Part 6 (1/2)

He didn't understand. Right now, he felt as if there was very little he could understand. ”Points?”

She waved the word away. She hadn't meant to let him so far into her private life, ”Just an expression.” Making a mental inventory of the things he was going to need, she picked Rachel up. ”Okay, let's go get your feet wet.”

Libby's eyes danced with excitement as she hopped to her feet. ”Are we going swimming, Mama?”

Claire laughed, and the soft sound seemed to waft under his skin. ”Only if we forget to change Rachel's diapers for too long.”

Evan groaned.

”Here, I thought you might need this.”

Evan opened his eyes. It took him a moment to focus on what Claire was holding. Completely exhausted after being mercilessly drilled for what seemed like an eternity, he'd sought a moment's respite on the sofa while Claire had gone to warm yet another bottle for the bottomless pit who was masquerading as a baby.

”It's coffee.” She pressed the mug into his hand. She'd found the brew in his kitchen and decided that he might need it to fortify him for the night ahead.

Evan took the mug in both hands, afraid he might drop it otherwise. He felt more tired now than he'd been after the marathon meeting last night. ”Oh, I was sort of hoping it was hemlock.”

With Rachel temporarily occupied, Claire sat down next to Evan on the sofa, sidling into the small s.p.a.ce beside him. ”You're not doing that bad.”

He felt a little jolt and wondered if it was the caffeine sinking in or the effects of the thigh brus.h.i.+ng against his arm as Claire took her place.

”Matter of opinion,” he muttered. He took a long sip, then studied her over the rim of the mug. Why was she here? Why was she helping him? He was nothing to her. Evan decided that it was because she liked ordering people around. She'd done her fair share with him this afternoon. ”Something you seem to have a lot of.”

She took it in stride. ”I'm not a shy wallflower, if that's what you mean. Wallflowers have a habit of being flattened and covered with wallpaper or paint if they're not careful.”

In an odd sort of way, he actually followed that. Evan decided he was getting really punchy. They had been at this most of the afternoon. It was an endless circle of feeding, burping, changing, rocking and feeding again. Very little sleep seemed to be working its way into the pattern. He fervently hoped it meant that Rachel was going to sleep through the night.

For a drill sergeant, she made a good cup of coffee, he thought, draining his mug before setting it down. ”I pity the person who tried to flatten you.”

Sometimes, she talked too much. ”I wasn't speaking from experience,” she said stiffly.

He shrugged. Maybe he'd misunderstood. ”Sorry, I just a.s.sumed-”

Claire shook her head, but there was a smile on her lips. ”There you go again. I told you not to a.s.sume anything about me.”

Maybe it was because he was tired, but she piqued his curiosity. ”All right, then I'll ask.”

She regarded him cautiously. ”Go ahead, maybe I'll even answer.”

She had skeletons in her closet, he guessed. He glanced at Libby, who was sitting down for a change. He'd never seen so much energy in one small body before. But for the moment, she seemed content in rocking Rachel's swing, and Rachel, mercifully, was actually dozing. It looked promising for tonight.

”Libby mentioned something about you saying that this time you'd be married before you had a daughter. What did she mean?”

Claire had hoped that he hadn't picked up on that. Enough time had elapsed since Libby's unfortunate comment for Claire to think he hadn't heard.

She squared her shoulders unconsciously. It reminded Evan of someone preparing for battle.

”If you're asking me if I'm married, I think the answer is obvious. No. If you're asking me if I was married when Libby was born, the answer is the same. No.” She dared him to make something of it or, worse, offer inane words of pity.

He did neither, but he did make an educated guess. ”He ran out on you.”

Her expression hardened. ”I don't see that as any of your business.” Claire paused. Now she was sounding just like him. Besides, she had nothing to be ashamed of. If there was shame, it belonged to Jack. ”So fast you could see smoke coming from his shoes.” She smiled without humor. ”Seems his 'undying love' had a very short life expectancy.”

Claire seemed to shrug the matter off as inconsequential. But if it was, he thought, it wouldn't have bothered her that he'd asked.

”We're better off without him,” she finished.

It was hard not to miss the bitterness. ”Do you tell Libby that?”

Was he actually trying to preach to her? ”No, I tell her we're managing just fine.” She was very careful not to taint Libby's views, even at this age. ”There's a difference.”

Not that he could see. ”Semantics.”

”Semantics makes a difference,” she insisted patiently, because he was obviously too dumb to see it on his own. ”This way, she doesn't get the impression I hate her father.”

He tried to envision her hating someone and wondered why he should care one way or another. Just idle curiosity, nothing more. ”Do you?”

”No.” It was an honest answer. ”I pity him. He missed an awful lot by being selfish.” Claire grinned as she looked toward her daughter. ”More for me.”

He would have said it was a case of sour grapes if he hadn't seen her expression. She was serious. But how could she be? She was a single parent, and it was clear what a nightmare that could be. ”Like worries about bills and sleepless nights?”

”That's part of it,” she agreed, ”but not all of it. Not by a long shot. He missed the thrill of seeing something of his-that was meaningful,” she added, ”growing. He missed first words, missed the hugs, missed sloppy kisses with so much heart behind them, they burst your own.” Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning as she enumerated. ”That far outweighs anything else, believe me.”

”I almost can,” he marveled. He wasn't tired anymore. Evan sat up, looking at her. ”You sound like you actually love being a mother.”

She did. ”Can't think of anything I love better.”

He had one for her. ”How about being successful?”

Claire grinned. She doubted that he could understand, but maybe he could. Someday. ”Haven't you heard? I am. I've raised a great kid, and the process is still in progress. This is success, Mr. Quartermain-” she gestured toward Libby ”-not stemming the tide of hostile takeovers.”

That was a direct criticism. The gap that had momentarily narrowed between them widened again. ”Your opinion.”

”Yes, it is, and it should be yours.” It was his loss if it wasn't. ”But to each his own.”

She uncurled her legs, which seemed remarkably long, given the fact that she only came up to his shoulder.

”Well, Libby and I have to be getting back,” she said.

Panic returned in spades. He was on his feet in an instant. ”You're leaving?”

She laughed. ”Just the house, not town,” she a.s.sured him. ”We'll be just next door.” Picking up a pencil from the coffee table, she wrote down her telephone number on the side of his television guide. ”Here's my number. Call if you need me.”

He barely looked at it. He was looking at her instead. ”I don't have to.”

This was a surprise. ”That confident?”