Part 4 (2/2)

The miserable, self-centered...

No, that wasn't fair of her, Claire chided silently. It wasn't fair to condemn Evan Quartermain just because Jack had walked out on her as soon as she had told him she was pregnant. Not everyone was like Jack.

Her mouth quirked into a hollow smile as she paced about the perimeter of the room.

Funny how quickly undying love could die in the face; of a tiny stick turning blue.

Rachel seemed to be burrowing against her shoulder. If she didn't know any better, Claire would have said the little j girl was almost cuddling. Claire fought hard not to give in to the warm feeling threatening to engulf her. She had no intentions of getting attached to this baby. She'd already learned the dangers of forming attachments to things that were only pa.s.sing through her life. Rachel would be in and out in a blink of an eye. Once Evan finally showed up.

Claire forced herself to concentrate on her anger. It wasn't difficult. She'd already called his house several times, in case he'd somehow slipped in without her noticing. But there was only his answering machine to listen to her. Calling his office had yielded the same result, except that there she was talking to his voice mail.

You'd think that with all these messages being left, one of them would get through, she thought angrily.

Rachel began to cry again.

”Tell me about it,” Claire muttered. ”I know, I know, I promised you a song. Okay, here goes.”

Maybe singing would take both their minds off the fact that Evan wasn't here.

When morning came and Evan didn't, it was the last straw.

Trying very hard to bridle her anger, Claire hustled Libby into clothes, took along some of Libby's outgrown things to use as a change of clothing for Rachel and bundled them both into her car.

If Muhammad refused to return to the mountain, the d.a.m.n mountain was going to go to his office looking for him, she thought hotly.

Claire took a deep breath before she turned the key in the ignition. She couldn't afford to drive feeling as angry as she did. Unless, of course, Evan Quartermain were standing in front of the car.

Sitting in the back seat beside the baby's car seat, Libby was the soul of excitement and hope.

”Does this mean we're going to keep Rachel?” Only the seat belt kept her from jumping up and down in her glee. ”He didn't come back for her,” she explained needlessly.

Claire schooled herself not to say anything in front of Libby that she'd regret, or worse, that Libby would instantly absorb as her phrase of the week.

”Yes, I know that and no, we are not keeping Rachel. Right now, we're doing fine, just the two of us, understand?” Libby nodded, but Claire knew that she wasn't happy about it.

”Then why are we going out again?” Libby wanted to know. ”Are we out of diapers again?”

”No, we're not, but that's not because Rachel hasn't been trying.” Claire was grateful that the brunt of morning traffic had pa.s.sed. She wasn't in the mood to be stuck on the road behind some truck with two live wires in the car. ”We're going to Mr. Quartermain's office to remind him that he forgot something at our house last night.”

He hadn't come over and, as far as she knew, he hadn't even come home. She'd remained awake until midnight, and then Rachel had woken her up at two and then again at six. There'd been no signs of anyone being at home next door any of those times.

This morning, sick of his answering machine, Claire had gone over and banged on his door, to no avail. That was when she'd decided that he probably hadn't returned home at all. His newspaper was still lying out front in his driveway.

By now, he'd been demoted to a life-form that was barely just ahead of the c.o.c.kroach. And she was beginning to think that she was insulting the roaches.

Libby wasn't about to give up easily. There was too much of Claire in her. ”But if he doesn't want her, we can keep her, then, right, Mama?”

”Wrong, Libby. She's a baby, she's not a wallet we found in the street. We can't take her to lost and found and hope n.o.body claims her.”

Libby wasn't quite sure she understood all that, but she nodded anyway. ”I know that.”

Claire spared her a smile. It wasn't Libby's fault she had a big heart. She came by it honestly. ”Then you should know that we can't keep people.”

Her eyes were still hopeful. ”But we can adopt them, right?”

Adopt. The word stung. Claire sighed, annoyed with herself. Was she ever going to hear that word without a pang?

Claire banked down her feelings. She had more-important things to think about now.

”Wrong, sweetie. And where did you hear about that, anyway?” They hadn't talked about adoption. There was no reason to. It wasn't as if Libby was adopted, the way Claire had been. A little fact her father had failed to tell her until he was on his deathbed. The revelation had completely shaken her up, but she'd learned to deal with it and go on.

”On TV,” Libby informed her brightly.

She might have known. Libby retained absolutely everything she came in contact with-like flypaper. Maybe she should start monitoring those children's programs, Claire thought.

She pulled up against the building in a s.p.a.ce marked Guest Parking. She didn't feel like a guest. She felt like a very angry woman whose good nature had been taken ad-vantage of.

”Okay, we're here,” she announced to her crew.

With Rachel nestled against her shoulder and one hand restraining Libby-who looked poised to run off in several directions at once-Claire rode up the seven flights to Evan's office. She was eternally grateful she'd had the presence of mind to ask him for his business card before he'd left her house yesterday.

Her hand in Libby's, she marched down the hall like an avenging fury. She would have marched straight into his office if not for the woman whose desk was in the outer office.

Gaping at the two children, Alma was on her feet instantly, blocking Evan's door. ”You can't go in there.”

Claire wasn't about to be put off by any of Evan Quartermain's minions. Her eyes narrowed as she fixed Alma with a look guaranteed to burn holes in wood.

”I wouldn't try to stop me if I were you. I'm here to see Evan Quartermain and I'm here to see him now.” She indicated the baby in her arms. ”This is his problem, not mine.”

Alma was barely one step ahead of the woman as she flung her small body into Evan's office. ”Mr. Quartermain, they're multiplying like rabbits.”

Evan looked up. His head hurt. He felt as if there was more information in it now than in the data base of his computer. Yesterday's meeting had broken for dinner, then gone on into the small hours of the morning. They were attempting to forestall a hostile takeover they had gotten wind of, and there had been no time for him to go home. Evan had spent the night on the sofa and showered in the penthouse washroom. He still felt as if he had been summarily chewed up and spit out, and he was in no mood for riddles.

”What are you talking about?”

”Babies,” she declared in a voice that might have been used by one of the ancient Egyptians when they had spoken of descending locusts.

”Babies?”

And then it burst on his brain. Oh, G.o.d, with all this talk of a takeover, he'd completely forgotten. Evan groaned.

He groaned even louder when he saw her. Claire was standing in the doorway, her eyes narrow, the look on her face far from tolerant. She was holding Rachel.

”Did you forget something?”

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