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, rushing 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.
Evan sighed deeply. "Strong," was his only comment. And then he shuddered.
He was burning up. She had to get him to bed before he collapsed. There was no way she would be able to get him off the floor. Struggling, she had visions of both of them toppling down the stairs.
"But not an Olympic contender, so you're going to have to help me here." She was already sinking under the added weight. The man's arm seemed to be getting heavier with each step she took. "One foot in front of the other, Mr. Quartermain."
He did as he was told, his mind drifting farther and farther away from him.
"Stop calling me that," he muttered. "Like my teachers. They always called me Mr. Quartermain. You're not my teacher." He turned his head to look at her and swayed. Claire yelped as she caught hold of his shirt. "Are you?"
"No, I'm still feeling my way around, learning, just like you, Evan," she murmured. They were nearly at his door and it was none too soon for her. There was almost as much perspiration on her forehead as there was on his.
"Good. Evan's good." As he drew a breath, his head filled with her scent. Good enough to eat, he thought. He grinned foolishly at her. "Wanna play hooky together?"
If he remembered any of this tomorrow, he was going to feel like an idiot, she thought. Life had its little compensations.
"You really are out of it, aren't you?" She tightened her hold on the hand that was slung over her shoulder and took smaller steps, afraid of losing him. "I've got to hand it to Libby, she got me here just in time." She spoke slower as his weight robbed her lungs of air. "She thought there was something wrong when you didn't call. I just thought you were getting better at it."
"Nope. Not better. Worse." He sighed the word. "All I think about is you."
He'd misunderstood her meaning. The right thing would have been to stop him right there, before he told her anything else he would rather she didn't know. But she wouldn't have been human if she didn't want to hear more. Claire let him go on talking.
It was probably only the ramblings of a delirious man, she told herself. But still...
"You do, huh?"
"Yeah." He was slipping again, and she struggled to keep him from sinking all the way, half dragging him now toward his bed. "How I'd like to kiss you again. How I'd like to undress you, slow, and watch your eyes when I touch you."
Whether he was delirious or not, his words were creating images for her. Images that made her warmer than he was right now. Her heart began hammering erratically, and she knew her uphill struggle with him was only partially to blame.
"Right now, I'd suggest you just watch your step." Almost there, she thought, eyeing his bed. Almost there.
"That's the trouble. I have been. All my life," he mourned. "And where did it get me?"
"I don't know. A nice house?" When had his room become so big? And why was his bed so far from the damn door?
"Sure, a great house. And a better career than Devin's, with lots more money. But what good is that?" he demanded suddenly with feeling, before adding sadly, "I'm alone."
He didn't mean this, she thought. Not any of it. That was just the fever talking. She couldn't take him seriously. She couldn't afford to.
"You're not alone," she argued. "You have Rachel."
"Rachel." He said the name as if thinking about the child. "I don't know if I have Rachel. She might not be mine. Maybe it's a mistake. All a mistake." And then he shifted again. Claire stumbled at the foot of his bed. She threw rather than guided him down onto his bed, face first. "But I'd rather have you." His words were muffled against the bedspread.
He was going to suffocate if she left him that way, she thought. Claire took hold of his shoulder and tried to pull him around. "You don't know what you're saying." With one mighty tug, she succeeded in getting him onto his back. "And I'm talking to an unconscious man."
Evan was sound asleep.
Chapter Eight
Evan had the sensation that he was floating over a river of lava.
Incredible, insurmountable heat surrounded him, obscur¬ing everything so that he couldn't see. He didn't know where he was, only that he was lost and that it was hot.
The heat made him feel as if he were unraveling and growing progressively weaker. There wasn't enough strength to lift his head or move his limbs. He wasn't even sure if he had any limbs.
He couldn't feel them, couldn't feel anything, only the heat.
And then, through the vapors, there was the sensation that someone was holding him. Someone was lifting his head and touching something to his lips. It was cool and slipped down his throat and along his mouth. A little trick¬led down his chin.
He thought he might have swallowed, but he wasn't sure.
Evan faded again, never quite surfacing, never quite managing to break through the smothering blanket that kept him down.
The dollop of coolness returned and then spread. This time, he felt it along his forehead and on his hands. No, on his wrists. Like bracelets. With it came a sensation of wet¬ness, a circle of cold wetness around each wrist.
Wetness.
Rachel?
Where was Rachel? He had to take care of Rachel. Panic pierced him. He'd left her alone. He had to get back to her. She needed him.
"Rachel."
He said her name aloud. It took the last bit of strength he had, but he knew he forced her name past his lips. Some¬one had to hear him; someone had to help.
Someone.
Claire.
Claire could help. She had to help.
"Claire." He whispered her name like a prayer.
There was a pressure on his chest, forcing him down. Had he been trying to get up? He didn't know, didn't know anything. Except that he had to find Rachel and only Claire could help.
And then, he sank back into nothingness, letting it swal¬low him up. He was too weak to struggle against it.
Evan slowly opened his eyes. They felt hot and itchy. And heavy. It took him several tries before they would remain open. And then it took him more time to focus and orient himself.
He was in his room. It was gloomy, but there was no light on. Was it morning? There was a light, rhythmic tap¬ping sound against his window. Rain. It was daytime and it was raining.
He didn't remember getting into bed, but he must have. How else could he have gotten here?
And then he saw her. Claire. Sitting in a chair near his bed, her eyes shut. She looked as if she was dozing.
This wasn't real. He had to be dreaming. But it felt real. As real as the ache in his head.
What was she doing here like this?
Evan tried to sit up. A gr
oan twisted from his lips. The very act of propping himself up on his elbows sapped all the available strength from his body like the last bit of liquid being sipped through a straw.
His groan woke her. Claire was on her feet instantly, crossing to him. The concern that furrowed her brow faded when she saw that his eyes were open and no longer glassy. They were focused on her.
Her smile was accompanied by a sigh of relief. He'd had her worried, even after the doctor had assured her he'd be all right.
"Hi." She banked down the desire to feather her fingers through his hair. "Welcome back."
Back? Had he been somewhere? Evan tried to think, but his head felt like a vacuum. A large, throbbing vacuum.
"What are you doing here?" Each word seemed to stick to his lips. They felt like dried sandpaper, and his voice sounded incredibly hoarse to his ears.
Claire moved her shoulders, trying to work out the stiff¬ness. She must have fallen asleep, she thought ruefully. It was rare that both children were down at the same time.
"Getting a crick in my neck," She rubbed it quickly, then bent over to touch her lips to his head in the age-old fashion of mothers everywhere. Satisfaction curved her mouth. "You're cooler. Finally."
Straightening, Claire blew out a breath. It had been a long two days, and she was beginning to think she was going to have to call Dr. Richmond for a return visit. Not that he would have minded. Sometimes it paid, she mused, to be the daughter of a doctor, even though she hadn't always thought so.
The fog in his brain refused to recede to shed any light on the situation. He was still unclear what she was doing here, although he vaguely remembered calling for her.
Or was that just a dream?
"I don't recall getting into bed."
Claire laughed, remembering. "There's a reason for that." She glanced at herself in the mirrored doors. She could stand a bit of tidying, she decided. All she could manage now was to run a hand through her hair. "You passed out before I could get you into it."
She got him into bed? When had that happened?
"And the pajamas?" he questioned. Raising the covers, Evan saw that he had on the bottoms, as well as the top. The last thing he remembered was that he was wearing clothes. And feeling like hell on a bad day.
Claire shrugged, purposely avoiding his eyes. She wasn't altogether sure what she'd see there or how she'd react to it She was an adult she'd done what she had to do and that was that.
That wasn't that. She'd undressed him and no matter what she told herself to the contrary, she had seen him naked. The man's clothes, impeccably tailored or not hid a hell of a great body.
"Your clothes were soaked clean through." There wasn't a hint of emotion in her voice.
He still didn't quite believe what she had done. Had he missed something? When had they gotten on this footing?
"You undressed me?" There was a hint of a smile in his voice. And on his face when she looked.
Hers was the soul of innocence. "I'd rather think of it as dressing you in pajamas." And then she smiled. "Don't worry, I had my eyes shut the entire time."
"I wish I hadn't." He meant that sincerely.
There had been an intimacy between them, a moment when she had placed niceties aside and had thought only of caring for him.
And he had missed it completely by being out of his head when it had happened. There was no way to make up for that.
And then, suddenly, his thoughts went beyond his own needs, to someone whose needs were greater.
"Rachel—"
It pleased Claire to see the genuine concern on Evan's face. He wasn't just a caretaker anymore. The little girl was actually getting to mean something to him. There was hope for him yet.
"Don't worry, I've been looking after her. Libby's with her now. Last I checked, they were both sound asleep." She laughed softly, smoothing out the blankets and sheet he had tangled. "You're lucky Libby's too young to un¬derstand she could be charging you for baby-sitting. She's hardly left Rachel's side."
He could feel his energy trickling from him, like a tap that hadn't been properly closed. With a sigh, he lay back against his pillow, struggling to hold on to just a little of it.
Evan couldn't remember the last time he'd been sick. "How many hours have I been out of it?"
There was an odd smile on her face when she looked at him. He wondered what it meant.
"Try 'days.'"
For a moment, the word didn't fully register. "Days?"
She nodded. "Days." He really didn't realize how sick he was, did he? "It's Tuesday."
He'd been out only a few hours. Half a day, tops. She was pulling his leg. "That's impossible."
Claire wondered where Evan had gotten this idea that he was nine parts invincible. "Want to see a newspaper?" she offered.
It wasn't that he didn't believe her; it was just that this new wrinkle made things so much more complicated. He'd just taken a week off to be with Rachel. He didn't have time to be sick, too.
"But I'm supposed to be at work."
"Surprise." He looked so befuddled, she took pity on him. Claire perched on the edge of the bed, taking his hand the way she would Libby's when she comforted her.
Maybe it would help him to know that things had been taken care of. "Don't worry, I called in and explained ev¬erything to Alma. Mr. Donovan said not to come back until you're well. He told me that he thought you'd work your¬self into the ground someday."
She made it sound as if she and Donovan were old friends. Evan couldn't remember ever having a personal conversation with the man in all the years he'd been with the corporation. Despite the fact that Donovan had taken a liking to him, all they had ever talked about was work.
"You spoke to Donovan?"
Why did he look so surprised? she wondered. "He's a very nice man." Claire grinned, recalling the older man's words. "He said that he's happy you're in such 'capable hands.'"
Evan looked at the hand covering his. It looked too soft and delicate to be capable. But he was beginning to appre¬ciate, firsthand, that she was. "Would you know if—?"
Claire could tell exactly what was on his mind. It wasn't difficult. "The takeover went through? No, it didn't."
She'd made a point of asking and writing down the an¬swer Donovan gave her. The fact that she had asked had prompted Donovan's assessment of her. She decided not to mention that the man had said he'd looked forward to meet¬ing her. That would put a definitely different spin on the relationship she and Evan had. She figured he didn't react well to that kind of pressure.
"The figures you came up with impressed the represen¬tatives of the Japanese corporation so much, they decided to invest in your company. Endicott's plans for a hostile takeover died a very grisly death, was the way Mr. Dono¬van saw it." She smiled, knowing Evan would be happy to hear this. "Seems you saved the day while lying flat on your back.
"Which is where you're going to stay for the rest of today and until you're feeling stronger," she added, negat¬ing any other ideas he might have.
That was fine with him. Right now, he had a feeling he couldn't get up even if he wanted to. But he did have a question.
Evan held up his wrists. "What are these? They look a little droopy for bondage."
A sense of humor, she thought. This was beginning to look promising. The next thing you knew, he would even be human.
"Compresses. Handkerchiefs, actually," Claire amend¬ed. "I improvised. Dr. Richmond thought they were a good idea when he came over."
Evan's eyebrows drew so close together, they formed one ripply dark line.
Maybe he was hallucinating again. Either that, or she was a witch. His vote was for the latter. Doctors never made house calls. "You had a doctor come over? How did you manage that?"
She decided that she liked catching him off guard like this. Liked the hint of admiration in his voice. She nodded. "Dr. David Richmond. He was my father's best friend. I got him to make a house call." Actually, it had just taken a phone call on her pa
rt. "I think he still feels guilty about his slip, so he came right over on his lunch hour."
"Slip? You mean as in malpractice?" Just what kind of a doctor had she called?
"No, as in slip of the tongue. He once told me something about myself he didn't realize I didn't know." A rueful smile quirked her lips. "Something my father neglected to tell me during his confession."
Evan waited, curious what sort of an unwitting revelation would make a doctor feel guilty.
She wasn't going to tell him, he realized, looking at her. His curiosity intensified. Evan wanted to know what sort of thing would upset her enough to make someone regret revealing it.
It was against his nature to pry. But then, it was also against his nature to be sick. "What did he tell you?"
She lifted a shoulder, then dropped it carelessly, as if she was trying to shrug off something. A weight, a feeling. Maybe she was.
Claire looked at Evan. He was a stranger. There was no reason to tell him anything.
Maybe there was no reason, but there was a need, she realized. A need to say it out loud and maybe make it finally disappear. It really wasn't anything of major con-sequence. Except to her.
And possibly to the sister she didn't know.
With a sigh, Claire looked out the window and 'watched the rain leave patterns on the pane. The way some things left patterns on the soul. Like tears.
"His exact words were, 'I wonder if your sister turned out as good as you did.'" She turned, looking at Evan pointedly. "I don't have a sister. I thought he had me con¬fused with someone else and said so. Dr. Richmond looked very surprised. 'Didn't you know?' he asked. 'Your father told me he told you."'
She knotted her fingers in her lap, something he noticed she did when she was feeling uncomfortable, defenseless.
"It seems that my father neglected to tell me everything. I had—have," she corrected, "a twin sister. My father didn't want to adopt any children—my mother wanted to adopt immediately. They compromised and took one baby. Me." She'd lost count of the number of times she'd wondered what life would have been like for her if they'd chosen the other baby. "When my mother finally talked him into tak¬ing in the second baby, as well, my sister had already been adopted. Of course, they were never told by who." Claire clenched her hands together in frustration. The same frus¬tration she had felt in the past month, ever since she'd found out. "There's someone out there walking around with my face, and she probably doesn't know it."
The Baby Came C.O.D. Page 10