Part 16 (1/2)

Very smoothly, she disentangled herself from him, the same smile playing on her lips. ”Don't sap my strength with interrogations, Mr. Quartermain-I have potatoes to rescue.”

Claire walked into the kitchen and saw that Rachel was sitting in her high chair, happily making a mess of what had been breakfast. She was smearing squashed bananas and what looked to be strained peaches all along the formerly white tray.

”Looks like someone's getting creative,” Claire noted.

He picked up a towel and began wiping the sticky fingers, wondering if he was fast enough to keep Rachel from making them messy again before he could clean up the tray.

”My sister Paige loves to paint. Maybe she gets it from her.” There was an odd expression on Claire's face as she looked at him. ”What?”

Claire grabbed a paper towel and did the honors on the tray. She had no idea why her throat felt as if it was tightening. This was a happy moment, not a sad one. ”That's the first time I've heard you actually refer to Rachel as being yours.”

He didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Except that it was. She was. If not for Claire, Rachel would have been the single biggest deal of his life, Evan realized.

”Yeah, well, I've decided this is probably on the level.” He tossed the streaked towel on the counter. ”If it was some kind of a hoax, then Rachel's mother would be asking for money instead of abandoning her. Besides,” he added, looking down at the round little face, ”Rachel does look a lot like my sisters did when they were her age.”

”You remember?” Claire pulled a second paper towel off the rack and moistened it. ”You're a lot more sensitive than I gave you credit for.”

He debated letting her think that, but he had always believed that honesty was the only cornerstone to use in laying a foundation, and this foundation was too important to jeopardize for the sake of ego points.

”Not to shatter my new image, but my mother likes to drag out family alb.u.ms on any pretext at any time. I've seen pictures of my sisters when they were around Rachel's age countless times. She has their eyes. Green and beautiful.”

”She has your eyes,” Claire corrected.

He shrugged self-consciously as he gave Rachel the ring of keys she loved to play with. ”Men don't have beautiful eyes.”

She'd embarra.s.sed him, Claire thought. Now, why was that so hopelessly endearing? ”You do. It was my first hint that you were human after all.”

She'd piqued his interest. He liked the way the conversation was going. ”What was your second?”

Instead of answering, she cast a sidelong glance at her daughter, busy solemnly stirring what would eventually be a pie filling. Her meaning was clear. She couldn't talk in front of Libby.

This was becoming more encouraging by the minute. He could wait.

”Okay, on to other things,” Evan announced. Producing a grocery bag he hadn't emptied out yet, he deposited the contents onto the only s.p.a.ce on the table that didn't have a bowl or a box or some ingredient for the feast occupying it. Yams came tumbling out. Two broke in half on contact. Evan wondered if that was bad. ”What do we do with these things to make them edible?”

Claire reached for another towel and tucked it around her waist like an ap.r.o.n. ”Looks like I got well just in time.”

”This had to be the nicest Thanksgiving I can remember in a long, long time.”

Claire's words came out on a contented sigh. She was sitting curled up beside Evan on the sofa in the family room, watching flames dancing around a log in the fireplace.

The dinner had long since been consumed, the dishes washed and put away at her insistence. They had all fussed over Rachel, and then Evan had played with Libby while Claire put the baby to bed. By the time she'd come out again, she found that Evan had accomplished the impossible. He had actually exhausted Libby. She had crawled up beside them on the sofa, wanting to stay up ”just a little longer.” And had promptly fallen asleep five minutes after permission was granted.

The baby was sleeping; Libby lay with her head on Claire's lap. Claire's hand lingered protectively on Libby's shoulder, her own head leaning against Evan's. If this wasn't happiness, then she didn't know what was.

”Yeah, it was pretty nice, wasn't it?” Evan lazily stroked her arm. He couldn't remember ever feeling this sort of peace, and yet, it was held together with thin wires of excitement. Excitement generated by the same woman who filled him with this sense of peace.

It was far too complicated for him to try to unravel. Besides, he was unraveling pretty well himself right now. And finding a whole new person underneath.

Claire felt a little guilty that her happiness meant someone else's disappointment. ”Think your family minds that you're here this year?”

Evan laughed to himself, hearing again what his mother had to say when he'd called to apologize. The offense ranked only a little below the start of World War II.

”My mother'll make me pay,” he said, pausing to kiss her temple, ”until she sees you.”

Claire drew her head back to look at him. ”Me? What do I have to do with it?”

How could she not know? ”Everything.” He'd intended on waiting for a more opportune moment, then decided that his whole life had been spent waiting and he didn't want to do that anymore.

”I want you to meet them. My family. I know they'll want to meet you and Libby.” He grinned as he glanced at the sleeping child. She looked so deceptively calm this way. A dynamite stick in repose. ”My mother has been after all four of us kids to get married and give her grandchildren. I thought I might give her a preview.”

Not everyone was up to Libby's exuberance. ”To make her eat her words?” Claire guessed.

Not if he knew his mother. After all, she'd raised the four of them, and they had never been a tranquil bunch. ”She'll fall in love with Libby once she stops to catch her breath.”

She raised her head again, almost afraid to guess at what he Was saying. ”Why should she fall in love with Libby?”

He traced her lips with his thumb, watching the way her eyes grew dark with desire. It was a sight, he knew, he was never going to tire of. ”I thought that was obvious.”

Something caught; in her throat. Antic.i.p.ation? Her heart? All she knew was that she couldn't swallow. ”Sometimes,” she said in a whisper, afraid her voice would break if she spoke any louder, ”the most obvious things are missed and overlooked. Why don't you explain it to me?”

He wished he had Devin's gift. Devin was never at a loss as to what to say. ”I'm not good with words, Claire, unless I'm putting them down in a report or a memo.”

He wasn't going to get out of telling her that easily. ”Okay, I can accept that. Write me a memo.”

”What?”

”Write me a memo,” she repeated. ”Here, I'll start it for you.” Claire pretended to write in the air. ”'Claire!'” She looked at him. ”Okay, you take it from there.”

Amus.e.m.e.nt lifted the corners of his mouth. ”What's the memo supposed to be about?”

She sighed. This might be more difficult than she antic.i.p.ated. ”Why you want to take us to meet your family. And why your mother is going to fall in love with Libby.”

He settled back, draping his arm over her shoulder. ”Well, my mother'll fall in love with Libby because you can't help falling in love with Libby.”

”Did you?” she pressed.

It was his turn to tease her, and he rather enjoyed doing it. ”Maybe.”

”I'll take that as a yes,” she decided. ”Now, the first part.” Turning, her face was a scant inch away from his. That would account for why her heart was beating so fast. ”Why should we meet your family?”

Evan played out his line. ”Because they're nice people.”

”Okay,” she allowed. ”And why should they meet us? And if you say because we're nice people,” she warned him, ”I may be forced to hit you.”

He could just picture that. ”My, have you always had this violent streak?”