Part 10 (1/2)

”Mama, are you listening to me?”

No longer in the doorway, her daughter was now hanging off the back of her swivel chair. Very carefully, Claire pried off ten little fingers.

”All the time, honey.”

Libby fisted her hands at her waist and fixed her with a look Claire knew the little girl had been on the receiving end of more than once. It wasn't easy to keep from laughing, but somehow, she managed.

”Then what did I say?” Libby demanded. It was obvious she had her doubts about her mother's statement.

Claire folded her hands in her lap and did her best to look contrite. ”You asked if it was time yet.”

The little face unclouded. Mama was listening after all. ”Okay.” The word absolved her mother of any blame. ”So, is it?”

Claire sighed. The last thing she wanted was to go over there now. She didn't need him distracting her, and for once, the phone calls hadn't been coming with the regularity of a pendulum marking time.

”No, it's not.”

Libby refused to give in so easily this time. ”But maybe he needs us.”

”Then he'll call,” Claire a.s.sured her. She returned to the logo she was creating. ”He's been calling all the time.”

Libby pushed herself into her mother's line of vision. ”But not today. Maybe something's wrong.” She chewed on her lip, concerned. It wasn't so much Mr. Q. she was thinking of, but Rachel. ”She's awfully little, Mama,” she declared as if it were news. ”What if he did something to her, something wrong, and doesn't know how to undo it now?”

The child had much too much imagination. That, Claire knew, was something she'd inherited from her.

”Nothing's wrong, Libby,” Claire told her soothingly. ”He's just getting better at taking care of Rachel, that's all. Even monkeys learn if you train them.”

Or maybe he was celebrating his pending return to Work, she added silently. Evan had lined up a nanny who was to begin on Monday, which, Claire knew, he was looking upon as his independence day. He was returning to work, and life was returning to normal.

There would be no need for her shortly. Maybe even now, she thought ruefully. Just as well. Claire stabbed at another key, almost breaking a nail.

Libby tugged on the chair, bringing it around to face her. Huge blue eyes plaintively looked up at her mother. ”Please, Mama? For me? Can we go over and check?”

Claire sighed. A few keystrokes shut down the computer, and she rose, pus.h.i.+ng back her chair. She really had to get better at saying no to Libby.

Maybe tomorrow.

She wondered if Libby knew the kind of power she wielded over her. Probably. ”Okay, just this once.”

Libby was out of the room before she finished. Claire heard the front door opening.

”Libby, wait for me,” she called, even though she knew it was useless. The girl was like a bullet when presented with a target Making sure she had her keys, Claire hurried after her daughter. She reached Evan's front door a full minute after Libby. Standing on her toes for added leverage, Libby was leaning on the doorbell.

If Rachel was sleeping, she was awake now, Claire thought guiltily as she removed Libby's finger from the bell. Just as she did, the front door opened.

Claire avoided his eyes. ”I'm sorry,” she apologized, struggling not to flush like a teenager urged on by her girlfriends to ring the school hunk's doorbell. ”This was Libby's idea,” she hurried to explain, looking down at her daughter. She was holding on to Libby to keep her from das.h.i.+ng inside. ”She got worried when you didn't call today and thought you might need help. I told her you were probably just getting better at taking care of Rachel.”

Claire finally had enough courage to look at him, afraid of seeing amus.e.m.e.nt in his face. There was no amus.e.m.e.nt. There was sweat, and flushed cheeks that conflicted with the rest of his pasty pallor. His eyes were one step away from gla.s.sy.

It took her a minute to find her tongue. ”You look awful.”

Though he knew he did, Evan's first thought was to deny it. Masculine pride prevented him from admitting that he felt as weak as a kitten being blown around in a gale.

”Are you all right?” Claire asked before he could force the denial out of his mouth. She touched his forehead. ”No,” she answered her own question, ”you are definitely not all right. Evan, you're burning up.” Not waiting for an invitation, she came in, instantly taking charge. ”Why didn't you call me?”

Claire looked around for Rachel. The baby wasn't anywhere in the living room.

He'd been battling this feeling since late last night, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus his mind or his eyes. Both were becoming watery. ”I didn't want to seem like a wimp.”

The answer stunned her. ”Because you're sick? That's stupid.”

The word penetrated the fog that was closing in on his brain. Stupid. That was him, all right. Not like Devin. Devin was smart. Devin had it all. Admiration, time to breathe. Everything.

”I didn't want to look stupid, either,” he mumbled into his chin.

He really was out of it, she thought. ”Well, you failed. You need to get into bed.”

It took him a minute to absorb what she was telling him. Then he shook his head and nearly keeled over. He steadied himself by grabbing on to her shoulder.

”Can't. I've got a baby to take care of. Rachel, remember?”

She braced her legs to keep from falling. Evan was leaning more than a little of his weight on her. ”I've been here most of the time-it's a little hard to forget.”

If she lived forever, she was never going to understand the way a man's mind worked. He'd called her for everything from what temperature a bottle should be to whether or not it was all right to use packing tape to hold a diaper together if the tabs broke, which they seemed to do for him with a fair amount of regularity. He called her with questions she knew he knew the answers to. And yet when he really should have called her, asking for help, he didn't Why?

Libby stared in fascination at the way perspiration was beading along Evan's forehead. There was triumph in her face. ”See, Mama, see? I told you something was wrong.”

”Yes, you did, Libby.”

He was going to fall flat on his face any minute, Claire thought in horror. In an effort to steady him, she took his arm and laid it across her shoulders. She didn't want Libby underfoot right now.

”Go check on Rachel for me, honey.” Just as she thought, he was beginning to sink. Claire did her best to keep him upright. ”I'm going to get Mr. Quartermain to bed.”

His head was really swimming now, and incoherent thoughts were slipping in and out of his brain like minnows in a pond. Had she just propositioned him? It certainly sounded that way. Why did she have to do it now, when he had no strength?

”Shh.” He tried to lay a finger to his lips and missed. ”Not in front of your daughter.”

Astonishment gave way to laughter. Claire shook her head, then braced her arm around his back as he began to sink again. ”I think you're getting delirious, Mr. Quarter- main.”

”Naw ” He shook his head and instantly regretted it. ”My head's as clear as a bell. You want me in bed. I want you in bed. See?” He looked at her and was surprised to find how close her face was to his. Had she been standing here all along? ”Clear.”

Libby, poised to run off, stopped and regarded Evan curiously. ”Does he think you're sick, too, Mama? Are you? Your cheeks are pink, like his.”

She didn't doubt it. Though she believed in being truthful with Libby, this was a little too delicate to go into right now. ”I'm just struggling, honey. He's very heavy. Now scoot, Libby. Do as I told you.” Libby was gone in a flash, rus.h.i.+ng off to Rachel's room. ”C'mon, macho man, I'll get you to bed.”

When he began to weave, Claire was quick to compensate for the motion and managed to keep both of them from falling over. Very carefully, she led him to the stairs and tried not to think how many there were.