Hero at Large by Janet Evanovich Page A

that? Do you suppose you could teach me to make cheese sauce?”
    â€œThere’s a recipe for cheese sauce in the recipe box on the counter.” She studied him intently for a minute, trying to imagine Ken as a young boy. He’d probably been spoiled rotten. What mother could say no to those big blue eyes? “Tell me about your family.”
    He sliced a piece of chicken and chewed it thoughtfully. “I guess I come from a large family by today’s standards—one brother and three sisters. I’m the oldest, and I’m the only one unmarried. My parents still live in the same two-story frame house that I grew up in—in Pennsylvania. Nothing fancy, but lots of love and lots of noise. I have six nephews and four nieces. You can’t imagine what Christmas Day sounds like.”
    â€œDoes everyone come to your parents’ house for Christmas?”
    Ken speared another piece of chicken. “The kids enjoy getting their presents under their own Christmas trees.” He savored a forkful of buttered noodles and grinned. “They were afraid Santa wouldn’t know to bring their presents to my parents’ house, so we designated December twenty-eighth as Family Christmas every year. It makes it easier to travel, too. My brother lives in Connecticut. My sister Maggie moved to Seattle last year. Cara lives in Cape May. My youngest sister, Erin, is the only one still in Pennsylvania. She lives about a half mile from my parents.”
    â€œSounds like a nice family.”
    Ken nodded. “I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like.” He looked critically at the bowl still filled with peas. “Too many peas,” he agreed, taking another helping. “What about you? Do your parents still live in Colorado?”
    Chris shook her head. “My mom died when I was nineteen. My dad died three years ago. Heart disease.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    Chris nodded.
    â€œYou have a brother?”
    â€œTed. Two years older than me. He’s still in Colorado.” Her gaze rested on his competent hands, slicing off another bite of chicken.
    â€œWhat brought you east?”
    â€œThis job,” she said, turning her attention back to her own plate. “They needed someone with international experience to build a competitive skate program. It’s a small rink, but it has some good skaters—last year two of my students qualified for national competition.”
    â€œYou like teaching skating.” He speared a final forkful of noodles.
    â€œI love it. I find it much more satisfying than competing. And much less painful.”
    Ken looked at his empty plate with a contented sigh. “And I find cooking much more satisfying than construction work.”
    Chris laughed softly. “What you find satisfying is eating…not cooking.”
    He raised his eyes, suddenly filled with a hunger that had nothing to do with peas or oven-fried chicken. “I have something special planned for dessert.”
    Chris felt her temperature rise and wondered how he did it. With a single teasing sentence and one semismoldering look, he had instantly turned her into a quivering mass of overheated half-wit. She narrowed her eyes and hoped she looked menacing. “You looking to get something else broken?”
    Ken raised his hands in mock self-defense. Hiseyes softened with the recognition of her panic. “You don’t like dessert?” he asked in exaggerated innocence.
    She shook her finger at him. “You weren’t talking about dessert.”
    He began stacking the dishes. “I was going to  suggest Irish coffee in front of a roaring fire, and”—he disappeared behind the kitchen door—“a plate full of goodies.” He reappeared with a bakery bag and a sterling plate covered with a paper doily. “I stopped at a bakery on the way home from the airport. You fix the cookies, and I’ll make coffee. I may not be much