Hero at Large by Janet Evanovich
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 relationship, 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
“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…”
Bitsy pulled up to the curb and looked at Chris expectantly. “This is it, folks.”
Chris stared at her town house. “Are we here already? I don’t suppose you’d want to drive around the block three or four hundred times?”
“I assume you have a problem?”
“Boy, have I got a problem.” She held up her finger. “Look at this. What am I going to do with this? You know what this says? Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. You can’t miss it. It’s enormous.” She pulled her mitten over the diamond. “Maybe if I leave my mitten on…”
“Yeah, that would help, but it’s going to be hard holding a fork. If you’re that bummed out why don’t you just give the ring back?”
Chris sighed and sank lower in her seat. “I can’t,” she wailed. “I love this ring. And I’m ridiculously in love with Ken What’s-his-name.” She punched the dashboard. “And I hate him. The creep.”
“This is complicated.”
“The real problem is Edna and Lucy. I don’t want them getting all excited about this. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, yet.”
“Then why don’t you tell them that you’re engaged, but that you’re not planning to get married for a long, long time…maybe never.”
Chris nodded solemnly. “That sounds good.” She got out of the car. “I’ll go with that one.”
Chris opened the door and nodded a grim hello. She hung her coat in the hall closet, looked down at her mittened hands, sighed, and resolutely pulled the rag wool mittens off.
Edna saw it immediately. She put her hand to her mouth and gasped. “My stars! Well, for goodness’ sake.”
Chris pasted her best professional smile on her face. “Yes, I’m engaged. Your dreams have come true, Aunt Edna.” She saw a fleeting glimpse of emotion cloud Ken’s eyes. Hurt? She’d said it with unmistakable bitterness. Hell, the man isn’t stupid, she thought. And he isn’t insensitive, either. Chris lowered her eyes to the beautiful ring and whispered, “…and my dreams, too.” She was immediately horrified at the admission. Why had she said that? But she knew the answer. Partly because it was true, and partly because she didn’t want to hurt Ken. She wanted to make him miserable…but she didn’t want to hurt him.
“It’s beautiful,” Edna clucked over the ring. “It’s just about the nicest ring I’ve ever seen. And it’s big. It’s bigger than the diamond Margaret Kulesza got when she married that weasel-faced mortician back home in South River.” Edna shook her head. “Such a to-do over that scrawny undertaker. The man couldn’t even do a decent job of laying-out. Picked out terrible ties. And had a real heavy hand with the rouge. I don’t like that. I like when they lay you out to look natural.” She turned to Ken. “What do you think? Don’t you just hate to see a phony-looking stiff?”
“Yeah, now that you mention it…” He turned to Chris and mouthed “help!”
Edna ushered them into the kitchen. She took the wooden spoon to a pot of bubbling stew. “So, when’s the big d
“Actually, we haven’t set a date,” Chris said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and avoiding Ken’s eyes. “It could be a long engagement—really long. Maybe we won’t ever get married. Maybe we’ll just be engaged for a long time, and then…”
Edna looked at her as if she were crazy. “Lord, being engaged makes you silly. Why the devil are you rambling on so? And you don’t want to wait too long. A Christmas wedding would be good; the house could be decorated with garlands and bows. I always wanted to have a Christmas wedding, myself. I was a June bride, but if I ever marry again it will be a Christmas wedding.”
She was losing control of the conversation…correction—she’d never had control of the conversation. Edna wasn’t even listening to her…no one ever listened to her…
Edna stirred more vigorously. The gravy slopped over the edge of the pot and small cubes of potato were ground into mushy oblivion as Edna became increasingly excited. “We don’t need a caterer. I could do it all. Little meatballs, and we could slice up a nice big roast beef. We’ll order the cake. I know a lady up the street that does wonderful cakes.”
Chris looked to Ken for help.
“I think it sounds great. Maybe we could feed them the turkey leftovers.”
Oh swell. The man-of-a-thousand-names thinks it sounds great. She could just see them standing at the altar, and he says…“Oh, by the way, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Edna waved the spoon at Chris. “You haven’t said much about all of this. Would you rather have turkey? What do you think? Roast beef or turkey?”
“I’m not doing anything until after Nationals in January. I’m not interested in dresses or meatballs or instant marriages.”