A tear slid down Chris’ cheek at the realization of what had just happened-at the realization of the depth of her love and the hopelessness of the relationship. A debilitating lethargy radiated from her chest. She wanted to sleep until the pain was all gone and Ken Callahan was a distant memory. But first she would have to put an end to the relationship. To let things continue wasn’t fair to anyone. And she didn’t like herself, anymore. She had no willpower. No scruples. No pride.

Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I’ll find a way to end it.

Chapter 10

Ken sipped at his coffee and studied the financial section of the Post.

“Do all carpenters read the Dow-Jones so avidly?” Chris asked.

“I have a few stocks.” He laid the paper aside and buttered a waffle. “What does your schedule look like today? Do you have any time for some Saturday fun?”

“My first lesson is at two o’clock.” She chewed her toast thoughtfully. “I thought maybe we could take a ride out to Loudoun County and visit your monster dog. You could show me this place where you stay sometimes.”

There was a flicker of surprise behind the dark blue eyes. He raised his eyebrows at her in silent question, but-although she winced inwardly at the tightening of his mouth-she kept her face emotionless. She wondered if it was Kenneth Knight who studied her coolly then drained his coffee cup before answering.

“Good idea. It’s nine-thirty. If we leave now we’ll have plenty of time. Darby Hills is just outside of Middleburg.”

“Darby Hills?”

“Yeah. That’s the name of this place. People give their houses names out there.”

“Did you name it Darby Hills?”

“I told you it’s just a place I stay sometimes. It came with the name just like it came with the furniture and all the damn azaleas.”

Chris had to smile in spite of herself. “You don’t like azaleas?”

“I’m allergic to them.”

“Do you own this house?”

He nodded his head, yes, while he carried his dishes to the kitchen.

“Then why don’t you just get rid of the azaleas?”

He rolled his eyes. “We’re not talking a few azaleas. This place is packed with them. And besides I’d feel like a murderer.”

Chris helped him load the dishwasher. “Why on earth did you buy a place you so obviously dislike?”

“I don’t know. It just didn’t turn out to be what I’d expected.”

Boy, she thought, I can relate to that.

The ride to Middleburg was awkwardly quiet. Suburban towns of Fairfax and Chantilly gave way to frozen fields and spindle trees, their branches pressed against brilliant blue sky like fine French lace. The highway narrowed as it approached Middleburg, and Chris turned her attention to the venerable houses that lined the road. Chris liked Middleburg. It was a town that had absorbed civilization slowly. It had been spared the plastic tract houses and overdevelopment of its neighbor, Fairfax County, because it was too far from downtown D.C. to be a comfortable commute. The golden arches hadn’t found Middleburg. Its shops reflected the surrounding wealth. There were saddleries, and Williamsburg-style taverns, and tweedy clothing stores. A lone supermarket hunkered at the back of its parking lot, looking awkward in its bleak brick and glass facade. The small town ended abruptly. Ken followed the black road for a few miles and then turned northwest, giving Chris a view of the Appalachians. After living most of her life under the shadow of the Rockies, Chris wondered how these gently rolling hills could even be considered mountains. She watched grimly as the fields turned manicured; they were in hunt country now. Every now and then a huge estate could be glimpsed among stables and boxwoods, set far back from the road.

She had decided that she would be fair. Maybe the magazine had exaggerated. Maybe he really was a simple carpenter with his own little construction company. She would give him a chance to explain.

Ken turned the truck into a private drive. After a half mile they approached an electronic gate. Ken took a small box from the glove compartment and pushed a button. The gate swung open. Chris read the name on the gold plaque. “Darby Hills.”

“Afraid so.”

This was going to be hard to explain. This was going to be opulence. Freshly painted white board fence enclosed pastureland on either side of the drive. “There are cows here,” she said, dully. “You have cows in your front lawn?”

“Steers, actually. And there aren’t very many of them.” He sounded apologetic. “I suppose there are a few hundred. I don’t even know why I have the blasted things. I think we eat them once in a while.”

Chris folded her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead. She didn’t want opulence. Maybe other women wanted Prince Charming, but Chris wanted the frog. You could come home to a frog and count on his being there. Frogs were dependable. The truck slowed at a large, beautifully landscaped stone house. The house was cozy and not terribly intimidating. “Is this your house?” she asked hopefully.

“No.”

There was a touch of exasperation to her voice. “Well? Whose house is it?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “This is Henry’s house. Henry’s sort of a caretaker.” He thrust his chin out pugnaciously. “My house is just past that copse of evergreens.”

Oh boy, she thought. This must be one pip of a house. She steeled herself as they passed through the evergreens. Sunlight broke overhead and illuminated the enormous Georgian country house that dwarfed the top of a small hill. “Holy cow,” Chris breathed. In her wildest dreams she had never imagined anything like this.

“It just looks big. It’s actually a lot smaller inside.” He drove along the circular drive and parked at the door, his eyes fixed firmly on the house.

Chris kept her hands clenched in her lap. Ken Callahan was gone. He’d been lost somewhere en route to Darby Hills and would never be seen again. And she was left with Kenneth Knight-a stranger. She searched for something to say-something that would hide the sudden feeling of awkwardness. “This is…big. Bigger than Mount Vernon.” She spread her arms in disbelief. “This is bigger than Mount Rainier.”

Ken sighed and turned to her. His eyes roamed her face for a clue to her feelings. “I suppose you’ve guessed I’m not just a carpenter?”

Chris felt guilty at her hidden knowledge. She nodded her head and swallowed against the lump in her throat. When she finally answered her voice sounded strangely thin. “Actually, Bitsy recognized you from the cover of Newsweek.”

He stared at her wordlessly, absorbing the impact of her admission. A flicker of anger passed across narrowed eyes and was instantly hidden behind a controlled mask. He stroked his beard. “I thought I was disguised.”

“Why did you lie to me?” Have a good reason, Chris silently pleaded. Something solvable-like amnesia, or drugs, or problems with the police.

He flicked at the keys dangling from the ignition. “I guess it started out as a lark. It was obvious you thought I was a bum, and at the time it seemed like it would be fun to be a bum.” He smiled ruefully. “I haven’t had much fun lately…until I met you. For the past six months I’ve been trying to straighten out my business…my life. I had a business partner who expanded a small construction firm into a multinational corporation and bred graft and corruption everywhere he went. It took me three years before I could nail him on embezzlement and force him to sell out. For the last six months I’ve been rooting through every company we control, reorganizing and firing. When you broke down on the highway in front of me I was on my way to ax a man I had always considered to be a good friend. I’ve had a three-week vacation, and now I’m afraid I have to go back and finish the job I started.” He leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. “I didn’t like being Kenneth Knight when I met you, so I became Ken Callahan. It was actually only a little white lie. My mother’s name was Callahan. Callahan is my middle name.”