“Listen, baby, you don’t mean that.”Dale’s tone grew coaxing and gentle.“What’s the matter with a little fun now and then?”The sound of his laughter was slurred.
So, Dale had been drinking again.He was probably with Larry.She couldn’t see fighting with him, especially over the phone.“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Meet me for lunch?”
“Okay.”Reluctantly Lesley agreed.She didn’t want to be subjected to another confrontation of wills.No matter how adamant she felt about Larry’s party, Dale dismissed her feelings.Terry was right.This mixed-up relationship with Dale must end, and the sooner the better.
With growing concern over the craziness her life seemed to have taken on over the past couple of weeks, Lesley forced herself to eat dinner.
After doing the dishes, she set up the sewing machine on the kitchen table and brought out the white material she’d purchased for the church Halloween costume.The radio was playing mellow sounds, and soon Lesley found herself involved in the project, her troubles forgotten as she sang and worked.
A loud knock on the front door froze her actions.Removingthe straight pins from her mouth, she hesitated long enough to murmur an urgent prayer that her visitor wasn’t Dale.Several times in the past he’d phoned her when he’d been drinking, but she’d never had to deal with him physically.
The doorbell chimed in short, impatient rings.Clenching and unclenching her fist, Lesley looked out the front window.Dale’s car wasn’t in her driveway.But unfortunately she couldn’t see who was on her step.With no choice, she opened the door.
Cole Daniels glared at her irritably.“For someone who can take care of herself with her vast and intimate knowledge of karate, it took you long enough to answer the door.”
Lesley decided to disregard his sarcasm rather than argue with him.
“What do you want?”she asked pointedly.
“What are the walls made of, anyway?Cardboard?”
“Are you trying to tell me the radio’s too loud?”How could anyone object to the soothing sounds of mellow music?
“The radio’s fine.I’ll listen to that.It’s you I can’t take.”
“Me?”She folded her arms across her chest in a pure instinctively protective habit.It was either that or slam the door in his face.What was there about this one man that could make her more unreasonable than any other?“Was that all?”Her voice was dipped in acid.
“Please.”He pivoted and walked away.
Lesley closed the door and spun around.Her sister had been praying that God would send a man into her life?That ill-mannered beast couldn’t possibly be him.She didn’t need to be a devoted Christian to recognize that a mistake had been made.
Lesley lay awake for a long time that night, her heart heavy.She tried reading the Bible.A smile flickered over her lips.Terry had once told her that if she had trouble sleeping, instead of counting sheep she should talk to the Shepherd.
She liked to think of herself as a strong Christian.She’d been raised in a God-fearing home.From the time she could remember, Jesus had been a large part of her life.She had never done anything without first considering her Christian values.Maybe that was the problem—she hadn’t really been exposed to certain things in life.But then, did she want to be?Everything seemed so muddled in her own mind.
Just when she felt she could sleep, Lesley rolled over, tugged the blankets to her shoulder and sighed a prayer.A noise interrupted the peaceful solitude.Her eyes shot open.What was it?Sitting up in bed, Lesley strained to hear the soft tapping sounds.A typewriter?Tossing back the covers, she wandered into the living room and then the kitchen.The sounds were more distinct now: definitely the sounds of a typewriter.
Cole Daniels was a writer?Maybe he was only doing a letter.She opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of milk.Sitting on the couch in the darkened room, Lesley pulled her long gown over her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees.After an hour of constant tapping sounds, she decided two could play his game.
Shoving her feet into large fuzzy slippers, Lesley jerked her coat off the hanger, opened the front door and stalked across the driveway.
He didn’t answer her first polite tap.She waited and, like him, buzzed the doorbell, in short, impatient rings.
“Yes.”He nearly took the hinges off the door when he pulled it open.
“I can’t sleep with all that racket you’re making.”
“Racket?”He looked puzzled.“You mean my typing?”
“You’ve got it.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a movement that could have been considered a half-smile.“I’ll try to hold down the voluminous roar.”
“I’d appreciate that.Good night, Mr.Daniels,” she said in a stiff, polite voice.
“Miss Brown.”He closed the door even before she’d turned around.
