The Baby Came C.O.D.

by Marie Ferrarella

  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 passed 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 déjà 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 hell."

  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 assumed—"

  That was his first mistake. "Never, ever assume 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."

  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 space 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 brushing 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 assumed—"

  Claire shook her head, but there was a smile on her lips. "There you go again. I told you not to assume 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 shining 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 assured 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?"

  He shook his head, fighting the impulse to grab her arm and plead with her to stay. "No, I need you now. Here."

  Claire ignored the way the words he used made a small knot form in her stomach. Instead, she made light of it and fluttered her lashes. "Why, Mr. Quartermain, we scarcely know one another."

  Chapter Five

  It took Evan a moment to gather his thoughts together. When she fluttered her lashes like that at him, it made him forget what he was going to say. Not that he fell for the mock flirtation—it was just that the fluttering drew his attention to her eyes, and she did have beautiful eyes. Big, lustrous blue eyes that made a man's mind wander.

  The tiny salvo of panic fired the next minute had his mind returning quickly enough. He glanced at Rachel. She was dozing now, but for how long?

  "No, really." Forgetting himself, he caught hold of Claire's wrist "I don't feel qualified enough to stay alone with her."

  Then, realizing what he was doing, he released her as if her wrist had suddenly turned red-hot.

  She remembered how lost she'd felt coming home from the hospital with Libby. So lost that no map in the world could have found her. But it passed, and what made it pass was getting comfortable in her role.

  There was encouragement in her eyes as she smiled at him. "No one feels qualified the first time around." Maybe she should have thought that it served him right. You play, you pay. But somehow, she really didn't feel as if he deserved the sentiment. At least he was trying, which was more than Jack had ever done when he found himself faced with fatherhood. "Think of this as a trial by fire."

  Yeah, and he was the one going down in flames. Evan could see it in her expression. She wasn't going to budge. Well, he wasn't going to beg. If Claire wasn't going to remain here of her own free will or because her conscience was making her, he refused to humble himself by begging.

  Even though he wanted to.

  Damn it, she was a woman—she was supposed to feel guilty about leaving an inexperienced, hapless man alone with a small baby. Hadn't she read her basic instruction manual?

  Okay, if this was the way she wanted to play it, so be it. Evan squared his shoulders, an about-to-be-executed man laughing at the gallows.

  "Sure, how hard can it be?" he asked rhetorically, stealing another glance at Rachel.

  The baby looked to be still dozing. Maybe she'd sleep right through to morning. A bud of hope began to bloom. He knew the right thing would be to place her in her crib, but he wasn't, for all the money in the world, about to take her out of that swing while her eyes were closed. The saying "Let sleeping dogs lie" applied twice over to babies.

  "That's the spirit," Claire said, cheering him on.

  It was a crock and they both knew it, but she was afraid that if Evan asked her to remain again, if he looked at her with those sad, liquid green eyes, she would cave in. And she couldn't. She had Libby to think of and way too much to do. As it was, she'd let almost two days slide because of this man and his baby. She had a life, too, and it was time she got back to it.

  Crossing to her daughter, she extended her hand. "C'mon, Libby," Claire whispered so as not to wake the baby, "we've got to get going now."

  Libby stood up. As she was led away, she looked uncertainly over her shoulder at the sleeping Rachel. "Can we take her?"

  Claire had expected this. It amazed her how attached Libby could get in such a short time. Like her mother, she thought ruefully. Not the best trait to pass on to a daughter in this day and age.

  "No, we can't take her," Claire told her patiently. "Mr. Quartermain's going to be taking care of her now."

  "Him?" There was no mistaking the surprise and doubt in Libby's voice.

  That was exactly how he felt, Evan thought. Even a four- year-old could see he wasn't qualified. So why couldn't the four-year-old's mother see that?

  He looked at Claire, hoping she'd have a change of heart.

  "He'll be fine." Claire scooted Libby to the door, but she was looking at Evan when she said it. Doubt nagged at her.

  Libby was no help. "I'm not tired, Mama," she announced, digging in her heels at the front door. "Can't we stay and help some more?"

  Yes, can't you? Evan begged silently, looking at Claire. He knew he'd promised himself not to beg, but he figured doing it silently didn't really count.

  "No, we can't." Claire was firm.

  Evan was never going to learn if she took over, and she couldn't always be here. He didn't even like her, for pity's sake. Still, Claire found she had to battle herself, as well as Libby, just to g
et out the door.

  Turning in the doorway, she struggled not to give in. "Okay, don't lose the number." She pointed to it on the table.

  A hell of a lot of good the number would do him. She probably wouldn't even answer when he called. "I won't," he muttered.

  He made her smile and reminded her of a child trying hard to pretend he wasn't afraid of the dark, fearfully eyeing the light switch as his parent's hand hovered over it. Impulsively, wanting to offer him a bit of comfort, Claire brushed a kiss to his cheek.

  Evan jerked his head in surprise, and the kiss ended with a brief, unexpected and jolting touch of lips. Hers to his.

  Claire stepped back, flustered and...unsettled, she supposed. She certainly hadn't meant for that to happen. But now that it had...

  Without thinking, she ran the tip of her tongue along the outline of her lips, tasting him. Drawing in the flavor.

  There were a thousand tiny angels in toe shoes whirling ap and down her arms. She took a deep breath before saying anything.

  "You'll do fine," she repeated in a whisper.

  "Yeah, right," he muttered.

  Or thought he did. Maybe he'd just formed the words in his mind. Evan blinked, trying to clear his head. She was standing two feet away from him, as if that minimal contact had propelled them apart with the same intensity that incurring thirty thousand volts of electricity would have done. His brain certainly felt as if it had just been zapped.

  His eyes narrowed as Evan tried to comprehend what had just happened. "Did you just kiss me?" he asked. Or had he just experienced a temporary lapse of consciousness?

  "On the cheek, for luck," Claire said a bit too quickly. You jumped," she explained, wanting it to be very clear just how these circumstances had come about.