The Baby Came C.O.D. Part 2

"Just what did you have in mind?"

Chapter Two.

"What I have in mind," he began, rewording her question, "is someone to take care of, um..." He was drawing a blank.

Stunned, Evan searched his mind and realized that, for the life of him, he couldn't remember the baby's name.

The woman's amused expression was intensifying. Muttering under his breath, he s.h.i.+fted baby and seat over onto his hip and he dug into his pocket. Evan had taken the note he'd found pinned to the baby's s.h.i.+rt with him to scrutinize later and perhaps somehow identify whoever was responsible for this dilemma he found himself in.

Pulling it out now, he looked down, scanning it. "Rachel."

He looked up at Claire with a mixture of hope and expectation, waiting for her to agree.

Libby was at his side, peering at the note in his hand. Mama had taught her how to read a few words, but everything on that paper looked like scribbles to her.

"You have to write down your baby's name? Don't you know it?" Libby's face puckered as she tried to puzzle out his behavior. "Everybody knows their baby's name," she stated with the confidence of the very young. "How come you have to write it down?" Compa.s.sion, learned at her mother's knee, filled her expressive eyes as she continued looking up at him. "Doesn't your remembery work?"

Claire affectionately pa.s.sed her hand over the curls. "Memory," she corrected.

"Memory," Libby repeated, nodding in agreement. She didn't mind being corrected. Mama had told her that was the way she learned, and she loved to learn.

He felt as if he was being ganged up on by a gang comprised of one and two-thirds women, if he counted Rachel in on it.

"My memory works just fine, and she's not my baby," Evan snapped. He didn't know who needed more convincing of that, his neighbor, Libby or him.

Ingrained instincts had Claire's hand tightening on Libby's shoulder, moving the girl behind her in an age-old gesture of protectiveness.

"You don't have to shout," Claire admonished him, raising her own voice.

Why was she pus.h.i.+ng her daughter behind her? Did the woman think he was going to strike her? Where the h.e.l.l did she get that idea? He was just frustrated, but he wasn't a monster.

"I am not shouting." And then, because he was, Evan lowered his voice, struggling with exasperation. "I am not shouting," he repeated. "It's just been a very trying morn-ing."

She heard the weary note in his voice and saw the confusion in his eyes that he was trying to hide. Normally given to sympathy, Claire relented. He wasn't as certain that he had no hand in fathering this baby as he was claiming, she thought.

"I can see that," she said quietly.

Something within him reached out to the sympathy in her voice before he could think better of it. He didn't need sympathy; he needed a baby-sitter.

"You know, I don't even know your name," he realized out loud.

"I'm not surprised." After all, he'd made no attempt to talk to her the few times their paths had crossed. Quite the opposite, actually. Whenever she did see him, he'd hurried away, as if exchanging any sort of pleasantries was superfluous behavior.

"Mama's name is Claire," Libby announced. "She's got another name, and it's like mine. Walker. What's your other name?" Libby had asked the man his name before, but he'd never told her. She thought now was a good time to find out, since they were talking about names.

Claire. It made him think of someone old-fas.h.i.+oned. Someone quiet. So much for a perfect match. "Quarter- main," he told Libby, but his eyes were on Claire. "Evan Quartermain."

A smile, still amused, but softer somehow, he thought, graced her mouth.

"How do you do, Evan Quartermain?"

"Lousy," he answered honestly. Apparently unable to find satisfaction by trying to eat her foot, Rachel began to fuss again. He really didn't have time for this. Evan held out his burden toward Claire. "So, Claire, will you?"

He still hadn't made the terms clear, and she knew the danger of agreements made without boundaries. "Will I what?"

Was she being obtuse on purpose? "Will you take care of the baby? Rachel," he amended. Then, when she gave no answer, he said, "Her!" For emphasis, Evan thrust the baby seat even farther toward Claire.

Because she felt sorry for Rachel and because she was afraid of where Evan might decide to swing the seat next, Claire grabbed hold of the sides and took it from him.

"You're going to make her sick," she chided with a sternness she used on Libby only when the girl was particularly trying.

Both her tone and her expression softened as she looked down at the small, puckered face that was about to let out another l.u.s.ty yell. She angled the seat so that Libby could get a good view, as well.

Claire ran the side of her finger along the silky, damp cheek. "It's okay, honey, I've got you now. No more wild rides with Mr. Grump."

Claire raised her eyes to his. The soft expression faded slowly, like sunlight descending into shadows. He couldn't tell exactly what she thought of him and he really didn't care-as long as she helped him out.

Something told Claire she was going to regret this, but she couldn't bring herself to just turn her back on the baby. She knew others who could, but that wasn't her way. Claire pressed her lips together, prepared to make the best of this.

"How long a time are we talking about? An hour? Two?"

He could lie to her, Evan supposed. But he hated lies. For one thing, the truth was difficult enough to keep track of. Lies were impossible, even little ones.

"For openers," he began, watching her face, "the rest of the afternoon."

Openers? And what exactly did that mean? She had a strange feeling that she didn't want to know. What had started out as a neighborly response to a cry for help was quickly turning into something else. She was beginning to feel like an innocent insect that had flown unknowingly into a spider web.

But one look at Rachel's face told her that struggling was useless. Still, she couldn't let him know that. He seemed the type to take advantage.

Claire began to shake her head. "I don't-"

He wouldn't lie, but he was not above bribery in matters that counted. And he was desperate. Without thinking, he placed his hands on her arms in supplication, framing her body.

"Look, I was serious when I said I'd pay you. I will, really. Any amount, I just-" He was babbling like a fool, he upbraided himself. Evan took another deep breath, making a heartfelt appeal to, he hoped, her better instincts. "I'm just really in a bind."

The idea of fatherhood really had him baffled, she thought. Claire glanced at Rachel before looking back at Evan. Just what was the story behind the gentleman and the baby? Rachel obviously looked as if she was his daughter. They had the same black hair, the same green eyes. Most babies' eyes were blue when they were this young. To have a distinct color so early really pointed a finger at her parentage.

"I can see that."

Relief began to surface in Evan, only to founder when she added, "And your sense of smell isn't too keen, either."

Eyebrows narrowed over a nose that sculptors only prayed they could duplicate. "Sense of smell?"

She didn't think she was talking in code. He was so hopelessly out of his league right now, it was as if all his faculties had been anesthetized.

With a quick nod for his benefit, Claire indicated Rachel. "Your daughter's ripe, Mr. Quartermain. I'd say she needed changing about fifteen minutes ago." He should have attended to that immediately. That he didn't just underscored how hopelessly inexperienced he was.

"Changing?" Evan looked around as if he expected a diaper to materialize out of thin air. Well, why the h.e.l.l not? Rachel had. When his eyes returned to Claire's face, they were tinged with disbelief. She couldn't possibly mean that she thought he should do the changing. He hadn't the faintest idea where to begin.

This was one dyed-in-the-wool bachelor, Claire thought. Pity filled her-not for Evan, but for the baby.

"Come with me," she instructed. Still carrying the baby seat, Claire walked to the front door. The lack of movement behind her told her that he wasn't following. She looked over her shoulder at Evan expectantly. "Well?"

This was a dream, he thought, a bad dream. Any second, he was going to wake up and find that he'd just fallen asleep over the report he'd been reading. It certainly had been boring enough to put him out.

But he didn't wake up. This was miserably real.

Ten small fingers were wrapping themselves around his hand like miniature tentacles of an octopus. Libby pulled at him. "Mama says to come."

What was he, a dog?

Grudgingly, Evan followed in Claire's wake, noting, purely on a disinterested level, that her wake was quite an attractive one.

"I think I still have a box of Libby's old diapers," Claire was saying to him as she walked into her own living room.

Still holding on to his hand, Libby pouted. "I don't wear diapers, Mama."

She'd embarra.s.sed her, Claire thought, and delicately retraced her verbal steps. "Not anymore, but you did when you were Rachel's age. Everybody did, honey." She glanced at Evan. "Even Mr. Quartermain."

The thought of the tall, serious-looking man beside her wearing diapers had Libby releasing his hand to cover her mouth as giggles pealed out. She nearly fell on the floor, laughing.

Satisfied, Claire set the baby seat down on the coffee table. Wide and square, it looked as if it were built to support an elephant.

"Actually, I never used the ones I'm going to lend you," she told Evan. "They're cloth diapers someone gave me at my shower. Disposable ones were the only kind I had time for back then." She grinned, looking at her daughter. "You were quite a handful when you were a baby."

In Evan's opinion, her "handful" had only intensified with time.

"Why don't you watch your-Rachel," Claire amended for the sake of argument, "while I go see if I can dig up the box in the garage?" .

He had to get going. "But I-" he began futilely, addressing the words to her back.

Evan didn't get an opportunity to finish his protest before she disappeared. A s...o...b..ll in h.e.l.l had more of a chance of remaining intact than he had of finis.h.i.+ng a sentence around these two, he thought grudgingly. Not that the woman would listen to anything he had to say, even if he had managed to complete it. Claire Walker had a mind all her own, just as her daughter did.

He didn't know which one he found more annoying.

Evan wrinkled his nose as the air seemed to s.h.i.+ft. She'd been right about Rachel being ripe. Wow.

He looked down at the baby in complete awe. How could anything so...? Well, all right, he supposed she was cute if you liked babies, but how could anything that looked so cute smell so bad?

As if in response to the silent criticism, Rachel began to cry. Really cry.

She looked as if she was in pain, he thought. Panic and frustration tore at him in equal portions. Now what did he do?

He was aware of a tugging on his arm. Libby again. "Want me to hold her?" she asked brightly. "I'm real good at holding things. Even the cat when she wriggles." Libby was fully prepared to give him an immediate demonstration.

"No, I don't want you holding her." For all of Libby's energy, she didn't look all that much bigger than the baby did. It didn't take much imagination on his part to envision her dropping Rachel.

And then the rest of her statement registered. "You have a cat?"

He looked around for telltale signs. A scratching post, or, in lieu of that, scratched-up furniture. Cats always made him sneeze violently, yet there wasn't even a tickle. Maybe there really was something wrong with his nose, he thought.

Libby's wide smile drooped instantly. "We did. But she ran away." Her sigh was so deep, Evan had the impression that she had let all the air out of her body. "Mama says sometimes things you love do that. They just go away." Suddenly hopeful, she asked, "You haven't seen her, have you? She's white and pretty and really soft."

"No, I haven't seen her." Although, at the moment he wished there was a cat around-getting a stuffed-up nose might be a good thing. Rachel's aroma seemed to be deepening. "Go see what's keeping your mother."

But Libby stayed where she was, c.o.c.king her head as she looked up at him. He talked funny. "Nothing's keeping her, silly. She's free."

"I mean-" Evan sighed, giving up. He had absolutely no idea how to talk to someone who came up to his belt buckle.

He would have to find Claire himself. For a moment, he debated leaving Rachel where she was and instructing Libby to watch her. After all, Rachel wasn't about to execute a half gainer off the table. But Libby might. There was nothing to do but take the baby with him.

What the h.e.l.l had he ever done to deserve this?

As he picked up the seat again, Rachel ceased fussing and stared at him with what looked like wonder in her eyes. Opened so wide, they looked as if they took up half her face. Her expression reminded him of one of his sisters. She looked like Paige, he realized suddenly, then dismissed the thought. All babies tended to look alike. It didn't mean anything.

The burden in his arms began to feel progressively heavier to him as he walked in the general direction Claire had taken. She'd said something about the garage.

Pausing, he asked Libby, "Where's your garage?"

Libby's tolerant smile was reminiscent of her mother's. "Outside."

Strength, he needed strength. "I mean, how do I get to it from inside your house? Where did your mother go?" He enunciated each word slowly, clearly and sharply while trying not to lose his temper.

"I'm right here," Claire announced, returning. "Did you miss me?" she couldn't resist asking.

Evan looked like the poster child for the beleaguered and the befuddled. Not to mention the angry. She imagined that the latter emotion was directed at the world in general and probably at her specifically. His type always had to have someone to blame, which was a pity, she thought, because he was kind of cute.

Evan turned around at the sound of her voice. "Can you take her now?" It came out less of a question than a demand.

"Not yet," she answered patiently. "My hands are full."

"What is all that?" he asked. She had a blanket slung over her shoulder and a box tucked under her arm, and she was dragging something along that looked like netting strung over tubes.

"Your salvation," she said glibly.

While searching for the box of cloth diapers she'd I packed away, Claire had come across the Portacrib. She'd decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to bring it out, as well. After all, the baby was going to need someplace to sleep, and she knew without asking that Evan didn't have anything. She could lend him a few things. Any furniture that Libby hadn't managed to destroy in her exuberance, Claire had saved in hopes that someday another, possibly more quiet baby would make use of it. She wanted more children than just one. One, she had grown up feeling, was a very lonely number.

Claire leaned the collapsed crib against the side of the sofa. "I guess since time is of the essence for you, we'll set up here for now."

Depositing the box of diapers on the coffee table, Claire spread out the blanket on the sofa. "All right, I think we're all ready."

"Great." He set down the baby seat on the table beside the box and lost no time in initiating his retreat.