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 shifted 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?

"It's the age of the computer," Claire reminded him needlessly. "It can seem as if you're right here, except that you'll really be there. At home. With Rachel," she empha-sized in case he missed that She couldn't begin to understand, he thought. Telecommuting just wasn't the same thing. "But I can't just-"

He blew out a breath. If he tried, he supposed he could make it work, at least part of the time. He had enough access codes and enough information to do the work on any desktop. Maybe he could take a few days off to get this all straightened out.

Besides, what choice did he have? It was either let Rachel remain with him or have family services take her. Even if the latter was easier, he had this nagging feeling that he shouldn't give her up so quickly.

Claire knew that she should have her head examined, but she felt sorry for him. He looked like a man who was hopelessly trapped. Maybe he couldn't exude charm very well, but he did lost-and-trapped to a T.

Knowing she was really going to regret this, she tendered an offer. "Look, I'll make a deal with you. You make an effort here, take some time off, at least learn which end is supposed to be diapered and which is supposed to be fed, and I'll see what I can do about taking up the slack."

He hadn't expected her to volunteer, not after he'd left her high and dry last night. And not after she'd made it perfectly clear that he couldn't buy his way into her services any longer.

Evan stared at her, wishing he could figure her out. But even if he couldn't understand her, he could understand that she was coming to his rescue.

"You will?"

Uh-oh, she knew that look. Claire was quick to head him off at the pa.s.s before he went galloping off in the wrong direction.

"Slack," she repeated. "As in loose hours, not as in twenty-four. Got it, Mr. Quartermain?"

"Got it. Completely," he swore, in case she thought he was going to renege again. He was grateful for the help. It meant that, at least for a while, he wasn't going to have to go poring over the telephone directory, trying to locate a nanny on short notice.

He looked at Claire hopefully as Libby wiggled farther into his chair, whizzing around. "So, you'll take her back home now?" Very gingerly, he lifted Libby out of his swivel chair. She'd spent the past few minutes spinning around in it, pushing herself along against his desk with her feet to gain momentum. To his surprise, Libby didn't protest.

"And you'll arrive shortly in my wake?" Claire asked. She caught Libby's hand as she took an uncertain step. The little girl grinned up at her foolishly. Libby was dizzy, Claire thought.

The terms were not negotiable, and he knew it. Not with that look in her eyes. He was sure it was the same one Churchill had had in his eyes when he'd delivered his speech on the floor of parliament about fighting the enemy on the beaches.

"I'll be in your wake," he promised. Libby had shifted back to his side, curling her fingers around his hand again and smiling up at him as if he was her new best friend. Just what he needed. He extracted his hand.

"Shortly?" Claire emphasized, her eyes on his.

He had the uncomfortable feeling that she would know if he tried to lie or put her off. So he didn't. "I've got to talk to my boss."

"You have a boss?" Libby asked incredulously, emphasizing each word. "Mama is her own boss."

He didn't wonder. "That's because no one can tell your mama what to do."

Claire knew Evan didn't mean it as a compliment, but she wasn't after compliments from this man. She just wanted him to do what was right.

She smiled at him serenely. "I'm glad we understand each other." She caught Libby by the shoulder before she could get into exploring anything else, specifically the floor-to-ceiling shelves she seemed to have her eye on. "Now, we'll get out of your way. We'll be at my house, waiting for you." Just in case he had any ideas about a repeat performance of yesterday, she added, "But don't think that I'd hesitate in coming back here again if you don't show up."

He was beginning to fully appreciate exactly what he was up against. "Not for a minute." Evan paused, studying her. He had to know. "Are you an army brat?"

She had no idea where the question came from. "No, why?"

To him, it was obvious. "You give orders like a drill sergeant."

Yeah, well, there was a reason for that, she thought "Comes from having to take care of myself at an early age." Her father, a widowed, sought-after neurosurgeon, had hardly ever seemed to be home. The housekeeper he'd employed did little to fill the void in her life. Claire had been left on her own a great deal.

Turning, Claire let him get the door. With Libby's hand firmly in hers, she ushered her daughter out before her. Rachel began fussing. It was time for another bottle, Claire thought.

"We'll be waiting for you," she said pointedly as she pa.s.sed Alma's desk.

"I've got Mr. Donovan on the telephone," Alma informed Evan, watching the entourage file by to the elevator. She shook her head in disbelief.

"What would I do without you, Alma?" Evan muttered, turning on his heel.

"I was just about to get into the car again," Claire told Evan.

She shut the door behind him as he walked into her living room. It had been over three hours since she'd left him in the office, and the whole scenario was beginning to play like dej vu.

Well, at least he'd managed to avert that disaster, he though. He watched as another female came hurrying toward him. Libby wrapped herself around his leg, greeting him as if they were old friends.

Old was the word for it, he thought. Suddenly, he felt ancient, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, not to mention around his leg.

"I had a couple of emergencies to handle before I could get away," he told Claire.

"You can sit down here, by me," Libby told him, giving him no choice as she yanked on his arm. Evan found himself sitting on the sofa, in front of a tape of six-foot dancing squirrels who were also singing. Badly.

"You have an emergency here," Claire told him evenly. "Remember?"

The squirrels were extolling the virtues of always being kind, even to people who were mean to you. Maybe the woman responded to kindness, Evan thought. He did his best to smile. "Yes, but I left that one in capable hands."

Suppressing a grin, she turned down the sound on the television. "Your charming is getting better, but it still isn't good enough to make me take Rachel for the night."

"The night?" Evan repeated dumbly. He hadn't even thought about that possibility.

Claire nodded. "The night. Bedtime." Her mouth curved in response to the look on his face. "You know, the time that separates the parents from those who haven't been so blessed."

Blessed wasn't exactly the word he would have used. "Bedtime." His mouth was suddenly dry. Evan's eyes shifted to the baby, and then back to Claire. "Any chance?"

There was a hint of panic in his eyes, and she tried not to laugh. Above all, she remained firm. "Not even in h.e.l.l."

She couldn't just leave him alone with the baby. He had no idea what to do. "Claire, you're so much better than I am at this."

There was no way he was going to talk her into it, or his way out of it.

"Ever hear of 'practice makes perfect'?" And then, because he truly did look lost, she relented. A little. "I tell you what, I'll spend the day with you in your house, coaching you through everything. By nightfall, you'll be an expert." She knew that was really stretching it. "Or at least you won't break her."

Well, it was something. He nodded, taking out his checkbook. "All right, just let me make out a check for you."

Was there a price on everything for this man? Hadn't he learned yet? She struggled not to let her temper get the better of her. "Did I say I was charging you for this?"

Why was she getting so steamed? "No, but I just a.s.sumed-"

That was his first mistake. "Never, ever a.s.sume anything with me, Mr. Quartermain," Claire warned. "You'll find that you're usually wrong." She set him straight. "I'm doing this because Rachel needs someone in her corner. And because you are the most pathetic-looking would-be father I've ever seen." He bristled slightly, and she bit her tongue to keep from laughing. "But at least you are a would-be father and you get points for that."