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 snowball in hell had more of a chance of remaining intact than he had of finishing 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 shift. 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, cocking 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 hell 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 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.
Only to be stopped in his tracks.
“Not so fast, Evan.”
Now what did she want? “But I—”
“—need a demonstration.” She wasn’t about to let him fast-talk his way out of this.
Evan stared at her. Communication between them had just ground to a standstill. “Of what?”
He was either very dense or very stubborn. Or both. She opted for the last choice. “Of how to change the baby.”
What made her think he wanted a demonstration? “I don’t have time for this.”
If he wanted to play it that way, so could she. “All right, then I don’t have time to watch her.” Picking up the seat, she presented it to Evan. “Sorry. Those are my terms.”
Maybe it was the smell, but his brain was definitely in a fog. He had no idea what she Was talking about. “What are your terms?”
Claire
