Hero at Large (14 page)

Edna stood in the doorway, hands on hips. “Who's Ken Knight? This isn't anything kinky, is it?”

 

Sunday morning Chris was drawn to the kitchen by the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Edna stood at the counter, rolling out a pie crust. She was in flour up to her elbows and humming happily. Chris looked cautiously around before reaching for the coffee pot.

“If you're looking for Ken,” Edna grunted as she rolled, “he's already gone.”

A rush of emotion that smacked of disappointment passed through Chris' stomach. “Gone?”

“Don't worry, he'll be back. He said he had some things to take care of in Middleburg.” Edna looked at Chris. “You don't really want him to move out, do you?”

“I don't know what I want.”

Edna returned to her pie. “What a ninny.”

Chris spent the day puttering around the house.
She went to the regional library with Lucy and took her to the playground down the street. At four o'clock, they went out to the shopping center and had their pictures taken with Santa Claus. Ken still hadn't returned home by suppertime so the three women of the house decided to make sandwiches and eat them in front of the fireplace and television downstairs before retiring to bed. It wasn't until eleven-thirty that Chris heard the key click in the front door and knew Ken had returned home.

She looked at her naked ring finger and felt a sweep of sadness for the beautiful diamond, all alone in the coffee cup in the kitchen. Maybe Edna was right. Maybe she was being a ninny. She went to the bedroom window and pulled the curtains aside, looking for the reassurance of the blue truck parked at the curb. “Oh, peas and carrots,” she whispered. There was no blue truck. In its place sat a sleek, gleaming black Mercedes sports car. “Kenneth Knight,” she said. “That sucker belongs to Kenneth Knight.”

After a restless night, Chris took extra care with her makeup, applying a slash of eyeliner and a coating of black mascara. She pulled on a brilliant yellow sweatshirt over a black unitard, then stepped into a pair of calf-high soft black leather boots and looked at herself sternly in the oval
mirror over her bureau. “Good heavens,” she complained, “I look like a bumblebee.”

“Chris,” Edna called sharply from the foot of the stairs. “You're ten minutes behind schedule. Get a move on, or you'll be late.”

Ten minutes late is fine with me,
Chris thought as she ambled down the stairs.
I can grab a cup of coffee and skip the egg and my chances of running into Kenneth Knight will be enormously lessened.
She stopped short at the sight of the man standing in her dining room. Nothing in the past three weeks had prepared her for Ken Callahan Knight in a suit. His lustrous black hair had been cut and perfectly coiffed. Blue-black eyes dominated a clean-shaven face that was set in calm determination. He wore a custom-tailored, European-cut suit that accented his trim waist and narrow hips. The cast had been removed from his arm, compounding the feeling that this was not Ken Callahan at all.

His eyes raked her from head to toe. “That outfit is sexy as hell, but you remind me of a bumblebee.”

“Oh sh—” Chris saw Aunt Edna turn from the stove and look at her sidewise.

“Shelled peas!” Chris ground out.

“You're gonna be late,” Edna told her. She handed Chris a plateful of egg and a cup of coffee.

“She can eat it in the car.” Ken steered Chris to
the front door. He slung her skate bag over his shoulder and held the egg while she shrugged into her jacket. “I have to catch an early flight to New York,” he said, shoving her out the door. “I'll drop you off on the way.”

Chris slid self-consciously into the plush interior of the Mercedes.
Please,
she prayed to herself,
don't spill any egg.

The engine purred to life. Chris watched, fascinated, as Ken eased the powerful car into traffic. She had never noticed before how beautiful his hands were. Perfectly manicured nails and long tapered fingers that were adept at driving expensive cars and wielding the reigns of corporate power. “What happened to the cast?”

“I had it removed. It was a little early, but if I'm careful it should be okay.” He stopped for a traffic light and motioned to the glove compartment. “Open the glove compartment and take out the envelope.”

Chris turned the manila envelope over in her hand. A set of keys fell out.

“I'm going to be gone all week. I'm leaving this car at the airport, and that leaves you with no transportation.”

“Bitsy will—”

“Bitsy is very nice and a good friend, but there's
no reason to impose on her. Our deal was that I rent a room from you, and you get to use my truck. I'm trading the truck in for a more practical car. My caretaker said he'd have the car brought out to you this afternoon.”

“The truck was fine.”

“It was a pain in the…bananas. I tried to take Edna shopping once and thought I was going to need a forklift to get her into the front seat. And it doesn't hold a week's worth of groceries. You have to put them in the back, and they roll around.”

But it was
our
truck! she wanted to shout. Dammit, that truck belonged to Ken Callahan. She glared at the man sitting next to her as if he were a murderer.

“Good Lord,” Ken whistled, “why are you wearing your Lizzie Borden look?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

He pulled off Reynolds Road into the rink parking lot and parked the car. He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. “Are you sentimental about the truck?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hmmmm.” He dabbed gently at her eye. “Then how about telling me what this great big tear is all about.”

Chris sniffed. “It's about nothing. My eyes
always water when I don't have time for coffee in the morning.”

“And your voice gets husky.”

“That's right.”

Ken smiled and kissed her. The kiss was soft and warm. It said hello, good-bye, and I love you. He sighed and looked at the slim gold watch on his wrist. “I'm sorry, but if I don't hurry I'll miss my flight.”

Chris grabbed her bag from the back and bolted from the car. “Have a nice trip,” she called crankily. She pushed through the glass doors and when she was sure she was alone in the vestibule she kicked the trash receptacle, sending it sprawling into the lobby. She stood horrified for a moment before picking the can up and returning it to its proper place.

“The wind,” she explained to no one in particular. From across the room Bitsy rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she told Bitsy on her way to the coaches' lounge. “He's still living in my house.”

 

Edna picked at the Sunday pot roast. “Hmmph,” she said, “it just isn't the same without Ken. I don't even feel like eating.”

Lucy mushed her mashed potatoes into a pancake and made a road through it. “Yeah. No one
tells me monster stories anymore. Boy, he knew some really scary stories, Mommy.”

Chris stabbed another slice of beef and slapped it onto her plate. “Well, his absence doesn't affect my appetite. Honestly! The man was only here for three weeks. It isn't as if he were a relative or an old friend.” She forked a piece of meat into her mouth and was unable to swallow. All her fears were coming true. When Lucy's father had walked out, the heartache had been a living, all-consuming pain. Chris had gotten through it and grown stronger because of it, but she didn't want to subject her daughter, or even her aunt, to the misery of having a loved one wrenched away. And this man showed all the earmarks of future grief. He'd been Ken Knight for only two days and already he was off on a week-long business trip.

Chris chewed her meat carefully and made another attempt to swallow. They'd all been so happy without him. Why did this have to happen? All because of her crummy car. She hated cars. And she especially hated the brand-new silver four-door Mercedes sedan that was sitting sedately in front of her house. He must have a whole fleet of them, she thought. A different color for each day of the week.

“I don't know what you're so cranky about,”
Edna declared, shaking her napkin for emphasis. “Here you have a good man who loves you and wants to do nice things for you, and you don't even want to admit you miss him. Ken Callahan What's-his-name is the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Chris flipped her hand into the air. “You see? You can't even remember his right name.”

“Who cares. It's only a silly name. The man's a hunk. He's loaded with money. And he's real nice. I don't care if his name is Dumbo.”

Lucy giggled. “Dumbo. Can you imagine somebody named Dumbo. They'd have to have real big ears.”

Edna looked at Lucy. “Talk about somebody having big ears.”

“I think it's time to change the subject.”

Lucy pushed a pea along the road in her mashed potatoes. “Vroom vroom vroom.”

“Is that a car going through a mountain pass?” Chris asked.

“Yup. It's going to Boston to go to Easterns.”

Edna beamed. “Isn't that cute?”

Lucy pushed her mouth into a pout. “Wish I could go to Easterns.”

“So do I, pumpkin, but I'll be too busy to be any
fun. And I don't think you can afford to miss much more school.”

“Will Patti win?”

“She won't win, but she might come in third or fourth. That would be good enough to send her to Nationals.”

“When's her long program?” Edna wanted to know. “I gotta admit, I'd like to see her skate, too.”

“Her long program is on Saturday. I'll bring back a video for you.” Chris gathered the plates and carried them to the kitchen. Edna followed her. “Aunt Edna,” Chris told her quietly, “when I get back from Boston, I don't want to find Ken here. If we haven't got the money to return to him, then give him a promissory note. Take out a short-term loan from the bank. I don't care how you do it. I want him out of this house.”

Edna shook her head. “I think you're making a mistake.”

I don't want an absentee husband,
Chris thought.
Besides all my other misgivings, he's been gone for six days and he's never called once.
Chris wrapped the pot roast in aluminum foil and put it in the refrigerator. “I'm going to play checkers with Lucy, and then I suppose I have to pack.”

“When is your plane going out tomorrow?”

“Nine in the morning. Patti's mother is driving us to Dulles.”

“Ken would drive you to the airport. He's supposed to be home tonight.”

“I'm not going to depend on Ken. We don't need him.”

“Speak for yourself. I like having a man around. Makes you want to get up in the morning and put on some pretty red lipstick.”

“Aunt Edna, we're going to have to get you a boyfriend.”

“That's not what I meant at all, and you know it. He brings a fresh point of view into the house. And he makes me feel good. Lord, you should have seen him stuffing that turkey. Never saw anyone carry on so! Laughed so hard, I thought I'd die. I was going to have a fresh ham for Christmas, but I said to myself, no sir. I'm going to make that Ken stuff another turkey.”

Another good reason to get rid of him, Chris decided. He's the one responsible for another fifty-pound turkey.

 

Chris leaned against the kitchen counter dressed in gray ragg wool socks, faded jeans, and an oversized red shirt. She watched a marshmallow bob in  her hot chocolate while she contemplated her
schedule for the coming week. There were four skaters and two coaches going to Easterns, and practice time was divided between two rinks in the area. They would have to rent a van to ferry the kids back and forth. A calendar lay on the table in front of her with lesson times blocked off. Chris sipped the cocoa and admitted to herself that she wasn't nearly as idealistic as she'd pretended to be with Ken. If Patti did well in Easterns and well in Nationals, her parents would certainly send her off to a larger rink to train. She'd already spent two of her summers away—one in Denver, and last year in Tacoma. It hurt. It was painful to bring a skater this far and see her leave for greener pastures.

Chris finished her drink and set the cup on the counter. She heard a car door slam. Her ears pricked at the sound of a key being inserted in the front door, and an inexplicable anger rose in her throat. She switched the light off, hoping he would take the hint and not disturb her.

Chris heard him sigh as he traveled the length of the dining room. Then he stood in the doorway, one hand at his side, one hand resting against the jamb. “Still hiding in the kitchen?”

“Smelled the cocoa?”

“Heard your heart beating.”

He wore a navy suit with a fine gold pinstripe.
The jacket hung unbuttoned. His navy-and-red striped tie had been loosened, as had the first button on his sparkling white shirt. Chris noticed the way his well-cut trousers clung to muscular thighs and fell in a clean line to soft black Italian leather shoes. His eyes were tired. The thick black lashes drooped lazily over midnight irises, and dark circles smudged his swarthy complexion. His teeth flashed white in a five o'clock shadow.

“You look tired.”

He dropped his hand from the doorjamb and moved toward her. “I'm so tired, I can barely stand. And I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life.”

Chris felt her heart jump. She wanted him, too. That same chemistry was still there. She'd made no progress at all in developing immunity. When it came to sex appeal, it didn't seem to matter if it was Ken Callahan or Kenneth Knight. She drew her brows together in a frown. She didn't know Kenneth Knight. And what she did know of him she didn't like…but she was attracted to him, anyway. She knew it was ridiculous, but, as desire for Knight rushed through her, she felt as if she were cheating on Callahan. Pure animal lust, she reminded herself. Essential to continuation of the species, and a lot of fun, but not one of the
nobler human emotions. She pushed herself away with both hands. “No.”