Part 7 (2/2)

Was it his imagination, or had Rachel's cries increased in volume? They seemed to be rattling the very fillings in his teeth. He could certainly feel them vibrating in his chest.

What had he ever done to deserve this?

If he had any brains in his head, he would just turn around and walk away again. Or better yet, get in his car and- What was he thinking? That would be abandonment. And Rachel had already been abandoned once in her young life. n.o.body deserved that.

Feeling like a condemned man who was d.a.m.ned no matter what he did, Evan swung open the door to her room and stumbled over to Rachel's Portacrib in the dark.

The thought that she needed a better place to sleep slipped in and out of his head in less time than it took to form the words. Maybe he should look into getting a real crib. Temporarily.

”Okay, okay, you win. I'm here,” he told her, grinding out the words. She howled louder. Chagrined, he lowered his voice. ”Shh-shh-shh,” he soothed, ”it's okay.”

Bending over, he scooped her up, careful to keep one hand beneath her neck, cradling Rachel's head the way Claire had showed him.

”h.e.l.l of a way for the fastest-rising executive at Donovan Digital Incorporated to wind up,” he told her, but his voice was soft and there was no animosity. Just stupefied wonder.

Rachel snuffled, hiccuping before she finally stopped crying. Evan saw the tracks of her tears s.h.i.+ning along her cheeks as he brought her into the hallway. Guilt pierced him as cleanly as if it had been wielding a knife.

She couldn't help crying, he thought. She didn't know any better. At six months or so, Rachel was too young to know how to manipulate a man. Unlike some women.

He looked down into her face and felt himself smiling. ”It's been more than a year since I spent all night in the company of a female. Wouldn't you know, it has to be someone who's small enough to fit into my sink.”

Evan could have sworn Rachel smiled at him. Maybe it was just gas. He tucked her against his shoulder. And then he felt something, something that wasn't damp for a change, spreading out along his chest, laying claim to his heart.

Shrugging, he tried to ignore it as he walked downstairs and into the living room. Resigning himself to his ordeal, Evan turned on the stereo. He might as well listen to music as he paced.

Claire woke with a start.

Pulling her clock over, she held it as she waited for her eyes to focus. It was nearly six. She'd overslept, she thought, putting the clock down again. Since she was ac-customed to rising at five, anything beyond that felt like sleeping in. And felt sinfully indulgent.

Claire stretched, and then it dawned on her. Evan hadn't called. She had expected the telephone to be ringing off the hook all night, and he hadn't called. Not once.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she picked up the telephone. There was a dial tone. Concerned, she checked the b.u.t.ton on the side, but the ringer was on. If anyone had called, she would have heard it.

Which meant that Evan hadn't called.

Now she was really worried. She should have never left him alone with Rachel. G.o.d only knew what had happened there last night. Any scenarios she called up, Claire aban-doned half-formed. It was a lot better not to second-guess in this case.

Claire got dressed as quickly as possible. It took a little longer to do the same for Libby. The little girl, who was always fully awake the instant her eyes opened, wiggled with excitement as she antic.i.p.ated seeing Rachel again. Claire chatted nonsense with her, not wanting to alarm Libby needlessly. It was bad enough that she was worried.

”Will it be our turn to have Rachel tonight?” Libby pressed eagerly as Claire tied her sneakers. ”He got to play with her last night.”

Claire could just hear Evan's reaction to Libby's a.s.sessment of what he had gone through. ”I don't think he'd call it playing, Lib.”

Throwing a jacket around Libby's shoulders to ward off the November cold, Claire didn't bother grabbing anything for herself. Her agitation was keeping her warm enough. With Libby leading the way, she hurried out of the house and cut across the driveways.

If anything had happened to Rachel, it would be all her fault, she thought, ringing the bell.

There was no answer.

She tried again, leaning on the bell. Nothing.

Claire felt a tightness in her throat as she urgently pressed her thumb against the tiny white b.u.t.ton a third time.

The door finally opened just as Claire was debating forcing open a window.

She caught herself staring. Evan Quartermain looked like h.e.l.l. His hair, which had always been so perfectly combed, with each hair in place, was mussed as if he'd been wrestling-and lost. It hung in his eyes, giving him a little-boy look. A very lost, disheveled little boy.

There were stains on both shoulders of his expensive salmon-colored s.h.i.+rt, as well as stains trailing down one sleeve and across the front. The s.h.i.+rt was pulled out of his gray trousers, which, after putting up a good fight, had surrendered their razor-sharp creases. They were as rumpled as anything that might have been pulled off a clearance rack at a discount store.

It looked as if he had been in a fight, and she knew who the victor had been. It was difficult keeping the grin off her face, but she managed. Mostly. ”You slept in your clothes?”

”Who slept? She's worse than that mechanical bunny.” Stepping back, Evan continued rocking Rachel against him. By now, it was an ingrained, automatic motion. He sighed. ”She's even got more energy than your kid.”

Libby, whom Claire had barely managed to restrain from bouncing into his house, now stood in awe of the disheveled man in the doorway. She hung on to Claire's jeans as she looked up at him.

He was a pretty frightening sight, Claire thought. And rather endearing for all that. He seemed...more real now.

Claire closed the door he had left standing open. ”You look like you had a h.e.l.l of a night.”

He blinked. The sunlight in the room registered for the first time. He'd been in a dense fog for the past couple of hours. Maybe more.

”You mean it's morning?”

This time, she did laugh. ”Yes, you made it. You spent the night in the haunted castle and you survived.” He looked as if he was going to drop at any minute. She had visions of him flattening Rachel. ”Here,” she said, holding out her hands, ”let me take her.”

It felt as if half his brain had shut down. Evan stared first at Claire, then down at himself and the baby he held against him. ”I'm not sure my arms can open anymore.”

And here she thought he couldn't exaggerate. Shaking her head, Claire slowly made the transfer, taking Rachel from him. She automatically cupped her hand around the baby's bottom.

”Hey, dry.” She looked at Evan. ”I'm impressed.”

His eyes kept insisting on closing. He had to struggle to keep them open. ”And I'm running on empty.” He had something to tell her. What was it? That thoughts of her mouth had haunted him all night? No, that wasn't it. Although they had. Dry, she'd said something about dry. Diapers, that was it Diapers. ”There aren't any diapers left She used them all.”

It was to be expected. ”I've got one more box in my car.”

He grinned as if she'd just said his stock had split ”You're a saint”

”Wow, you are punchy.” Claire hooked one arm through his, still holding Rachel. ”C'mon, let's put you to bed.”

Evan took a deep, fortifying breath before trying to make his feet work. He stumbled after her. ”Is that an offer?”

When he heard them, he had no idea where the words had come from. Maybe he was even hallucinating them.

He'd thought about it enough during the night. Finding out what it would be like having her in bed with him, yielding to him instead of sparring with him.

Claire faltered, recovering almost instantly. My, my, but still waters did run deep.

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