Part 5 (1/2)

Chapter Four.

The very next moment, Libby came bounding into the loom like the first volley of fireworks at a Fourth of July celebration. She immediately attached herself to Evan and began talking as if she were trying to outrace a hurricane, her speed accelerating with each word.

”Did you forget about Rachel? Mama said you did. I thought maybe you wanted us to have her. I'd like a little sister, but Mama says she has to be married first this time. And she says we're fine, just us, but we can be finer if we have Rachel. So, do you wanna give us Rachel?”

”Libby, hush.” Claire placed her hand on the little girl's shoulder to draw her back. She noted that Evan looked dazed, as if he'd fallen headfirst into a whirlpool. Shaking off the effects of the blitzkrieg attack, Evan crossed to Claire. His legs felt wooden, as did his brain. How could he have forgotten to go home to pick up Rachel?

Easy, because it wasn't something he was accustomed to doing or even thinking about. He thought of very little else whenever he was immersed in work, certainly not a child he'd just acquired in the past twenty-four hours.

”I am really very sorry.” The feeble words of apology crashed and broke up like pitifully small waves upon the sh.o.r.e of her annoyance. He tried again because, although he hated the fact, he did owe her an explanation. ”I did forget,” he admitted, glancing at Libby, ”but I'm in the middle of a hostile takeover here.”

”d.a.m.n straight you are,” Claire retorted, ”as of right now.”

If he thought he could turn those gorgeous eyes on her and melt her resolve just because there was a hint of contrition within their green lights, he was in for a surprise. I She was long past being taken in by good-looking men with faces like moody poets' and bodies like determined athletes. He wasn't going to get away with this trick.

”We had a temporary arrangement, mister, not a permanent one.” She held Rachel out to him. ”Your daughter, Mr. Quartermain.”

Every time he heard that description, it was like a knife twisting in his gut. ”She's not-”

Oh, no, he wasn't going to get out of it by playing with words. Rachel was his, all right. ”She's your responsibility,” Claire emphasized.

It was Devin who had always been the ladies' man when they were growing up, but Evan had picked up a few thing along the way just by listening. He gave it a shot. After all, he had nothing to lose and peace and quiet to gain.

”Oh, but you were doing so well.” Uttered with forced feeling, the words fell flat.

She'd had her inoculations against flattery, as well, and far better flattery than what he seemed to be capable of ”If that's your idea of charm, you have a lot of work ahead of you.”

Giving up the charade, Evan played it straight and was himself again. And a desperate self it was, too. ”Look, what do you want me to do? I'm at work.”

Claire s.h.i.+fted Rachel to her other hip and took the stapler out of Libby's hands before her daughter could staple herself to Evan's chair.

”Well, for starters, you can stop being at work all the time.” She punctuated her statement by depositing the stapler on top of his desk. Hard.

He stared at her. Was she crazy? ”You're suggesting I quit?”

Why did he have to think in such exaggerated terms? Claire blew out a breath. ”I'm suggesting you take some time off.”

He thought of the extended meeting, and Donovan's long list of things he wanted him to look into before the next one. ”Now?”

He sounded as if she were asking him to abdicate the throne of England instead of taking a few days off. Claire went toe-to-toe with him, refusing to be intimidated by his high-and-mighty tone.

”Right now. You do have time coming to you, don't you?”

”Mr. Quartermain has a great deal of time accrued,” Alma volunteered, hoping to be helpful.

Evan glared at his secretary. Why was the woman still here, listening to all this? Didn't she have anything better to do?

Claire nodded, satisfied. Just as she thought. ”And he's going to begin unaccruing it.”

Her declaration sent Evan over the top. He wasn't about to do anything of the kind. ”Just who do you think you are, coming in here, ordering me around-?”

Claire had a feeling that, given the chance, he could be every bit as verbose as Libby, and a h.e.l.l of a lot more pompous. She wasn't about to give him that chance. ”I'm the woman you left your baby with.”

He clenched his hands at his sides to keep from throttling her in front of witnesses. ”I already told you, she is not my baby.”

And that was another thing; she was sick of his denials. Hearing them brought back the sound of Jack's voice when he had questioned Libby's paternity. As if she'd even look at another man when she thought herself in love with him. Scratch the surface and men were all the same, scrambling away to save their worthless, scrawny necks. When she thought of the fact that she, abandoned and alone, would have killed to have a family, and Evan was trying to throw his away, she could have strangled him.

She fixed him with a look that made him want to squirm even though he wasn't guilty of anything.

”Can you honestly look at Rachel and say she's not yours?” She looked from the baby to Evan. Like two drawings from the same brush. How could he find it in his heart to deny her her birthright? ”Honestly?”

He heard the little sigh coming from the doorway. Evan raised his eyes to Alma, his meaning clear.

The woman instantly began backing out. ”I'll just go see about making arrangements for some vacation time,” she murmured, disappearing.

Oh, no, this was going to get back to Donovan. He could feel a noose tightening around his neck.

”I can't take any time off,” Evan called after the woman.

Claire blocked him with her body, managing to slip in I between him and the doorjamb. ”Oh, yes, you can and you should and you will.”

Libby tugged on his jacket before he could tell Claire exactly what he thought of her instructions. And before he could bank down the very powerful pull he'd just felt as his body had brushed against Claire's in the struggle to gain the doorway.

Having to answer the child took his mind off the woman. ”What?”

Libby looked up at him with a solemnity reserved for those far older than she. ”You better listen to her when she talks like that,” Libby advised. ”That's Mama's mad voice.”

Evan's eyebrows narrowed as he glared at Claire. Things were bad enough right now without having to deal with an overbearing woman. ”Maybe she'd like to hear my mad voice.”

”I have,” Libby confided to her mother, ”but it's really not so bad.”

Claire didn't know if Libby was actually trying to be a peacemaker or just talking, but she did know that the effort would be wasted on Evan.

”Libby, please be quiet. This is between Mr. Quarter- main and me.”

Libby frowned. It seemed very obvious to her that they had forgotten someone.

”And Rachel. Don't forget Rachel,” she urged, looking from her mother to Mr. Q., which was as much of the man's name as she could manage easily.

Libby succeeded where her mother failed. She made him feel ashamed of himself. He was completely forgetting Rachel, and that hadn't been his intent. He wanted her taken care of, even if she wasn't his; he just didn't want his entire world to be put through the wringer in order to do it.

Claire could see the difference in him instantly. There were signs of remorse, however faint. She lightened her intense a.s.sault. Maybe she was coming on too strong, not so much for Rachel's sake, which would have been excusable, but because Evan Quartermain made her think of Jack. She hated being unfair.

”She's right, you know,” Claire agreed quietly. ”You did forget. We both did.”

That she should include herself surprised Evan. ”Yes, I know,” he snapped, then flushed. It wasn't her he was really angry with; it was circ.u.mstances. And perhaps himself. ”Sorry, it's just that this isn't really a good time for me to be taking any days off.”

The man seemed to be completely married to his career. When had he had the time to create this delightful, wet little bundle?