Hero at Large (8 page)

Bitsy tipped her head back and bellowed out a laugh. “Good old Aunt Edna. Somehow, I'm not surprised.”

“That's not even the worst of it. My cousin Stephanie went into labor yesterday, and Edna flew off to Kansas City to help out with the twins. And she took Lucy with her.”

Bitsy looked more interested by the second. “So it's just the two of you in the house?” She giggled.

“You can stop thinking whatever you're thinking. Nothing happened.”

“You sound disappointed.”

Chris slouched against the barrier. “I don't know. He's really yummy, but I've finally gotten over that stinker, Steven. I don't want to let another man into my life. My life is calm and orderly, now. It's comfortable.” Chris screwed up her face for emphasis. “It's been over seven years since I've been really intimate with a man, and I haven't missed it…until Ken arrived on the scene. Now it's like an obsession. An enormous all-consuming blot on my life. Three days ago I didn't know this man existed, and now he's all I think about. I can't get near him without coming unglued. I do everything but drool.” She touched her hands to her
cheek. “Look at me. I get hot flashes just thinking about him.”

“Wow.”

“And if that isn't bad enough…I even like him.”

Bitsy looked horrified. “I think you've slipped a cog somewhere.”

“My cogs are fine.” Chris bent to adjust one of her skate laces, then straightened with a sigh. “I just don't want to complicate my life. I have my work and Lucy and Edna; I don't have the time or the energy for a love affair. And I'm a terrible judge of men—what if he turns out to be another Steven Black?”

Bitsy fixed her with a direct, steady gaze. “There's only one Steven Black.”

 

It was true, Chris admitted as she parked the truck in front of her town house that evening. There was only one Steven Black, and it wasn't fair to judge Ken by Steven's failings. She sat for a moment watching the promised snow sift down in giant flakes and melt on the hood of the truck. It clung tentatively to the already frozen lawn and cement sidewalk. The front porch light had been turned on to welcome her home, and soft lights glowed behind the drawn living room curtains. A small thrill
of happiness fluttered through her stomach at the cozy scene. Her armor was definitely slipping. She'd do better to overlook the homey welcome and conjure images of virile spiders waiting for naive flies instead…

The sharp whine of a siren pierced the stillness, and Chris quirked an eyebrow. The smoke detector! She bolted to her front door and flung it open, only to be met by a cloud of gray smoke that stung her eyes and choked in her throat. “Ken!”

“I'm in the damn kitchen,” he shouted over the din of the smoke detector.

“Are you okay? Should I call the fire department?”

“I can't figure out how to get this blasted alarm to shut off.”

Chris made her way to the kitchen, climbed up on a chair and pressed the silencer button on the smoke detector. From her elevated position she took a quick survey of the room. Everything seemed to be in order—with the exception of a charred lump of what she assumed used to be meat, sitting in a blackened pot in the sink.

Ken scowled up at her. “Well?” he demanded, feet set wide, hands on hips.

“Well, what?” Chris giggled.

At the sound of her laughter he shifted from his pugnacious stance. An embarrassed grin stole across his mouth. “I burned supper.”

“I noticed.” She stepped down and peered into the sink. “What did it used to be?”

“Rump roast. See,” he pointed out, “those small black lumps are carrots.”

Chris stuck a fork into the meat but couldn't pry the blackened roast from the bottom of the pot. “What happened?”

“I had some business calls to make. And then I took a shower…”

“You have to make sure there's always a little liquid in the bottom.”

“The book didn't tell me that.”

Chris wiped a smudge of soot from his cheek. His eyes locked into hers at the touch of her fingertip. A silent message passed between them with tender ferocity. “Damn,” Chris swore under her breath.

“Mindless mush?”

“Something like that.”

“If it's any consolation, you don't do much for my powers of concentration, either.”

Chris retreated, putting some physical distance between them. “I don't think it's salvageable,” she said, turning her attention to the roast.

“I'll take you out to dinner.”

She considered the idea for a moment, wondering how to remind him tactfully that he had no job and probably shouldn't be squandering his money. “I have a better idea. Why don't we stay home, and I'll teach you how to make macaroni and cheese?”

His face brightened. “I love macaroni and cheese.”

Chris couldn't help smiling with him. “I know.”
This is hopeless,
she thought,
how could anybody resist a man who made you feel like a million dollars just because you offered to make macaroni and cheese?
Sighing in resignation, Chris shrugged out of her coat. Ken took it from her and headed toward the front hall closet as she began pulling things from the refrigerator. “Milk, butter, cheddar cheese,” she mumbled as she set the food on the countertop. As Ken walked back into the kitchen, she handed him the block of cheese. “You can grate this in the food processor.”

His face looked blank. “Food processor?”

Chris moved the machine to the front of the counter. “Cut the cheese into chunks…like this. Drop them into the attachment…here. Press the proper button—this one—and presto!” The machine whirred.

“I think I can handle that.”

Chris melted butter in a small saucepan and added a little flour, stirring with a wire whisk. “You see,” she said, “two tablespoons melted butter and two tablespoons of flour.”

“Hmmmm,” he hummed into her hair as he watched over her shoulder.

“Then, after you've cooked this together for a minute or two, you add a cup of milk.”

“Cup of milk,” he repeated, the husky words vibrating along the edge of Chris' ear.

Chris closed her eyes and swallowed. “Have you grated that cheese, yet?”

“I was watching you.”

“Well, you don't have to watch me anymore. That's all there is to the sauce. Now it just gets cooked until it thickens a little.” Chris set a pot of water on the stove to boil.

“Grated cheese and elbow macaroni,” Ken said, placing them next to the stove. “I feel like I'm assisting at surgery.”

“This is nothing. Wait until I teach you how to make soup, and you have to cut up a billion vegetables.”

“I'm good at vegetables. I made a salad,” he said proudly. He took a large plastic wrapped bowl from the refrigerator for her inspection.

Chris looked at his handiwork with genuine admiration. He definitely had a flair for salad.

“I noticed a hambone in here,” he called over his shoulder as he rummaged in the refrigerator. “Maybe we could slice some ham off it and add it to the macaroni and cheese.”

They worked together in companionable silence, setting the table, then adding cheese to the white sauce before combining it with the cooked macaroni and slivers of ham. Chris sprinkled extra cheese over the top and slid the dish into the oven to brown. They stood at the stove in hushed expectancy, waiting for their supper.

Ken grinned down at her. “I guess it's kind of dumb, but I really am enjoying myself. It's nice to work in the kitchen with you.”

Chris nodded in agreement. “I like to cook, but I almost never get the chance. I never get home before six, and Lucy can't wait much longer than that to eat.” She stole a slice of radish from the salad and carried the bowl into the dining room. “Besides, when Aunt Edna's here, she really isn't too crazy about me invading her kitchen.” Chris took the steaming casserole from the oven and set it on the table.

Ken waved his fork at the heaping portion of macaroni he had doled out onto his plate. “I can
make this, now: two tablespoons butter, two tablespoons flour, one cup of milk, and a bunch of cheese.”

“Is it okay?”

“It's great.”

Chris stared across the table at him. “I see you've decided to grow a beard.”

Ken rubbed the black four-day-old whiskers with his thumb. “I thought I'd give it a try. What do you think?”

The thought of Ken in full beard gave her the shivers. It would be like black silk—making his sensuous smile even more enigmatic, joining the lush curls that partially hid his ears, highlighting eyes that were already far too expressive. An unbidden warmth spread through her at the tactile possibilities of a bearded Ken.

Ken looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Well?”

Chris took a deep breath. “It makes you look a little…ah…primitive.”

“Primitive?”

Chris toyed with her noodles. “You know…sort of…”

He was watching her closely, fork poised in midair, brows raised in question.

Chris rolled her eyes from side to side and
flipped her hands palm up in a gesture of exasperation. “Well, hell. Sexy. If you must know, the damn thing makes you look incredibly sexy.”

“Incredibly sexy?” His eyes opened wide. The corners of his mouth curled up in candid delight. “Damn!”

Chris couldn't keep herself from laughing. It had been an awkward admission for her to make, but he responded with such surprised happiness that she was glad she'd told him. She liked seeing him happy. And she was relieved to know that he hadn't grown it because he knew it was sexy.

“The only other times I've grown a beard have been on camping and fishing trips, and my all-male companions would hardly tell me it was sexy.” He searched the salad bowl for errant chunks of broccoli. “I've always had to shave the darn thing off at the first sign of civilization.” He rested his cast on the table. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to make love behind a beard.” His voice grew low and seductive, rubbing erotically against her disintegrating composure. He held her gaze with provocative, teasing eyes.

Chris swallowed against a rising tide of desire and turmoil. Her breath was shallow between slightly parted lips.

“Have you ever made love to a man with a
beard?” Ken asked, his voice velvety and suggestive.

“Uh…no,” she gasped. Her fork slid from her fingers and clattered onto her plate, causing her to jump in her seat.

Ken leaned back in his chair. A small frown drew his black brows together. “I've done it again. I've sent you into a state of total panic.” He pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “After you left this morning, I sat down and made up a plan…which I have now screwed up. I thought I'd be on my good behavior for the next two days. Make sure everything stayed platonic so we could get to know each other better.” The contrite tone left his voice, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “And then by the weekend you'd see what a great guy I was and jump into my bed.”

Chris opened her eyes wide and wrinkled her nose. “That's disgusting.”

“It's not disgusting. It's human nature. I'm a perfectly healthy, sexually average male…”

Chris opened her eyes even wider. Healthy, yes. Sexually average, never.

“…and my life has been crazy ever since I met you. For three days now I've walked around in a constant state of…ah…arousal. In the beginning, I didn't know why I was so attracted to you.
It was just one of those things that happens…like catching a cold. You don't know how you got the damn thing, but it's obvious you're gonna be stuck with it until it runs its course. Now I find out that not only do you drive me crazy, but I like you. I like the way your face glows when you talk about Lucy. I like the way you wrinkle your nose and open your eyes wide, and that you laugh easily. I even like the way you get mad when you're cornered. You're a lot like me. We sputter and stomp and before you know it there's no more anger. I like your bravery and your strength and the fact that you try to make the best of any situation.”

He paused and let his face relax into a satisfied smile. “And I love your macaroni and cheese.” He covered her hand with his, sending a thrill racing up her arm. “Honey, you have to understand that this is hard for me, too. I've never felt like this about a woman before. I'm not exactly sure how to handle it. Last time I can remember having this little control over myself was in seventh grade.”

“Seventh grade?”

“I was precocious,” he bragged. “And I thought I was in love with Mary Ann Malinowski.”

Chris rose and stacked the plates. “But now you know you weren't in love?”

“I was in seventh-grade lust. And I was incredibly impressed with myself. The only permanent result of it all was a seventh-grade average that matched Mary Ann Malinowski's IQ. I would have been better off if my average had matched her chest measurement.”

Chris was beginning to hate Mary Ann Malinowski. “That big, huh?”

“She was known as ‘the Wondergirl.'”

“Were there other girls after Mary Ann that you thought you were in love with?”

Ken carried the almost-empty casserole into the kitchen. He lounged against the sink and looked thoughtful. “There were girls that I found very attractive. There were girls that I regarded as very good friends.” He shook his head. “No. There's been an unusually large gap between the great love affairs of my life.” He measured coffee into the coffee maker. “I used to think it was a matter of time. While I was in school I was always scrambling for grades. I was the first person in my family to get a college diploma. My father was determined to see me graduate, and I wouldn't have disappointed him for anything.” Ken grinned. “But it was tough. I'm not exactly the brainy type. I studied until two in the morning, and I still couldn't get the hang of French. I failed courses, and I made
them up in summer school. I graduated five hundred sixty-seventh out of a class of six hundred and twelve.”