Hero at Large

  “Are you some sort of troubleshooter?”

  “Troubleshooter? I guess that’s as good a name as any, but lately I feel more like a troublemaker.” He quirked a smile at her. “I’d like to make a pass at you, but all of a sudden, I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  “Would you like me to drive you home?”

  “I don’t think I have a home.” It was a flat statement issued in a voice totally devoid of emotion. “There’s this place out in Loudoun County where I stay sometimes.”

  “Loudoun County! After I drop you off, how will I ever get back here? Loudoun County is miles away. There aren’t any buses running to Loudoun County, there isn’t a subway running to Loudoun County, what are you doing living in Loudoun County?”

  He sat with his black curls resting against the rear window, his eyes closed in exhaustion, his cast propped in a ridiculous position on the head of the Rottweiler. “You could spend the night,” he smiled dreamily. “It’s lonely in Loudoun County.”

  “I’ll pass on the night stuff, but I guess I can drive you home. After all, you did try to help me.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  Chris glanced at her watch. “I have students waiting for me right now. Would you mind hanging around at the skating rink for a couple hours? I’ll be done at ten-thirty, and then I can make arrangements with one of the other coaches to follow us out and bring me back home.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  Chris looked at him suspiciously. “Did you hear anything I said?” There was no response. He was asleep.

  Chapter 2

  Chris dried her skate blades and put the custom Harlicks in her locker. She slipped her feet into her tennis shoes and wondered about the man and dog she’d left slumbering in the parking lot. She’d treated them equally, cracking a window for ventilation and covering them with a blanket from the coaches’ lounge. Toward the end of her last lesson she’d had visions of man and beast perishing—like the little match girl—frozen to death under a mantle of dog-induced frost. She pushed through the heavy lobby door and stared horrified into the parking lot. There was no truck. There was no trace of Ken Callahan. No dog.

  Bitsy Schoffit barged through the doors behind her. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

  Chris spread her arms in a gesture of confusion. “He isn’t here. The truck is gone.”

  “I thought he couldn’t drive.”

  “I dunno. Maybe he called someone to come and get him while I was on the ice.” She clapped her hand to her forehead. “And he’s got my purse. I left it in the truck.”

  Bitsy shook her head and made motherly clucking sounds with her tongue. “Dumb, dumb, dumb.”

  “It’s not so bad. He probably got someone to take him home and didn’t realize the purse was on the floor. I’ll just go home and call the hospital. Maybe someone there can get in touch with him.”

  Bitsy unlocked the door to her BMW, motioned for Chris to get in, and plunked her own small body into the plush red seat. At forty-three she was still slim and graceful on ice, moving effortlessly with her students through difficult choreography. On land she was an ox. On land she stomped and plunked and stumbled with unconscious abandon.

  Bitsy turned the BMW onto Little River Turnpike. Half a mile up the road the two women simultaneously spotted Chris’ abandoned tan hatchback on the far shoulder. They gave it a cursory glance, as if it belonged to some unknown person, and continued on to the next light.

  “Old news,” Chris said finally—her thoughts returning to the car.

  Bitsy was familiar with the Chris Nelson philosophy of car care. “Time to buy a new one, huh?”

  “Five weeks too early. I have my money tied up in a savings bond that doesn’t mature for five more weeks.”

  Bitsy gave another series of clucks. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” She pulled into Chris’ subdivision and rolled to a stop in front of her house. “Let me guess,” she said, pointing to the blue pickup parked at the curb. “Is this the phantom truck?”

  “Oh no! What’s he doing here?”

  Bitsy chuckled. “I imagine he’s in there having tea with Aunt Edna.”

  “Just what I need. Edna’s convinced I should remarry. Remember poor John Farrell? And last week she arranged a date for me with the guy who came to read our electric meter. Edna’ll take one look at Ken Callahan and think she’s gone to matchmakers’ heaven.”

  “Wow. That nice?”

  “An eleven, no sweat. And I don’t want to have anything to do with him. I like my life just the way it is.” Chris slammed the car door behind her and took twelve feet of sidewalk in two strides. She turned, waved at Bitsy, and hammered on her front door.

  Aunt Edna bellowed, “Hold your pants on,” and glared out above a security chain. “Well, good golly,” she complained, “what with all that thundering, I thought it had to be some lunatic escaped from Lorton prison. Why didn’t you just use your key?”

  “It’s in my purse, and I don’t have my purse with me.” Chris pushed past Edna. “Where is he?”

  “You mean that nice Ken Callahan?”

  Chris moved from the foyer to the living room, to the dining room. She felt her patience evaporating and clenched her teeth to keep from shouting. “Yes. ‘That nice Ken Callahan.’ Where is he?”

  Aunt Edna blocked the doorway between living room and dining room. She stood five feet tall in sensible sturdy brown shoes, and her snow-white hair was tightly curled in rows marching obediently across her gleaming pink skull. She had snapping blue eyes—and a body like a fire-plug. “It was just like Goldilocks,” she cried, slapping her leg. “I took Lucy to school, and when I came home there he was—sleeping in your bed.”

  Chris felt her voice rise to a shriek. “In my bed?”

  “He’s such a nice man, dear. And he looked so peaceful, tucked under your big down quilt.”

  Her eyes widened in a mixture of outrage and disbelief. “Under my quilt?”

  The stairs creaked behind Chris, and she whirled around as Ken sauntered into the room, looking sleepily sexy and perfectly at home.

  “I don’t know how two tiny women can make so much noise,” he mumbled. “What’s all the racket about?”

  “You! How did you get in here? And what were you doing in my bed?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. Evidently remembering his cast, he diligently raised it above his heart. “Dog and I just about froze to death in the truck. I was going to come inside the skating rink to get warm, but I was afraid I looked too disreputable, so I fished around in your purse until I found your address and your keys, and then I drove myself over here.”

  “I thought you couldn’t drive.”

  “Well, I discovered I could just about wrap my fingers around the wheel.” He waved his cast at her and wiggled his fingers. “And lucky it was my left arm that you broke, because I can shift with my good hand.”

  “And then you just let yourself in and went to bed?” she sputtered.

  “There wasn’t anyone home. I put Dog in your backyard and went upstairs.”

  “It was just like Goldilocks,” Aunt Edna insisted. “I went upstairs and there he was, sleeping just as peaceful as could be.”

  “Until Edna started screaming.” He raised an eyebrow at Edna. “You’ve got some voice.”

  Edna sniffed indignantly. “Well, what do you think? You think I’m some frail old lady? And if you hadn’t come up with a good explanation I’d have cracked your skull wide open with my wooden rolling pin.”

  Chris smiled and looked sidewise at Ken. “Don’t doubt it for a minute,” she whispered.

  “You’re obviously closely related.”

  “Aunt Edna is my mother’s sister and reigning family matriarch.”

  “Seventy-five years old, and I’m almost as good as new,” she said proudly. “Now you young folks go into the parlor, and I’ll get us some refreshments.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Aunt Edna. I’m sure Mr. Callahan will be anxious to be on his way
.”

  Aunt Edna’s mouth closed with a determined snap. “I won’t hear of it. Anyone can see the man is hungry, and he don’t look like he’s in such a hurry to leave.”

  Ken beamed. “I’d like to stay for refreshments.”

  “You see?” Edna gloated. “I knew he didn’t want to rush off.” She smacked her lips with satisfaction and bustled off to the kitchen.

  Ken smiled. “I like your aunt.”

  Chris glanced up at him. “When my marriage collapsed it was Aunt Edna that put the pieces back together. Her own husband died eleven years ago. When I was in my eighth month, Aunt Edna arrived unannounced and informed me that I needed looking after. I was the only one in my Lamaze class with a sixty-seven-year-old lady for a coach.” Chris shook her head, still amazed at the memory. “She went right through delivery with me. She was wonderful.”

  “And she’s lived with you ever since?”

  “Off and on. She travels from family member to family member. Mostly wherever there’s a disaster. Lately I’ve tried to keep her here because of Lucy. In order for me to make enough money to support us it’s necessary for me to give after-school and evening lessons. If it weren’t for Aunt Edna, I’d have to put Lucy in day care and hire babysitters at night.”

  Ken relaxed onto the couch and patted the spot next to him. “Come sit by me.” The sounds of banging cupboards and clanking dishes drifted in from the kitchen. Ken looked in the direction of the clatter. His mouth twitched and finally gave way to a full-fledged grin.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I just thought of something your aunt said to me.” He threw his head back and laughed.

  Chris marveled at the quality of his laughter. It was full and rich and deeply masculine and impossible to ignore. She smiled and prodded him. “Well? What did she say?”

  “When she walked in and found me asleep in your bed, she let out with this ear-splitting screech—it had me sitting bolt upright before I even opened my eyes. But then she took a good look at me. I guess she sized me up and figured I was okay, because her first words were…‘Merciful heavens, there’s finally a man in my niece’s bed.’”

  “I’ll kill her.”

  “I get the impression that your aunt would like to see you married.”

  “That’s the understatement of the century. She’s fixed me up with meter readers, shoe salesmen, a fat fifty-two-year-old butcher, and last week she scared the bejeebers out of John Farrell.”

  “Who’s John Farrell?”

  “My accountant.” Chris waved her hand in a dismissing gesture. “As soon as Aunt Edna found out John was single she did everything but produce my dental records and promise a dowry. I love Aunt Edna, but she’s entirely guileless, and she gets more outspoken as she gets older. She says she hasn’t got much time left, so she’s not going to spend it pussyfooting around.”

  “Edna ever find John Farrell in your bed?”

  “No!” Chris rolled her eyes at the thought. She couldn’t imagine pleasant, innocuous John Farrell in her bed. She took a stealthy breath and reluctantly admitted to herself that she could easily imagine Ken Callahan there.

  Edna trotted in with a plate of cookies. “Are you talking about that John Farrell?” She narrowed her eyes at Ken. “What a wimp. Had him over to dinner and he picked at his roast beef. Didn’t eat his peas at all.” She shook her head in dismay. “That man had no spirit. No backbone.” She winked at Ken and smiled broadly at Chris. “Now this one here is more like it. This guy’s got something to him.”

  Chris sighed and selected a cookie. Once Aunt Edna got started there was no stopping her. Might as well sit back and watch him squirm, she thought, taking a perverse delight in the possibility that Ken and Edna deserved each other. After all, it wasn’t as if she had any future plans for Ken Callahan. She wouldn’t ever see him again—might as well let Aunt Edna have some fun with him.

  “Are you married?” Edna asked.

  “Nope.”

  Edna looked appalled. “A big, strapping man like you—not married? And you’re not getting any younger. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  Edna took an Oreo. She broke it in half and nibbled the white icing off one of the wafers. “You’re not one of those men that prefers boys, are you?”

  Ken choked on his Ovaltine. “No ma’am! I’m…uh…old-fashioned about that kind of stuff.”

  Chris covered her mouth to keep from laughing. This promised to be even better than the demolition of John Farrell.

  Edna leaned forward in eager anticipation. “You got a steady job?”

  Ken turned to Chris; his eyes danced with diabolical delight. The silent message was blatant: Feed me to the wolves, will you? When he turned back to Edna his face was a solemn mask. “I was supposed to start a new job today, but as you can see…” He waved his arm pathetically in front of him. “I’ve got a broken arm. I can’t work with this cast on.”

  Edna sucked in her breath. “And all because you stopped to help my niece. Isn’t that noble? Don’t that beat all?”

  Chris pressed herself deeper into the sofa cushions and surreptitiously made a motion that said she might gag. “Noble,” she croaked.

  Ken stole a smug look in Chris’ direction. He toyed with a vanilla wafer.

  “What a pity,” Edna went on. “How will you get by?”

  “I have some savings.”

  “A man with a savings account. Now that’s character,” she told her niece. “Seems a shame to have to dip into your savings on account of us. I feel just terrible about this.”

  A knot was developing in Chris’ stomach. This wasn’t taking the usual course. By this time Aunt Edna should have had him in a sweat, but Ken was looking more pleased by the minute. And he was planning something sneaky—Chris was sure of it.

  Ken stretched and relaxed deeper into the couch. “This is a nice room.”

  Chris blinked at the sudden change in conversation. There was none of the earlier affectation. He seemed genuinely impressed. I don’t trust him, she thought. He’d been leading up to something. She sat up warily and paid close attention, watching his eyes as they observed the room.

  It was an airy room with ivory walls and matching sheers. The plush wall-to-wall carpeting was a warm beige tone. The few pieces of furniture were comfortably overstuffed and covered in earth-tone tans with the exception of a cocoa-and-white houndstooth check wingback chair. The subdued colors provided the perfect background for gregarious Boston ferns, delicate asparagus ferns, potted fig trees, basketed orange trees, hanging ivies, and a colorful collection of African violets in traditional clay pots. The plants seemed to begin in the living room, randomly sprinkled here and there, picking up momentum and becoming more dense as they progressed toward the dining room, where they converged around the patio doors.

  Ken’s attention focused on a cluster of photographs hanging on the wall. “Do you mind if I look at the pictures in your dining room?”

  Aunt Edna jumped to her feet. “You want to see the pictures?”

  Chris groaned. This was not a good sign.

  “This here’s a photograph of some sailing ships. Chris got this when we went vacationing in Maine last year. And this here’s a picture of me when I was a little girl. Wasn’t I a pip? Just look at those ribbed stockings. This is an elephant at the zoo, and this is a picture Lucy drew when we came home.”

  Ken looked at the crayon drawing of a smiling elephant. It had been framed and matted with the same professional care as all the other pictures. He tilted his head in Chris’ direction. “Your daughter must feel very special to have her drawing on this wall.”

  Chris caught her breath at the enigmatic softening in his eyes, the tender huskiness of his voice.

  Edna puffed up with pride. “It’s a beauty of an elephant, isn’t it? She can draw anything. She’s got real talent.”

  “Like her mom.” Ken smiled at Edna.

  “The spitting image.” Edna pointed to a photograph of
a little girl hanging upside down from a tree limb. Her orange hair hung in wild curls that hadn’t seen a comb all day. She wore pink shorts, smudged with mud. Her sneakers were battered, her shoelaces untied, and she was laughing and closing her eyes tight in childish abandon.

  Ken laughed with the photograph. “Is this Lucy?”

  “Yep. But it might as well have been her mother. She looked just like that when she was seven.”

  His attention wandered to the bowl of cut flowers in the middle of the dining room table. He ran his finger over the table’s freshly polished surface. “You’ve done a lot to make this a home. I wish I had a home like this.”

  Little alarm bells sounded in Chris’ brain. There was a genuine wistfulness to his voice, which she didn’t doubt, but his eyes were filled with mischief and cunning.

  “Haven’t you got a home?” Edna exclaimed.

  He shook his head. “I’ve been doing a lot of traveling because of my job. I haven’t had much time to gather the things together that make a house a home.”

  “Maybe Chris could help you. Where do you live? Do you have a house of your own?”

  “There’s this place out in Loudoun County where I stay sometimes.”

  “Loudoun County. That’s a ride.”

  He nodded. “It would be much more convenient for me if I lived around here.” He delicately draped his good arm around Edna’s shoulders. “I have a confession to make. Ever since I walked into this house, I’ve been toying with an idea. I have two problems—I haven’t got a homey place to live, and I can’t go to work for a while. You and Chris also have two problems—you haven’t got a car, and you haven’t got an abundance of money. I noticed that you have an extra bedroom and bath downstairs—maybe we could work out some kind of deal. The use of my truck, plus”—he waved his hand while he contemplated a sum—“fifty dollars a week. We could be roomies.”

  Chris sprang from the couch. “No!”

  Edna stood firm with her hands on her hips. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”