Hero at Large Page 4

  “We don’t even know this man.”

  “I know all I need to know. This house needs a man underfoot.” Edna smacked her lips and narrowed her eyes in determination. “Do you take out garbage?” she asked Ken.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You see?” she informed her niece. “He’ll be perfect.”

  “He’ll be a perfect pain in the…”

  Edna raised her eyebrows in warning. She didn’t allow any cussing.

  “…in the foot. And what about Lucy?”

  Now Ken raised his eyebrows. “What about Lucy?”

  “It wouldn’t look right.”

  “Pshaw,” Edna scoffed. “Women have been taking in boarders for centuries.”

  Chris glared at the man standing smugly in front of her. “I would like to speak with you privately, in the kitchen,” she hissed.

  “Will you excuse us?” he said pleasantly to Aunt Edna.

  Chris growled and stomped off to the kitchen. She closed the louvered kitchen door with a slam and turned to face Ken. “Let’s get something perfectly straight, Ken Callahan. I have no intention of allowing you to live in this house. I think it’s despicable of you to wheedle your way around my Aunt Edna, and I wouldn’t trust you for a second with my daughter.”

  An expression of amused disgust played on his face. “That’s a bunch of baloney. Your Aunt Edna is a nice old barracuda who only gets wheedled when she wants to. And it’s not your daughter you’re worried about—it’s you.”

  Chris pressed her lips together in annoyance. He was right. She’d had a nice sane life—until this morning—and she didn’t want it disrupted. And Ken could definitely disrupt. He was much too handsome. Much too sexy. And every now and then there was a flash of genuine vulnerability that broke down all her defenses. She had avoided romantic entanglements for the last seven years without feeling any real sense of loss. It was safe. It was comfortable. It was a way of life that would crumble with Ken lurking in her kitchen—wearing those formfitting faded jeans. She decided to take the coward’s way out and ignore his accusations. She rallied to a new attack. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I need a place to live.”

  “There are dozens of ads in the paper every day looking for roommates.”

  “That’s true, but I like it here.” He surveyed the kitchen, his gaze drifting from the blond butcher-block countertops with the brown teddy bear cookie jar and the assortment of clear glass jars filled with spaghetti, sugar, whole oats, macaroni, popcorn, and flour to a Peter Rabbit place setting stacked in the sink. A bulletin board and chalkboard had been hung on one wall—the chalkboard was at the proper height for a seven-year-old. Ken picked up a piece of colored chalk and drew a straight line across the green surface. He studied the line for a moment, seemingly intrigued by the textured mark. Almost reluctantly, he returned the chalk to its wooden carrier and turned to Chris, putting his hand on her shoulder in a possessive caress that lingered briefly then moved to her neck. His finger touched an earlobe and slid along the curve of her jaw. “And I like you. I don’t know why. You’re kind of crusty. And you’re too skinny. But there’s something about you that makes my toes curl.”

  “What do you mean crusty and skinny? I’m not at all crusty, and I’m certainly not skinny.”

  He stepped closer, smiling broadly, obviously pleased that he’d provoked her. Chris felt the warmth from his body swirl around her, and the kitchen temperature seemed to rise twenty degrees. He continued to trail a path along her chin. When his finger reached her mouth, she instinctively licked her dry lips. Their reactions were totally different but equally swift. Chris jumped away as if she’d been burned. How could less than five seconds of contact do that to her stomach? It was like falling forty floors in an elevator.

  Ken Callahan’s stomach seemed to be made of sterner stuff. He smiled wolfishly and pressed himself against her, pinning her to the wall. “I realize that lovely little lick was just a reflex action, but I’m going to take advantage of it anyway,” he whispered cheerfully.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “I can’t help myself. Kitchens always have this romantic effect on me.”

  “Keep away from me, or I’ll bop you on the head with Aunt Edna’s rolling pin.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to be kissed in the kitchen?” he teased.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? I’m a terrific kisser.”

  The man is evil, Chris decided. He knows he can raise my blood pressure just by dropping his voice an octave, and he’s absolutely enjoying it. She pushed against his chest with both hands, hoping he wouldn’t feel her heart pounding in her chest. “You’re horrid.”

  “I like when your voice gets all husky and tremulous like that.” His cobalt eyes lowered as he played with the zipper on her sweat suit jacket. “There’s a nice chemistry between us. You knew it as soon as I did—when we looked at each other under the hood of your car. For some reason it scares the heck out of you.”

  “I don’t want to get involved.”

  “I know that. That’s why I’m moving in.”

  “What?”

  “If I did the normal thing and asked you out to dinner, would you go out with me?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. So I’ll live here.” He smoothed the rumples from the front of her warm-up suit. “Besides, it will be convenient for both of us. I really do need a place to stay. I’m tired of shifting around. I need a home—even if it’s someone else’s home. And you need the money and the transportation. A match made in heaven.”

  Oh boy, she thought, I’m doomed. Putty in his hands. “Do you know what a glamus is?”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. I suppose you can stay.” She sighed. “Aunt Edna has her mind made up, anyway.” Suddenly she felt very, very tired. “But I’m serious about not getting involved. Keep your distance.”

  “Or you’ll drive me straight to the police station.”

  Chris felt her lips twitch in spite of herself. “You’re laughing at me, again.”

  “Maybe a little.” His hand touched her waist and boldly slid under the jacket of her warm-up suit. He flattened his palm against her stomach. His eyes grew dark and liquid. “But it’s a nice kind of laughing.”

  She knew it was a nice kind of laughing. It was gentle and good-humored and affectionate…very affectionate. He was everything she didn’t want to find in a man. He was lovable. And the feel of his hand on her stomach was exquisite. She was sure that when he removed the hand she would be branded for life—that she would never forget the delicious sensations emanating through her body.

  There was a flurry of obtrusive plate clanking and throat clearing in the living room. “What’s going on in there?” Edna called. “It’s awfully quiet.”

  Ken deposited a quick, light kiss on Chris’ lips and the muted hunger in his eyes shifted to amusement. “I don’t think you have to worry about this arrangement. I think Aunt Edna could be a formidable chaperone.”

  Aunt Edna bustled through the kitchen door, the plates and glasses clattering noisily in her hands. “I hate being left out of stuff. If you’re going to talk in the kitchen, then you’re going to have to talk louder.”

  Chris took the dishes and began stacking them in the dishwasher. “We were just coming to terms with this—boarding arrangement.”

  Ken managed to steal a cookie before they were whisked away into the teddy bear cookie jar. “The deal is that I take out the garbage, and I mind my manners.”

  Aunt Edna nodded in approval. “Dinner is at six. You can have the run of the refrigerator between meals—as long as you don’t eat us out of house and home. Goodness, it’s nice to have a man in the house.” She grinned.

  Chris took a key from a hook on the bulletin board. She studied the key for a moment, contemplating the significance of the act. She suspected she was giving Ken more than just the key to her house. She was giving him the chance to wreak havoc with her life�
�and she didn’t doubt for a second that he would take advantage of the opportunity. So, why am I doing this? she agonized. Because I need his truck, she answered. Because I need his money. Chris considered the key innocently resting in the palm of her hand. Were there other reasons? Because he was incredibly handsome? Because he could be outrageously endearing? Because when he’s close to me it’s like lying in the sun—all sizzling skin and luscious heat that sinks straight to my soul. Chris made an effort to control the shiver that ran along her spine, and presented him with the key. “This is for the front door.”

  Ken extracted a key ring from his jeans pocket and attempted to work a key loose. The key ring fell from his hand and clattered onto the kitchen floor. There was a brief look of dismay at his one-handed helplessness. He sighed and retrieved the keys. “And this is for the truck,” he told her, handing her the entire key chain. He lowered his voice to a coaxing whisper. “I’m sorry, Chris, I can’t do this by myself. You’re going to have to help me.”

  She felt her pulse falter as she fumbled with the keys. Her eyes avoided his while she wrestled with the double entendre.

  “Ain’t that nice,” Aunt Edna said. “A real ceremony. Just like getting married.”

  Chris felt heat creep along the back of her neck. Aunt Edna had the unnerving habit of saying out loud what everyone else was thinking. Chris thought back to the white-gowned pomp of her hastily planned wedding ceremony almost eight years ago. It had been lovely and exciting, but it had lacked the intimacy and intriguing solemnity of this simple kitchen key exchange. It was a frightening and annoying admission to make, but in some inexplicable way, she suddenly felt married to Ken Callahan.

  Ken looked at the two women from under lowered lids as he returned his keys to his pocket. His mouth was stretched into a roguish smile that didn’t quite extend to his tired eyes. “I don’t think I’d make much of a bridegroom today, Aunt Edna. My arm is starting to ache again, and I’m exhausted.”

  “Land sakes, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  “I haven’t.” He slouched against the doorjamb and hugged his broken arm. “Don’t suppose you’d want to tuck me in?” he asked Chris.

  Aunt Edna shook her head. “He sounds frisky, but he doesn’t look like he has much spunk left in him. Why don’t you show him his room while I fix lunch.”

  Chris led the way downstairs. The lower level rooms were carpeted in the same plush beige. A comfortably plump russet-colored corduroy couch, bordered by two end tables, faced the large brick fireplace that dominated a corner of the rec room. An oversized coffee table, overflowing with children’s books, filled the space between the couch and the fireplace. Two doors led off the family room, one leading to a neat utility room, and the second leading to the guest bedroom and adjoining bath. Chris motioned to the double bed covered with a red plaid comforter. “There are fresh sheets on the bed. I’ll bring some extra towels down later.”

  “Will you read me a bedtime story?” His voice was pleasantly husky with fatigue. “The one about Little Bear?”

  Chris touched her finger to his bearded cheek. He was dead on his feet, but he could dredge up enough energy for some gentle teasing. Most men would be grouchy and short-tempered by now. There was something about him—a playfulness, a fleeting glimpse of wistful trust that stirred feelings in her that she’d only before felt for baby birds, orphaned kittens, and sleeping children. It was strange that the most virile, competent male she’d ever met could evoke such tender emotions. Her eyebrows drew together in a scowl. And then there were the times when he was infuriating. Arrogant. Aggressive. Sneaky.

  Ken shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to guess what just went through your mind. I’ve never seen emotions parade across anyone’s face like that before. One minute you were on the verge of a good night kiss and in a matter of seconds you were considering homicide.”

  “You’re pretty sharp when you’re tired.”

  He flopped down on the bed. “Mmmm, and I’m even better when I’m horizontal.”

  “You’re impossible.” Her mood seesawed back to poignant affection. “I’m sorry I broke your arm.”

  He closed his eyes and smiled. “I’m not.”

  Chris resisted the urge to help him with his boots. She turned quickly and left the room before he could open his eyes and see the glow of plea sure his words had produced.

  Chapter 3

  Chris sat in evening rush-hour traffic, one hand resting on the leather-wrapped steering wheel of Ken’s custom truck, the other hand pressing against her churning stomach. She’d done something incredibly stupid. She’d allowed Ken into her house—into her heart. She would have been better off if she’d simply allowed him into her bed. That would have been sex. That would have been something she could handle.

  She inched the truck forward in the endless traffic and slumped in her seat. Who was she trying to kid? Sex with Ken would be a disaster. I’m like a dinosaur. I’m practically an extinct species. I’m a mental virgin, for Pete’s sake. She couldn’t even imagine casual sex. And even if she could divorce sex from love, sex with Ken would probably ruin her for life—how would she ever top it?

  Chris turned left off Little River Turnpike and headed for her subdivision. Her street looked normal enough. Her town house seemed just as she’d left it, but she knew it was merely a deceptive facade. Nothing would be normal as long as Ken had the key to her front door. She parked at the curb and tried to squelch the turmoil in her chest. This will never work, she told herself as she hopped from the truck. He has to go. She stomped up the sidewalk, berating herself. “How could I ever have agreed to this?” she muttered, throwing her arms in the air. “This is absurd.” The front door crashed open and Chris stormed into the room.

  “Well, here she is,” Aunt Edna said to Ken. “Just like I told you. Muttering and stomping. All in a dither. Just look at her. Ain’t she a pip?”

  The last sentence was uttered with such unadulterated pride and love that Ken had to smile in appreciation. He adjusted the little girl on his lap to a more comfortable position and carefully laid a picture book on the coffee table.

  Lucy smiled happily and held out her arms for her hello kiss. “Mommy, you’re just in time to hear Ken finish the story.”

  Chris tipped her head in Ken’s direction and gave him her most withering stare. “Little Bear?”

  “Uh, no. I tried that, but I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with a bunch of bears. I found one about a steam shovel. It’s about this guy and his old steam shovel, and they’ve got to finish this job by sundown or…” Ken paused. “I suppose you already know the story,” he added with an embarrassed grin.

  I’m in big trouble, Chris thought. No woman in her right mind could hold out against that grin, and how could she possibly evict a man when he had her daughter enthralled on his lap? She bolstered her flagging hostility with the thought that this was just a temporary setback. She would kick him out after supper. She would do it the sneaky way—when Lucy and Aunt Edna were in bed and couldn’t come to his rescue. Chris walked cautiously across the room to receive her daughter’s hug, noting that the afternoon nap had erased the dark circles around Ken’s eyes, and the tension lines had faded from his bearded cheeks. The corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed deviltry. There was no need for him to speak—his crackling blue eyes told her he had won this round and was openly gloating over his victory.

  Chris bent to kiss her daughter’s orange curls and upturned nose, unavoidably coming inches from Ken’s freshly washed hair. She recognized the lemon-and-lilac scent. He had used her shampoo and bath soap. She paused for a moment, astonished at the wifely feelings this knowledge produced. It seemed perfectly natural and surprisingly intimate. A pang of longing for crushed dreams pierced her heart. It was such a simple thing—the intermingling of male and female fragrance. Emotions long buried were evoked and produced a pain that lodged in her throat like a huge silent sob.

  She had always imagined that her ma
rriage would be long and happy—like her parents’—a collection of shared intimacies, communal goals, loving memories. She had jumped at the first man who’d come along because she’d wanted all those things so badly. And she’d ended up with nothing.

  No, that wasn’t true. She had Lucy. And Lucy had been enough until this Ken Callahan had popped into her life. Damn him. Ken resurrected tender, hungry feelings that couldn’t be trusted. He had the potential to be heartache and grief—and trouble with a capital T.

  “This is ridiculous,” she mumbled gruffly.

  Ken chuckled at her exclamation. His laughter rumbled warm against her ear, and he feathered a kiss against her hair as she bowed her head to hug Lucy. “I’m not sure I follow you,” he teased. “Care to elaborate?”

  “This whole thing is ridiculous,” she hissed in a stage whisper. “And I’ll tell you more of what I’m talking about after supper.”

  She stiffened her back and fled to the kitchen to sort out her emotions. What was wrong with her? How could she be feeling so comfortably bound to a man that she’d picked up on the highway twelve hours ago? And if she did feel so comfortably bound to him, why did he make her so uncomfortable? The answer to that was obvious. Because he was slick and handsome and too good to be true; another Prince Charming. A Steven Black clone. She pulled four plates from the kitchen cabinet and marched into the dining room. She thumped them on the table.

  Lucy, still on Ken’s lap, giggled. “Isn’t Mommy funny when she’s mad? She always makes so much noise.”

  Chris glared at the two of them, and Ken suppressed a smile. “Maybe we’d better finish this book,” he suggested tactfully.

  Chris made a frustrated gesture as she swished back through the kitchen doors. Twelve hours ago she’d picked up a construction worker on the highway and now he was living in her house and reading books about steam shovels to her daughter—and very shortly they’d all be sitting around feeling used and abandoned. Chris thrashed around in the silverware drawer. Everyone liked him. Aunt Edna liked him. Lucy liked him. She had to admit it—she even liked him. Why couldn’t he have been some frog? Someone everyone hated. Someone that would have been easy to get rid of.