The Baby Came C.O.D.

by Marie Ferrarella

  Claire forced herself to concentrate on her anger. It wasn't difficult. She'd already called his house several times, in case he'd somehow slipped in without her noticing. But there was only his answering machine to listen to her. Calling his office had yielded the same result, except that there she was talking to his voice mail.

  You'd think that with all these messages being left, one of them would get through, she thought angrily.

  Rachel began to cry again.

  "Tell me about it," Claire muttered. "I know, I know, I promised you a song. Okay, here goes."

  Maybe singing would take both their minds off the fact that Evan wasn't here.

  When morning came and Evan didn't, it was the last straw.

  Trying very hard to bridle her anger, Claire hustled Libby into clothes, took along some of Libby's outgrown things to use as a change of clothing for Rachel and bundled them both into her car.

  If Muhammad refused to return to the mountain, the damn mountain was going to go to his office looking for him, she thought hotly.

  Claire took a deep breath before she turned the key in the ignition. She couldn't afford to drive feeling as angry as she did. Unless, of course, Evan Quartermain were standing in front of the car.

  Sitting in the back seat beside the baby's car seat, Libby was the soul of excitement and hope.

  "Does this mean we're going to keep Rachel?" Only the seat belt kept her from jumping up and down in her glee. "He didn't come back for her," she explained needlessly.

  Claire schooled herself not to say anything in front of Libby that she'd regret, or worse, that Libby would instantly absorb as her phrase of the week.

  "Yes, I know that and no, we are not keeping Rachel. Right now, we're doing fine, just the two of us, understand?" Libby nodded, but Claire knew that she wasn't happy about it.

  "Then why are we going out again?" Libby wanted to know. "Are we out of diapers again?"

  "No, we're not, but that's not because Rachel hasn't been trying." Claire was grateful that the brunt of morning traffic had passed. She wasn't in the mood to be stuck on the road behind some truck with two live wires in the car. "We're going to Mr. Quartermain's office to remind him that he forgot something at our house last night."

  He hadn't come over and, as far as she knew, he hadn't even come home. She'd remained awake until midnight, and then Rachel had woken her up at two and then again at six. There'd been no signs of anyone being at home next door any of those times.

  This morning, sick of his answering machine, Claire had gone over and banged on his door, to no avail. That was when she'd decided that he probably hadn't returned home at all. His newspaper was still lying out front in his driveway.

  By now, he'd been demoted to a life-form that was barely just ahead of the cockroach. And she was beginning to think that she was insulting the roaches.

  Libby wasn't about to give up easily. There was too much of Claire in her. "But if he doesn't want her, we can keep her, then, right, Mama?"

  "Wrong, Libby. She's a baby, she's not a wallet we found in the street. We can't take her to lost and found and hope nobody claims her."

  Libby wasn't quite sure she understood all that, but she nodded anyway. "I know that."

  Claire spared her a smile. It wasn't Libby's fault she had a big heart. She came by it honestly. "Then you should know that we can't keep people."

  Her eyes were still hopeful. "But we can adopt them, right?"

  Adopt. The word stung. Claire sighed, annoyed with herself. Was she ever going to hear that word without a pang?

  Claire banked down her feelings. She had more-important things to think about now.

  "Wrong, sweetie. And where did you hear about that, anyway?" They hadn't talked about adoption. There was no reason to. It wasn't as if Libby was adopted, the way Claire had been. A little fact her father had failed to tell her until he was on his deathbed. The revelation had completely shaken her up, but she'd learned to deal with it and go on.

  "On TV," Libby informed her brightly.

  She might have known. Libby retained absolutely everything she came in contact with—like flypaper. Maybe she should start monitoring those children's programs, Claire thought.

  She pulled up against the building in a space marked Guest Parking. She didn't feel like a guest. She felt like a very angry woman whose good nature had been taken ad-vantage of.

  "Okay, we're here," she announced to her crew.

  With Rachel nestled against her shoulder and one hand restraining Libby—who looked poised to run off in several directions at once—Claire rode up the seven flights to Evan's office. She was eternally grateful she'd had the presence of mind to ask him for his business card before he'd left her house yesterday.

  Her hand in Libby's, she marched down the hall like an avenging fury. She would have marched straight into his office if not for the woman whose desk was in the outer office.

  Gaping at the two children, Alma was on her feet instantly, blocking Evan's door. "You can't go in there."

  Claire wasn't about to be put off by any of Evan Quartermain's minions. Her eyes narrowed as she fixed Alma with a look guaranteed to burn holes in wood.

  "I wouldn't try to stop me if I were you. I'm here to see Evan Quartermain and I'm here to see him now." She indicated the baby in her arms. "This is his problem, not mine."

  Alma was barely one step ahead of the woman as she flung her small body into Evan's office. "Mr. Quartermain, they're multiplying like rabbits."

  Evan looked up. His head hurt. He felt as if there was more information in it now than in the data base of his computer. Yesterday's meeting had broken for dinner, then gone on into the small hours of the morning. They were attempting to forestall a hostile takeover they had gotten wind of, and there had been no time for him to go home. Evan had spent the night on the sofa and showered in the penthouse washroom. He still felt as if he had been summarily chewed up and spit out, and he was in no mood for riddles.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Babies," she declared in a voice that might have been used by one of the ancient Egyptians when they had spoken of descending locusts.

  "Babies?"

  And then it burst on his brain. Oh, God, with all this talk of a takeover, he'd completely forgotten. Evan groaned.

  He groaned even louder when he saw her. Claire was standing in the doorway, her eyes narrow, the look on her face far from tolerant. She was holding Rachel.

  "Did you forget something?"

  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 shore 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."

  "Damn straight you are," Claire retorted, "as of right now."

  If he thought he could turn those gorgeo
us 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 hell 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 assault. 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 circumstances. 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 wa
s coming to his rescue.

  "You will?"

  Uh-oh, she knew that look. Claire was quick to head him off at the pass 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."