"I hope it's the last one, too," he said.
But something inside him feared that it wasn't.
Chapter 16
Cole was bone-tired. Annabel could see that in his face as he stepped through the rear door of his house and into the kitchen. He stopped short in surprise at the sight of her standing there.
Back at Mrs. Noone's, she had bathed, washing off the sweat and grime of the firemen's competition, then dressed in a simple beige gown that went well with her dark brown hair and luminous brown eyes. The gown had frills of delicate lace down the bodice and at the cuffs of the sleeves. Annabel had washed and combed her hair, too, so that now it was thick and lustrous as it framed her face. The only jewelry she wore was a gold necklace Mrs. Noone had let her borrow.
"My God," Cole said, "you're lovely." His voice was a little hoarse from inhaling smoke; Annabel's had grown raspy from smoke enough times for her to recognize the sound of it. Cole went on, "But what are you doing here?"
"Well, you didn't get to have dinner at Mrs. Noone's house like you were supposed to," Annabel said, "so I've fixed a meal for you here. Before that, though, there's a hot bath waiting for you upstairs."
"That sounds wonderful," he said with heartfelt gratitude. Then he frowned. "But how did you know when I'd get back from the fire?"
"I didn't."
"Then how did you manage to keep the water hot?"
"I put some on the stove to warm and kept adding it to the tub."
"You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble."
She shook her head. "I didn't mind."
And indeed it wasn't as much trouble as it sounded, Annabel reflected. She'd only had to make a handful of trips up the stairs to the bathroom with the pot of heated water. She had to admit, though, there was a lot to be said for turning a faucet and having hot water come right out of the wall. Amazing the things a person didn't miss until they were gone.
Or hadn't been invented yet.
Cole grinned tiredly. "Since you've prepared all this, I suppose I'd be a terrible ingrate if I didn't take advantage of it. I'll take that bath and be right back down."
"No hurry," Annabel said. "I’ll keep the food warm."
She hoped he might kiss her on his way out of the room, but he didn't. Clearly, as glad as he was to see her, he was also distracted. She couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with the fire.
Mrs. Noone hadn't tried to talk her out of it when she mentioned that she might stop by Cole's house tonight. In fact, the elderly woman had positively sparkled at the idea, suggesting that Lucius drive her over. She probably hoped that something romantic would happen between the two young people.
That was all right with Annabel—she sort of hoped so too . . .
She had brought food, not knowing what Cole might have on hand. Mrs. Noone had insisted that Annabel take the pot roast that was in the icebox, and now it was staying warm on the stove and being kept company by plenty of carrots and potatoes. Annabel had also baked some bread. She had a bottle of wine waiting on the table in the dining room, along with four candles. She gave Cole a few minutes after he had gone upstairs, then went into the dining room to light the candles. When they were all burning, she turned off the gas fixture and let the soft light illuminate the room.
For a moment, a wicked thought played through her head. She could take that bottle of wine and go upstairs to surprise Cole in his bath. Maybe he'd never had his back scrubbed by a beautiful woman before, and even if he had, she knew a few things she was willing to bet would surprise him. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and let the delicious fantasy fill her senses.
But Cole was an old-fashioned kind of guy, she reminded herself. If she went too fast, she might throw him for a loop and make him think she was some sort of . . . what would they call it in this era? she asked herself. Trollop? Harlot? Soiled dove?
She didn't want to make him uncomfortable. On the other hand, if he wound up kissing her again, there was no telling what might happen.
"You look like you're a million miles away," Cole said as he strolled into the dining room. His hair was still damp from the bath and only roughly combed. He had put on a pair of dark trousers and a white shirt that was open at the neck. The sleeves were rolled up a couple of turns on-his muscular forearms. He stopped and looked at the candlelit table, with its Irish linen tablecloth set with fine china and silverware she had found in a glass-fronted cabinet "This is lovely, Annabel," he said, and his voice was rough— though with emotion this time, not smoke.
"Thank you," she murmured. "I’ll go get the food."
Cole stepped forward quickly. "Can I help you?"