that only moments ago, they had been in each other's arms, sharing one of the sweetest, tenderest kisses she had ever experienced. A part of her wished desperately that she could go back in time yet again, so that she could erase the past few moments. It would be easy, so easy, just to forget all about her plans and ambitions and to settle for being in Cole's arms, with his warm lips pressed to hers . . .
But if she did that, she knew, she would never forgive herself.
"I think you'd better go," she said hollowly.
"I think you're right." Cole started toward the foyer, then stopped short and faced her again. "For what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you, Annabel."
"I know that," she said softly, her eyes downcast. She was afraid to lift her gaze to meet his. All the danger she had faced in her life, she thought, and now she was afraid to do this one simple thing.
She stayed like that, staring down at the rug on the floor of the parlor, until she heard the front door close firmly a few minutes later, and she knew that Cole was gone.
Chapter 12
For the next few days, Cole had a tremendously difficult time keeping Annabel out of his thoughts. He tried to concentrate on his work, and on the practices for the upcoming competition with the Oakland Fire Department, but every time he relaxed his vigilance, even in the slightest, her image appeared again in his mind, filling his head with her beauty and taunting him with the memory of how her lips had tasted as he feasted on her mouth . . .
The kiss had almost worked. That was what was so frustrating. When Cole had acted on Patsy O'Flaherty's suggestion, as outrageous as he had thought it was, he had almost succeeded in driving all thoughts of the competition out of Annabel's head. He had sensed that she was close to abandoning the idea and turning to him instead.
For the most part, Cole wished she would do just that. But another part of him stubbornly insisted that he would have been disappointed in her if she had given up that easily.
He was behind the firehouse with Patsy and several other members of the crew the day before the competition in Golden Gate Park. Several bales of hay bad been stacked up, and wooden targets with large bull's-eyes were attached to them. Cole stood about forty feet from the targets, hefting a double-bladed fire ax in his hand, trying to judge its weight and balance. He lifted the ax above his head, poised it there for a second, then whipped his arm forward. The ax flew through the air, turning end over end, until the head smacked into the target, just below the bull's-eye, and stuck there. Patsy and the other firemen let out whoops and whistles of admiration.
"What a throw!" Patsy exclaimed. "Sure and I'd like t' see any of those scurvy lads from Oakland beat that!"
"It was a little low," Cole pointed out.
"Pshaw! I've never seen a better one."
The other men took their turns, aiming at the other targets, and while all of them were around the bull's-eye, none came as close as Cole had. He knew that if he performed that well in the competition, there was a very good chance none of the Oakland firemen would best him in the ax throw.
"How are the horses?" Patsy asked one of the other men.
"Rested and ready for the race," he replied with a grin. "We're going to beat Oakland this year."
The competition was always close. The previous year, it had come down to the race between fire wagons at the conclusion of the contest. The Oakland department had won, but only narrowly, breaking a string of three years in a row in which the San Francisco firemen had emerged victorious. Everyone in Cole's department was anxious to win this year's competition and reclaim bragging rights.
Cole retrieved his ax and was about to set up another target when the alarm bells inside the firehouse began to ring. Along with Patsy and the others, he dashed inside. Lieutenant Driscoll came sliding down the pole in the center of the building and called out to them, "Fire on the waterfront! One of the Ingersoll warehouses!"
Cole felt a flicker of relief, but it didn't last long. When the lieutenant had mentioned the waterfront, the fear that it was another of his company's warehouses had flashed through Cole's mind. When he heard that the place belonged to Garrett Ingersoll, it eased his worries—but not by much. The fire could still spread, and Ingersoll's buildings were close to his.