her feet at him, kicking his wrist. “Lots of help. I—”
He looked up, determined to send Libby on her way, but she was already gone.
Well, at least that much had gone right in his life, he thought The last thing he needed was for Libby to chatter on endlessly in his ear as he struggled to deal with his very real problem.
He should have made a more forceful attempt to talk Alma into helping, he thought, annoyed with himself for giving in so quickly. After all, she was a woman and they had a built-in knack for this sort of thing.
Heaven knew, he didn’t.
The baby gurgled happily when he swung her out of the car. “Yeah, you can laugh. You don’t have your career riding on a meeting this afternoon. Who are you, anyway?”
Rachel answered him by blowing more bubbles.
Evan carried the car seat up to his front door, then tried to do a balancing act while he fished out the keys he’d automatically shoved into his pocket when he’d gotten out of the car.
Through with blowing bubbles, Rachel began to fuss again, trying to eat her foot. All in all, this was not turning out to be one of his better days.
Claire Walker had been staring at the same design on her computer screen for the past ten minutes. Today, apparently, her creative juices had decided to take a hike. No pun intended, she mused, since she was trying to work on a logo for a prominent firm that manufactured athletic equipment.
Nothing was going on in her brain except a mild, familiar form of panic. The kind that always overtook her when she came up empty.
Since she’d come into the small guest bedroom that doubled as her office over an hour ago, she’d gotten up every few minutes, procrastinating. She’d even dusted the shelves.
Dusted, for pity’s sake, something she absolutely abhorred and did only when the dust motes got large enough to put saddles on and ride. She was that desperate to get away from her work.
Nothing was materializing in her brain.
It was time, she decided, to take a temporary reprieve. A real one. Maybe what she needed was to take the morning off. The afternoon had to get better. The only way it would be worse was if she was suddenly possessed to clean out her refrigerator.
Her fingers flying for the first time that day, she pressed a combination of keys and shut her computer down. Things would look different when she opened it up again later, she promised herself.
The house reverberated as the front door was slammed shut. Hurricane Libby, she thought fondly.
“Mama, Mama, come quick!”
Claire smiled to herself. She was accustomed to Libby’s “come quick” calls. “Come quick” could mean anything from a call urging her to see a praying mantis, to watching a funny cartoon on television, to seeing a mother bird feeding her babies in the nest they’d discovered out front in their pine tree. Claire had learned very quickly that no matter what pitch the cry was delivered in, it wasn’t about anything earthshaking.
Life was very exciting for a four-going-on-five-year-old.
Claire stepped out into the hallway. “What is it this time, Lib?”
Libby, her blond curls bouncing around her head like so many yellow springs in motion, lost no time in finding her. “The man next door needs help.”
Claire’s brow furrowed. Well, this was definitely a different sort of “come quick” than she was anticipating. He was actually asking for her help? She and the very attractive, very mysterious man next door hadn’t even really exchanged any words. She’d said hello a few times, and he had just nodded in response. Not even a “hi.” If it weren’t for the fact that the mail carrier had delivered a letter to her house intended for him, she wouldn’t have even known his name.
Since he’d moved in, she’d seen him only a handful of times, usually on his way to his car early in the morning or returning to the house late in the evening. She never saw him do anything mundane, like mow his grass or take out his garbage. He had a gardener for the former, and as for the latter, Claire doubted that he ate or did very much living at home. Disposal of garbage might be a moot point—he probably didn’t have any.
Placing an anchoring hand on Libby’s shoulder, Claire held her in place. “What do you mean, ‘help’?”
Claire couldn’t visualize Mr. Quartermain asking for any, much less asking it of her or using Libby as a messenger. Libby didn’t lie, but something wasn’t right here.
Impatience hummed through the tiny body. “I asked him, and he said he needs help, lots of it.”
Maybe she was being hasty in dismissing Libby’s story. “Is anything wrong?”
Slight shoulders lifted and fell in an exaggerated shrug that seemed so natural for the young. “He stole a baby.”
Claire’s eyes were as huge as Libby’s had been. “He did what?”
All innocence, Libby recited, “I think he stole a baby. He said it wasn’t his and he needed help with it.” With her fingers wrapped firmly around her mother’s hand, Libby was already dragging Claire out of the house. “C’mon, Mama, you help better than anyone.”
“You’re prejudiced, but keep talking. I need the flattery.”
Libby liked it when Mama used big words when she talked to her. It meant she was almost all grown up, like Mama. “What’s that mean? Pre-joo-dish?”
“Something I’ll explain to you when we have more time.” Right now, she had to investigate Libby’s story. Claire had to admit, curiosity was getting the better of her. Otherwise, she would have never entertained the thought of just paying Evan Quartermain a “neighborly” visit. Not when he definitely wasn’t.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to go far to satisfy her curiosity. Evan was still trying to open the front door while wrestling with a car seat and an animated baby sitting in same.
“You’re right—he does have a baby.” Claire’s surprise could have been measured on the Richter scale. Maybe he was divorced, she thought. And his ex-wife unexpectedly had to leave town. That would explain the sudden appearance of the baby, as well as his distraught expression.
“I told you, Mama.” Now that she was certain her mother was coming, Libby released Claire’s hand and made a dash for Evan’s front door.
He had the kind of reflexes that had made his college fencing master proud, but Evan was still having trouble getting his key in the lock without dropping the baby.
“See?” Libby announced proudly, planting herself in front of Evan. “I brought help!”
Evan blew out a breath, then turned to put the baby down on the step, ready to warn Libby to keep her distance.
“I don’t—” His words vanished as he found himself looking into the very amused, very bemused eyes of the woman next door.
The chatterbox’s mother.
Recognition
