"Have ye seen that gal o' yours here today?" Patsy asked now.
''She's not my gal," Cole said, though a part of him definitely wished that she were. He went on, "And no, I haven't seen her. I thought Annabel might come with Mrs. Noone, but I spotted her a while ago and there was no one with her except Mellisande Dupree and Lucius."
"Maybe since ye wouldn't let her take part in the competition, she's sittin' at home sulkin'."
That was Lieutenant Driscoll's decision, not mine," Cole pointed out "All I was supposed to do was ask him about the possibility."
"When the gal asked ye to be fair about it, she may have meant that she wanted ye to be on her side. Women don't always say what they mean, ye know."
"I'll bow to the wisdom of the expert," Cole said dryly.
"Ye think I don't know what I'm talkin' about?" Patsy challenged.
Cole smiled. 'I'm sure you do. I've seen you with too many women to think otherwise."
"Sure and that's the gospel truth!"
They wandered on toward the area where the fire wagons were being hooked up to their teams. Each department was racing a steam pumper this year, and Patsy had been selected to handle the reins for the San Francisco entry. Cole thought that was a good idea; no one in the department could handle horses better than Patsy O'Flaherty.
Each wagon would also have a full complement of fire men riding on it, and Cole intended to be one of them on the San Francisco wagon. Several other engine companies would be represented as well.
The fire department bands began playing, performing a concert of marches and patriotic music for the large crowd that had gathered to watch them. The band shell wasn't far from the staging area for the race, so Cole could hear the music quite clearly. The martial strains never failed to affect him. It was good to be alive on a day like today, in a city such as San Francisco, he told himself. There was only one way the day could have been better, he realized.
And that was if Annabel had been at his side.
Maybe Patsy was right. Maybe he should have thrown his support behind Annabel's request. If he had tried, he might have been able to persuade Lieutenant Driscoll to change his mind. Knowing that he supported her might have been just as important to Annabel as actually competing in the contests between fire departments. The thing of it was, that possibility had never occurred to Cole. No wonder she had been angry with him . . .
But there was still the matter of her being a woman, and try as he might, Cole couldn't bring himself to believe that she ought to be part of something like the fire department. Even these, contests, as tightly controlled as they were, could be dangerous, and just the thought of Annabel being hurt made him go cold inside and tied his stomach in knots. He didn't want anything bad to ever happen to her. He wanted to protect her and take care of her and bring her all the happiness he possibly could.
And why would he feel like that, he suddenly asked himself, unless he—
"Climb aboard, laddybuck," Patsy said, breaking into Cole's chain of thought. "Time to drive on over to the startin' line."
Cole nodded and reached up to grasp one of the brass grab bars on the side of the pumper. He pulled himself onto the narrow catwalk that ran around the sides of the wagon. Patsy scrambled onto the driver's seat and took up the reins. He flicked them and called out to the horses, and the pumper rolled forward as the team pulled against the harness.
Cole glanced at the other men on his side of the wagon. They were all from other engine companies, and he didn't recognize any of them except vaguely, from having seen them at various fires. He looked over the top of the boiler. The helmets of the men on the other side of the pumper were the only things visible. One of them, Cole noticed, was from Engine Company Forty-eight, and he wondered if it belonged to that sleepy fireman who'd been dozing under the tree. If that was the case, he thought, the fellow ought to be grateful to him for waking him up.
He forgot all about that as the wagon rolled over the smooth, grassy parkland toward the starting line. The race was the highlight of the afternoon and the final contest of the day. It might well determine which of the fire departments emerged victorious. Cole knew that he and his San Francisco cohorts were leading, but there were more points awarded for winning the race than for any of the other contests. With a victory, Oakland could claim the championship.
But that wasn't likely to happen, not with Patsy at the reins. Cole tightened his grip on the grab bar and grinned in anticipation.
****