Chapter Five #2
She talked and chatted with friends and promised to come to a baby shower the women’s group was giving Jenny Perkins the following
Tuesday. She smiled at the appropriate times, spoke when necessary, but her mind was buzzing and the sick feeling that had
attacked the pit of her stomach yesterday afternoon persisted the rest of the day.
On her lunch break Monday afternoon, Lesley stopped in the library. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for, but
she had a name and would go from there. Without arousing the librarian’s curiosity, Lesley took down from the shelves several
volumes relating to the auto industry. Twice she’d heard people say Cole seemed to know a lot about cars. The one remark that
struck a chord of response in her had been that of the tow truck operator, who’d said Cole had fixed the foreign car after
just listening to the engine.
Flipping through the indexes of several books, Lesley drew a blank.
“Can I help you?” The gray-haired librarian asked her when she returned an armload of books to the counter.
“Not today. Thanks.”
Lesley returned at five after the bank had closed, took down several more volumes and sat at a table, leafing through the
back pages.
“If you’d let me know what you’re looking for I might be able to help.” The librarian tried a second time.
“I have a name of someone and I wanted to see if I could find it. Someone who may have been in the news recently.” It was
a stab in the dark, but she didn’t know where else to look. If Cole was running from the authorities, his name would have
been in the newspapers.
The woman’s brow was wrinkled in a deep frown. “Locally?”
“No, I was thinking more on a national level. Possibly from Indiana.” That was where Cole’s out-of-state check had been issued.
“Possibly the personal names in the New York Times Index would be of help, but we don’t have that reference book here.”
“Could you find out for me?”
The woman looked unsure. “I can check, but it may take a few days. What’s the name?”
“Engstrom.”
“First name?”
“I’m . . . not sure.” If Daniels wasn’t his last name, who was to know what he’d used for his first name?
“I probably won’t have the information until the end of the week.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
November and December were heavy snow months in northern Idaho. Normally Lesley didn’t mind. Idaho was sometimes called America’s
Switzerland, and the skiing was fantastic—some of the world’s best. But Lesley’s thoughts weren’t on the glacial valleys or
the pristine forests as she pulled into her driveway.
Everything was still and beautiful. The town below looked like something out of a fairy tale.
The sky was already dark, and Lesley’s nerves were raw.
She couldn’t stay in the apartment without pacing or having her stomach churn with nervous anxiety.
What would she learn about Cole? What shocking thing was she about to uncover about the man she was coming to love so intensely, the stranger who lived next door?
With so much nervous energy pent up, Lesley charged out back and grabbed the snow shovel. Several inches more were forecast
for the night. If she cleared the space behind her car now, it meant less work in the morning.
She had managed to shovel only a small portion of the area when Cole’s front door slammed.
“Just what are you doing?” he demanded. His mood didn’t appear to have improved.
Lesley straightened, one hand holding the shovel as she glared at Cole. She half expected him to look different, to have changed
since their last meeting. He hadn’t. One glance and her heart began to flutter wildly. The control he had over her was both
dangerous and foolish. The stranger’s words about Cole having a way with women sparked her indignation.
“What does it look like?” she shot back, slamming the blunt edge of the shovel into the compact snow on her driveway. Now,
if she could only hold her tongue . . . But sometimes it was impossible to hold things back.
“Let me do that. It’s too hard for you.”
“It is not too hard for me.” Her hand tightened its grip on the wooden handle.
“Don’t be silly. I don’t want you out here—”
“I’m sure that’s true. You’d like to be rid of me all together . . . and it’s not because you’re attracted to me, either.”
His laugh was mirthless. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lesley swung around, intent on ignoring him.
“What’s so important about doing this now? I was planning to do it in the morning. It doesn’t make sense to do it twice.”
“It makes perfect sense,” she shouted, and tossed a shovel full of snow to the side. “Now kindly leave me alone.”
“Lesley, please. Will you listen to reason?”
“Reason?” she echoed. “All these weeks I’ve watched you. It isn’t normal, the way you live. A hundred questions demand answers.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter. Go inside where it’s safe and you don’t have to deal with me.”
“Lesley.” He sounded exasperated and angry.
By this time she didn’t care. “But then I could be easily silenced.” She paused and placed a hand on her hip, her chin angled
flippantly. “After all, you do have a way with women. I’m no problem.” Realizing what she said, Lesley gasped and turned around.
His hand, biting roughly into her upper arm, turned her to face him. “What did you say?”
Pinching her lips tightly shut, she met his angry glare. “Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that.”
“I just did.” The acid sting of tears burned in her eyes. How could she possibly have fallen for someone like Cole Daniels?
“Lesley.” He ground out her name impatiently.
She could feel the heat of his gaze studying her face, pausing to linger for a heart-stopping moment on her parted mouth.
Lesley struggled. At the first sign of resistance, Cole dropped his hand.
“Don’t make judgments when you don’t understand the situation.” He ran a hand through his hair. His steel-sharp gaze pinned
her as effectively as a vise. “What else did you hear?”
With a determined effort, Lesley lowered her eyes. “Enough, Mr. Engstrom.” When she glanced up, she saw that Cole had closed
his eyes, his mouth tight and controlled.
“Have you told anyone?”
Lesley shook her head. “Are you in any danger?”
“No.”
He was lying, Lesley was sure of it. Hadn’t the stranger said Jennings was after him?
“Are you in trouble with the authorities?”
“No,” he said forcefully.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Lesley,” he pleaded and rubbed a weary hand over his face. “I can’t. I could be putting you . . .” He didn’t finish. Instead
he took the shovel out of her hand. “Invite me in for coffee.”
“All right,” she agreed.
Stomping snow off her boots, Lesley led the way into the cozy, warm apartment. Cole followed her inside, sitting at the table
while she placed the water on the stove to boil. For a second she stood, unsure, in the middle of her kitchen. She didn’t
know whether she should remain by the stove and wait for the water or sit beside Cole. Her first instinct was to wrap her
arms around him and seek the comfort of his embrace.
Hesitantly Lesley stood with her back to him, her hands gripping the oven door to keep from turning and letting him see the
doubts and anxiety in her eyes.
The scraping sound of the chair told Lesley that Cole was standing. The noise was followed by gentle footsteps moving behind
her. A rough, calloused hand cupped each shoulder, bringing her back to rest against his solid length. His mouth found the
sensitive area behind her ear and spread teasing kisses there. Tingling sensations shot down her back and arms.
“Cole,” she moaned, close to tears, “don’t, please don’t.”
He turned her in his arms, and Lesley struggled against surrendering to his stronger, more dominant will. Was she just another
woman he was manipulating?
Some of the hurtful skepticism must have shown in her eyes.
“Can you trust me?” Cole questioned softly.
It would be so easy to fall completely captive to the power of his magnetism. She tucked her chin down and a cloud of dark brown curls fell forward, wreathing her face. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t even know your name and . . .”
A finger lifted her chin so that their eyes could meet. “It’s Daniel Cole Engstrom.” Something flickered from his eyes . . .
doubt, regret?
Was it a name she should recognize? Lesley didn’t. Her brow was marred with thick lines of concentration. “What should I call
you?”
“Friend?” he murmured, then shook his head. “No, what I feel for you goes far beyond a simple friendship.” His mouth was drawing
closer and closer. “Lover?” he continued. “No, that’s something for the future. Our future.”
Her heart was pounding against her ribs like a sledgehammer. His hand curved around the side of her neck. His fingers weaved
into the dark strands of hair and raised her head a fraction of an inch to meet his descending mouth.
Wave after wave of heat flowed over her. For days she’d longed for the warmth, the feel, the wonder of Cole’s arms. His mouth
moved over hers again and again, caressing her lips with persuasive mastery. And fool that she was, Lesley was a willing slave.
Her arms circled his middle and she pressed herself to him, reveling in the scents of spicy after-shave and hard work.
When he buried his face in the side of her neck, it was all Lesley could do not to weep. Was she so spineless that Cole could
wrap her around his finger with nothing more persuasive than a series of kisses?
The teakettle began to whistle, and reluctantly Cole released her, but his hands lingered on her shoulders for an extra moment.
His thumb wiped aside a maverick tear and kissed her cheek.
Lesley’s hands were shaking when she brought down the mugs. Why did he have to be so gentle? If he had been the least bit rough, she could have resisted him.
“What should I call you?” she asked again, her voice slightly husky as she placed his mug on the table. He still hadn’t told
her. Was this another game he was playing?
“Cole.”