Hero at Large (12 page)

Ken deposited a friendly kiss on the tip of her nose and pushed her toward the rink. “See you later.”

Bitsy was waiting for her. “I know him,” she groaned. “It's driving me nuts. I can't figure out how I know him.”

“Maybe he just looks like someone you know. Some other incredibly handsome man.”

“No. It's his eyes. They're so dark—midnight
blue. And those thick black lashes. I'd kill for those lashes.”

“Yeah. He'd be great in mascara ads.”

 

Chris switched off the light on her night table and gave herself a mental hug. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and it would be the best Thanksgiving ever. All week she'd come home to a household that was in full preparation for a holiday. On Monday, Edna had proudly informed her that Ken now knew how to make pumpkin pie. Ken had good-naturedly appraised his flour-smudged shirt and suggested that he knew how to scrub pie bowls and clean flour-dusted countertops, but he doubted if he could make a pie. Tuesday evening, he sported a blood-stained, bandaged thumb and declared that if he lived to be a hundred he didn't ever want to slice up another head of cabbage. Today, he'd spent the afternoon with Lucy, coloring page after page of Pilgrims and turkeys in her Thanksgiving coloring book. He had a definite flair with a box of crayons. She smiled. He made purple turkeys and green Pilgrims and showed a decided preference for orange sky.

There had been no more mention of marriage,
but Chris knew Edna and Ken had a plan. They got along in noisy harmony interlaced with friendly teasing and obvious affection. Meanwhile, Ken had maintained his distance, ending each night with a loving but brief kiss at the foot of the stairs.

 

It was growing tedious. Chris felt her mood changing from one of contented happiness to heated exasperation. She thrashed from side to side, ending in a tangle of sheets and blankets. Dammit, there hadn't been a man in her life for seven years, and now all of a sudden she was in a dither because she had to sleep alone for a week. Darn that Ken Callahan, anyway. See what a bother men are? She got up and straightened the bed, then she threw herself back into it with a “Hrmmph.”
And why is he in such perfect control? Why isn't he frothing at the mouth, like me?
She punched her pillow and snarled. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, she thought rebelliously, it was a man with morals.

The floor creaked just outside her door. She lay dead still and listened. Had she awakened Lucy with her rumblings? Chris blinked as the door cracked open and a sliver of light spilled across the dark carpet.

“Chris?” Ken whispered.

Chris propped herself up on her elbows and debated attacking him before he got away.

“What are you doing here?” If it had anything to do with tomorrow's turkey…she'd kill him.

He closed the door carefully behind him and crept to the edge of the bed. “I couldn't sleep.”

“Hmmmmm,” she purred at his bare chest and revealing jeans.

His eyes glittered feverishly as he took in the rumpled sheets and wild orange hair. “You couldn't sleep, either?”

Chris thought the heat had become unbearable. If she didn't get her nightgown off soon she would surely slither from the bed in a pool of lust and sweat. She swallowed and pressed her knees together and tried to sound casual. “I always get excited before a holiday.”

“Me, too.” He sat on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned the top button of her nightgown. “I'm so excited I'm in pain.”

“They say pain builds character.”

Two more buttons popped open. “I certainly hope so, because if Edna catches me in here I'm going to be in a lot of pain.”

“Maybe you should leave,” Chris teased.

“Not on your life.” He eased her nightgown over her shoulders. His lips trailed lingering kisses
along the curve of her neck as he spoke. “I wanted to give you some time to get to know me. And I didn't want to create an awkward situation between you and Edna and Lucy.” His mouth moved just inches from hers. “Honey, I'm so lonely for you. I've taken so many cold showers…the inside of my cast is starting to mold.” His lips left a trail of fire down her neck as he headed to softer, more intimate places.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Chris shut her eyes tight in a rush of overwhelming love. She had felt oddly married to him at the kitchen key exchange, and now something else had been exchanged. Something very sacred and forever binding. She fell asleep, happily wrapped in his arms.

 

At four-thirty
A.M
. Chris' bedside alarm rang out with enough fervor to awaken even the most intrepid sleeper.

Ken opened one eye and uttered a brief but effective expletive.

Chris slammed her fist down on the off button.

“Why is your alarm set for four-thirty on Thanksgiving morning?”

“Force of habit. I must have done it automatically.”

Slippered feet padded past the bedroom door en route to the bathroom down the hall. “You'd think a body could sleep on Thanksgiving morning,” Edna mumbled. “You'd think people would know enough to shut their alarms off when a holiday comes around. You'd think—” Her words were cut short by the closing of the bathroom door.

Ken turned to Chris with a look of utter horror. “I'm a dead man.”

“It's okay.” Chris snuggled closer. “When she's done in the bathroom she'll go back to her room to get dressed, and you can sneak downstairs.”

“I thought this only happened on daytime television.”

“Daytime television doesn't have anything comparable to Aunt Edna.”

 

Edna sagged in her seat, her eyes slightly glazed, her mouth hanging slack in her round pleasant face. “I can't eat another bite. I shouldn't have had that last piece of pie.”

Ken smiled with gluttonous satisfaction. “It was delicious. All of it.”

Chris looked at the turkey carcass with morose skepticism. “We'll never finish it. Not in a million years.”

“It was a nice big bird,” Edna sighed.

“It's as big as an ostrich,” Chris said.

Lucy wriggled in her seat. “Mommy, we've been sitting at this table forever.”

Ken stood and stretched. “Do you know how to play checkers?” he asked Lucy.

“Yup.”

“I bet if we get really involved in a good game of checkers we could get out of cleaning up this messy table.”

Lucy giggled and ran to get the checkerboard.

After an afternoon of games and a light supper, Lucy fell asleep in front of the tele vision set.

“Isn't she something?” Edna clucked. “All done in by Thanksgiving.”

“This was the best Thanksgiving ever,” Chris proclaimed.

Ken grinned. “It isn't over yet.”

Edna checked her watch. “Seven o'clock,” she said. There was an edge of expectancy to her voice. Her eyes rounded slightly and seemed to pull the corners of her mouth up into a secretive smile.

Ken slouched casually into a corner of the big overstuffed couch. He showed none of the eager anticipation that was apparent in Edna, but his face reflected the same veiled delight.

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the front door.
Edna stopped rocking for a moment. “There's someone at the door.”

Chris looked from Edna to Ken. She sensed a conspiracy.

Edna resumed her rocking. Creak. The chair tipped backward on its wooden rocker. Stomp. Edna's feet slapped the floor. Creak, stomp. Creak, stomp. “Well for goodness' sake,” she shouted with a final stomp. “Isn't anyone going to get the door?”

Ken pulled Chris to her feet and pushed her toward the stairs. “Come on…we'll answer the door.”

Edna followed close behind. “Me, too. I'll help you answer the door.”

Smells fishy,
Chris thought.
Now what? A giant turkey with a bunch of balloons?

Chris switched the porch light on and opened the door to a young man dressed in formal livery. He removed his black top hat, smiled respectfully, and bowed. Chris looked beyond him, to the conveyance parked at the curb, and clapped her hands to her mouth. “Horses!”

The two perfectly matched chestnuts turned their heads at the sound of her voice but remained docilely still. Their leather harnesses were attached to a gleaming black carriage equipped with elegant candlelit lamps.

“Don't that beat all,” Edna exclaimed.

Ken draped a jacket over Chris' shoulders and guided her toward the carriage. “Pretty romantic, huh?”

Chris tipped her head back and laughed—he sounded so pleased with himself. “Yeah, pretty romantic.”

Chris and Ken settled into the back seat of the open carriage and snuggled together under a thick red plaid lap robe, as the driver clucked to his horses and began to drive sedately through the winding streets of adjoining subdivisions. Chris closed her eyes and enjoyed the crisp wintry air redolent of oiled leather and warm horses and Ken's spicy cologne. She tilted her head to see the scattering of early-evening stars blinking behind scudding moon-tinged clouds. “This is so nice. I love this.”

Ken tucked the blanket securely around them and slid his hand covertly under her ski jacket, seeking the silken heated skin under her sweater. Their eyes met in an unspoken affirmation of love. She parted her lips in anticipation of his kiss. “I love you,” he told her as his tongue tasted her sweetness. “I love everything about you.” He kissed her tenderly. “And I love your daughter. I even love Aunt Edna.”

She knew he loved her and Edna and Lucy. And she knew what this was all about. This was a better proposal. This was the real thing, and this was going to require a serious answer.

Ken reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small blue velvet box. He opened the lid and took a ring in his fingers. The band was smooth gold that delicately swirled in carved vines around a brilliant two-carat diamond. He looked at her apprehensively. “I hope I'm doing it right this time.”

Chris nodded her head, yes. Words wouldn't slip past the lump in her throat.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes!”
Chris was surprised at the speed and enthusiasm of her answer. She had intended to think about it. Maybe even discuss it with Lucy. She sat up and blinked. How had that yes popped out?

He slid the ring on her finger and kissed her with more relief than passion.

The driver of the carriage tipped his hat.

“Congratulations,” he called over his shoulder. He slowed the horses and handed Ken a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne nestled in shaved ice. Ken expertly popped the cork, sending it flying into the night. The driver produced two fine crystal champagne glasses and resumed his clip-clop pace around the suburban streets.

Chris sipped at her champagne. “I love my ring. It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen—but it's so big. And the carriage…” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I love the carriage, too.”

Ken refilled her glass. “But?”

“But this is all so expensive. I hate to be an ungrateful nag, but honestly, you didn't have to spend all this money. I love you as a carpenter. I love you even more as an unemployed carpenter.”

“Why do you love me even more as an ‘unemployed' carpenter?”

“I suppose after Steven and his obsessive need for success, I find an unemployed carpenter to be less threatening. In all honesty, I was only partially joking about wanting a man that lacked ambition.”

“I don't lack ambition…”

Chris looked into his blue eyes. “I think I worded that badly. I was dumped by a man who placed his career above
everything.
I just don't want that to happen again. This time around, I want a man with a little less ambition and a little more love of life and family—and that's you!”

Ken studiously watched the liquid in his glass fizz in the golden light of the flickering lamps. “There are some things I have to tell you.”

Chris giggled. “You'd better tell me fast because I'm not used to drinking champagne…and I'm feeling strangely tingly and silly.”

Ken looked at her in amazement. “You're sloshed.” He laughed, wrapping his arm protectively around her. “I think we'd better talk some other time.”

“Holy cow! You look awful,” Bitsy exclaimed.

Chris blinked in the bright light of the skating rink. “I feel awful. I have a hangover. I haven't had a hangover since I was nineteen and nobody told me the fruit punch was spiked at Tina Burger's baby shower.” She put her fingertips to her temples. “My eyes feel like fried eggs. And my head is going
wumpa wumpa wumpa.
And my tongue…
yuk.
”

“What was the occasion?”

Chris displayed her ring and managed a painful smile.

“Oh dear.”

“What's that mean? I expected more like wow and whoopee.”

“Remember how I said I knew Ken?”

“Yeah.”

“And remember we were fooling around, and you said he should be modeling mascara?”

“Yeah?”

“It got me thinking. I could just see those magnetic eyes looking out at me from a magazine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It took me half of Thanksgiving, but I found him. I went through four dozen old magazines, but I finally found the picture.” Bitsy skated to the sound booth and returned holding a copy of
Newsweek.
“What really threw me was the beard.”

Chris held the magazine with shaking hands and stared openmouthed at the cover. It featured a clean-shaven, neatly coiffed Ken Callahan wearing a crisp white shirt, pin-striped three-piece suit, and hundred-dollar tie. The caption read “Kenneth Knight: Consolidating an Empire.” “Consolidating an empire,” Chris repeated. “What's that mean?”

“There's a big article about him. He's rich.”

“But this is Kenneth Knight.”

“Looks to me like Kenneth Callahan.”

“There is a resemblance.”

“Resemblance? Chris, this is him. Nobody else has eyes like that.”

“Bitsy, this is ridiculous. This man is not Ken Callahan.”

“Look, this guy has a small scar running along the line of his jaw. Does Ken Callahan?”

Chris felt nausea grip her stomach. “Lots of men have scars on their jaws.” She leafed through the article, finding another picture. It was Ken at a construction site, wearing his shearling jacket. Chris reached for the support of the barrier.

“Are you all right?”

“I think I'm going to be sick.”

Bitsy threw an arm around her. “Let's get you into the coaches' lounge before you keel over. You're absolutely green.”

Chris wobbled in beside Bitsy and gratefully sank into a club chair in the privacy of the small warming room. The magazine lay at her feet. She took the wet towel Bitsy offered and plastered it to her face. There must be some mistake. It couldn't be Ken Callahan. Ken Callahan was a simple sweet man. He cooked potholders and ate macaroni and cheese. She trusted Ken Callahan—he wouldn't lie to her. He wouldn't pretend to be something he wasn't. She took a deep breath and struggled to gain some composure, to control the panic and confusion in her mind. When she was breathing normally, she took another look at the cover. It was Ken Callahan.

A chill spread throughout her body. She shivered and hugged her arms to get warm. “Why? Why did he lie to me? I thought he was some kind
of construction worker. I thought he didn't have any money. Didn't have any job. Didn't have a home. I trusted him, Bitsy. I fell in love with him. Why am I always such a fool when it comes to men?”

She took a dripping fresh towel from Bitsy.

“Arggggh,” she groaned. “My head.”

“Would you like an aspirin?”

“No. I'd like a gun. I'd shoot myself in the foot to take my mind off my head…my heart.”

Bitsy thunked herself in the forehead with her fist. “I shouldn't have told you today. Here you are with the world's worst hangover, and I have to drop this bomb on you.”

“No. You did the right thing.”

“It's a nice picture of him,” Bitsy said, looking at the magazine on the floor.

Chris took the book in her hand. The man on the cover was not Ken Callahan. The man on the cover had a ruthless set to his mouth that sent chills creeping down her spine. His eyes were blue-black and compelling, but they were without humor. “I've never seen him in a suit,” Chris said dully.

“That's not what you were thinking.”

“I was thinking that I don't know this man on the cover.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I didn't know Steven, either. I rushed into marriage and found out I didn't know him at all.”

“Double uh-oh.”

“Why does this happen to me? What is it about me that makes men lie to me?”

“You're not going to make a big deal out of this, are you?”

“Of course I'm going to make a big deal out of this. Peas and carrots, Bitsy, he didn't even tell me his right name.”

Bitsy giggled and wrinkled her nose at Chris. “Peas and carrots?”

Chris slapped the towel back over her face. “It's Aunt Edna. She doesn't allow any cussing in the house. She says that since Ken moved in she's been hearing words she doesn't like. Now she makes us say things like ‘peas and carrots' and ‘holy cabbage.'”

“I kind of like ‘holy cabbage.'”

“What am I going to do? I'm so in love with the creep.”

“Why don't you just ask him why he lied to you?”

“Because I'm afraid he'll just feed me some slick answer.”

Bitsy shook her head. “Boy, I'm really impressed with the amount of trust going on in this relationship.”

“It's so weird, Bitsy. Yesterday, I would have trusted him with my life…my soul. And now, I just don't know. I don't feel very competent when it comes to judging men. I don't want to make another mistake.”

Bitsy sighed and looked at her watch. “I have to get back out on the ice. I have a lesson in three minutes.”

Chris nodded. “Me too. I'm working with Patti.”

 

Chris felt him before she saw him. There was a warm rush of pleasure that inexplicably poured from her heart to the tips of her fingers. She turned and found him standing at the guardrail with a  wicker picnic basket slung over his arm but the pleasure was immediately replaced by clammy dread. This was Kenneth Knight, construction mogul. What the bell pepper would she say to him? She waved and indicated ten minutes—then willed herself to forget his presence and concentrate on her student. Thank goodness for all those years of skating, she thought. If it had taught her anything, it was how to focus on the task at hand.

When her lesson was finished, she skated toward Ken and decided to follow her earlier tactic: focus on the task at hand. She didn't feel capable of making an intelligent decision about their rela
tionship, so she would simply procrastinate. She would put her priorities in order, and first priority would be to prepare Patti for Easterns. It would buy her some time—and maybe give Ken a chance to straighten things out by himself.

“It's the day after Thanksgiving. What are all these kids doing here?”

“They have the day off from school—this is a good chance to pick up some extra ice time. At two o'clock public session begins, and they'll be done for the day.”

“And how about you? Are you done then, too?”

“Afraid not. I'm spending some time on off-ice conditioning with Patti and Alex and two of my Novice men. We have a small dance studio here with a springboard floor and mirrors. We'll work on air jumps and do some choreography.”

“Air jumps?”

“Jumps from the floor. Sometimes it's easier to correct rotation on a trampoline or from the floor.” Chris pointed to the food basket. “Let me guess. Turkey sandwiches?”

“For the next seven months, at least.”

They placed the basket on a bench in the lobby and sat on either side of it. Ken selected a sandwich and looked at it with interest. “There's something purple in here.”

“Cranberries. Aunt Edna can cram a whole meal between two slices of bread. One time she gave me egg salad with cooked carrots and mashed potatoes.” Chris chose a packet of fresh vegetables and munched on a celery stick. “Do you remember when I explained to you about competitions? How the kids work themselves up the ladder toward Nationals?”

“Mmmm.”

Chris kept her voice low to control her confused emotions. She wanted to keep this conversation natural and friendly. “In a week and a half Bitsy and I will be going to Boston for Easterns. I'm going to be really busy between now and then.”

Ken looked up. He searched her face for some understanding of her statement. “Keep going.”

“That's all. I'm just going to be busy.” She winced when her voice cracked on the word busy.

“I understand what you said. It's the way your knuckles are turning white while you hang on to the food basket that has me confused. What's going on?”

Oh crud,
Chris thought,
I'm really crummy at this. Good thing I never had any aspirations toward acting.
She looked at him in dismay. “I'm sick,” she lied. “My head hurts.”

“Hangover. You're not much of a drinker.”

Chris felt weak with relief at having succeeded with her fib. She averted her eyes and pawed through the basket. “What else is in here? I don't think I can manage a turkey sandwich.”

“I suspected. I told Edna to pack a thermos of tea, and I think there's a package of crackers in there, too.”

Chris found the thermos of tea and poured a cup out for herself. She focused her gaze on the steaming liquid. “I really will be busy for a couple weeks. There are several students qualified for Easterns. They'll be busy needing extra attention.”

“How long will you have to be in Boston?”

“I'll be there for seven days. Only three of those days are actual competition days for my kids…Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. At the beginning of the week they get practice time at the rink.” Chris nibbled at a cracker. “All ice surfaces aren't the same, and skaters always need a little time to orient themselves in a new arena.”

“Is this open to the public? Are you going to invite me along?”

“Yes, it's open to the public. And…I don't know if I'm going to invite you along.” She sipped at her tea and wondered why she felt so guilty about all this. He was the one who had lied. He was the impostor. Why did she feel like such a rat?
“My schedule will be even worse than it is now”—her eyes met his defiantly—“and I make sure I set a good example when I travel with my students.”

“No naked men in your hotel room, huh?”

“Never.”

He helped himself to a sip of her tea. “How about your husband?”

“I don't have a husband.”

“We could fix that.”

“Mmmmm.” She wondered about the legal problems involved in marrying a mythical man. If she married Ken Callahan would she also be married to Kenneth Knight? And if he had lied to her about his name and his job…what else had he lied to her about? Maybe Kenneth Knight had a wife. Maybe he had a whole pack of kids. She looked sidewise at Ken, feeling murderous inclinations.

He jumped away from her, instinctively raising a hand to his face.

The action took Chris by surprise. “Why'd you do that?”

Ken colored under his black beard. “I don't know. I had the funniest sensation. I had this premonition of you breaking my nose.”

“Mmmmm.”

“That's all you can say? Mmmm? Aren't you going to assure me it's ridiculous? Aren't you going to tell me my body is safe in your hands?”

Chris narrowed her eyes. Another emotion was forming besides the hurt and confusion. It was anger. For the second time in her life she'd fallen victim to a scoundrel, and she was furious. “Of course it's ridiculous,” she purred, thinking that breaking his nose would be small potatoes. Her retribution would be much more imaginative. More satisfying. More diabolical. She didn't know why he'd perpetrated this charade, but he would pay. She lowered her lashes and let her eyes rake over his body. “It's not your nose that interests me.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “You aren't thinking of breaking anything else, are you?”

Chris slammed the lid of the wicker basket closed. “You're cute when you worry. You get this little twitch at the corner of your mouth.”

Ken looked sidewise at her. “Are you mad at me for something?”

Mad? She couldn't be any more angry. He'd violated her trust. He'd made a fool out of her. “No,” she snarled, “I'm not mad.”

“Maybe you just need to relax. There's a nice motel about a mile down the road…”

Chris stood quickly and smoothed her sweater over her hips. “No,” she said firmly. “No sleazy motels. And besides I have a lesson.”

“I'm beginning to think the only way I'll get any time with you is to take up ice skating.”

Chris buttoned the buttons on his jacket and handed him the lunch basket. “You couldn't afford me,” she jibed. “Ice skating is expensive, and you're an unemployed carpenter.” She waited for a reply, wondering if he would continue the lie.

“Just because I'm currently not working doesn't mean I haven't got any money.”

Chris raised her eyebrows. “Do you have money?”

“A little.”

“Care to elaborate on that?”

“Do you want a full financial disclosure?” His mouth tilted into a teasing grin that threatened to melt her skate blades.

“Maybe.”

“I'll have my lawyer prepare something.”

Damn! Now he didn't even have the decency to lie to her. He was going to continue this whopper on innuendo and flip remarks. “We can discuss this at dinner.”

“Okay.” He dropped a friendly kiss on the top of her head—and left.

Bitsy slung her arm around Chris' shoulders.

“Everything all right?”

“Just perfect.”

“Uh-oh, I've seen that look in your eye before. That's your ‘going for blood' look. You looked like that when you beat Debbie Makovik out of the Junior title. I was at least a third of the way up in the stands and I could see that look in your eye…it sent chills down my spine…”