The Baby Came C.O.D. Part 16

Very smoothly, she disentangled herself from him, the same smile playing on her lips. "Don't sap my strength with interrogations, Mr. Quartermain-I have potatoes to rescue."

Claire walked into the kitchen and saw that Rachel was sitting in her high chair, happily making a mess of what had been breakfast. She was smearing squashed bananas and what looked to be strained peaches all along the formerly white tray.

"Looks like someone's getting creative," Claire noted.

He picked up a towel and began wiping the sticky fingers, wondering if he was fast enough to keep Rachel from making them messy again before he could clean up the tray.

"My sister Paige loves to paint. Maybe she gets it from her." There was an odd expression on Claire's face as she looked at him. "What?"

Claire grabbed a paper towel and did the honors on the tray. She had no idea why her throat felt as if it was tightening. This was a happy moment, not a sad one. "That's the first time I've heard you actually refer to Rachel as being yours."

He didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Except that it was. She was. If not for Claire, Rachel would have been the single biggest deal of his life, Evan realized.

"Yeah, well, I've decided this is probably on the level." He tossed the streaked towel on the counter. "If it was some kind of a hoax, then Rachel's mother would be asking for money instead of abandoning her. Besides," he added, looking down at the round little face, "Rachel does look a lot like my sisters did when they were her age."

"You remember?" Claire pulled a second paper towel off the rack and moistened it. "You're a lot more sensitive than I gave you credit for."

He debated letting her think that, but he had always believed that honesty was the only cornerstone to use in laying a foundation, and this foundation was too important to jeopardize for the sake of ego points.

"Not to shatter my new image, but my mother likes to drag out family alb.u.ms on any pretext at any time. I've seen pictures of my sisters when they were around Rachel's age countless times. She has their eyes. Green and beautiful."

"She has your eyes," Claire corrected.

He shrugged self-consciously as he gave Rachel the ring of keys she loved to play with. "Men don't have beautiful eyes."

She'd embarra.s.sed him, Claire thought. Now, why was that so hopelessly endearing? "You do. It was my first hint that you were human after all."

She'd piqued his interest. He liked the way the conversation was going. "What was your second?"

Instead of answering, she cast a sidelong glance at her daughter, busy solemnly stirring what would eventually be a pie filling. Her meaning was clear. She couldn't talk in front of Libby.

This was becoming more encouraging by the minute. He could wait.

"Okay, on to other things," Evan announced. Producing a grocery bag he hadn't emptied out yet, he deposited the contents onto the only s.p.a.ce on the table that didn't have a bowl or a box or some ingredient for the feast occupying it. Yams came tumbling out. Two broke in half on contact. Evan wondered if that was bad. "What do we do with these things to make them edible?"

Claire reached for another towel and tucked it around her waist like an ap.r.o.n. "Looks like I got well just in time."

"This had to be the nicest Thanksgiving I can remember in a long, long time."

Claire's words came out on a contented sigh. She was sitting curled up beside Evan on the sofa in the family room, watching flames dancing around a log in the fireplace.

The dinner had long since been consumed, the dishes washed and put away at her insistence. They had all fussed over Rachel, and then Evan had played with Libby while Claire put the baby to bed. By the time she'd come out again, she found that Evan had accomplished the impossible. He had actually exhausted Libby. She had crawled up beside them on the sofa, wanting to stay up "just a little longer." And had promptly fallen asleep five minutes after permission was granted.

The baby was sleeping; Libby lay with her head on Claire's lap. Claire's hand lingered protectively on Libby's shoulder, her own head leaning against Evan's. If this wasn't happiness, then she didn't know what was.

"Yeah, it was pretty nice, wasn't it?" Evan lazily stroked her arm. He couldn't remember ever feeling this sort of peace, and yet, it was held together with thin wires of excitement. Excitement generated by the same woman who filled him with this sense of peace.

It was far too complicated for him to try to unravel. Besides, he was unraveling pretty well himself right now. And finding a whole new person underneath.

Claire felt a little guilty that her happiness meant someone else's disappointment. "Think your family minds that you're here this year?"

Evan laughed to himself, hearing again what his mother had to say when he'd called to apologize. The offense ranked only a little below the start of World War II.

"My mother'll make me pay," he said, pausing to kiss her temple, "until she sees you."

Claire drew her head back to look at him. "Me? What do I have to do with it?"

How could she not know? "Everything." He'd intended on waiting for a more opportune moment, then decided that his whole life had been spent waiting and he didn't want to do that anymore.

"I want you to meet them. My family. I know they'll want to meet you and Libby." He grinned as he glanced at the sleeping child. She looked so deceptively calm this way. A dynamite stick in repose. "My mother has been after all four of us kids to get married and give her grandchildren. I thought I might give her a preview."

Not everyone was up to Libby's exuberance. "To make her eat her words?" Claire guessed.

Not if he knew his mother. After all, she'd raised the four of them, and they had never been a tranquil bunch. "She'll fall in love with Libby once she stops to catch her breath."

She raised her head again, almost afraid to guess at what he Was saying. "Why should she fall in love with Libby?"

He traced her lips with his thumb, watching the way her eyes grew dark with desire. It was a sight, he knew, he was never going to tire of. "I thought that was obvious."

Something caught; in her throat. Antic.i.p.ation? Her heart? All she knew was that she couldn't swallow. "Sometimes," she said in a whisper, afraid her voice would break if she spoke any louder, "the most obvious things are missed and overlooked. Why don't you explain it to me?"

He wished he had Devin's gift. Devin was never at a loss as to what to say. "I'm not good with words, Claire, unless I'm putting them down in a report or a memo."

He wasn't going to get out of telling her that easily. "Okay, I can accept that. Write me a memo."

"What?"

"Write me a memo," she repeated. "Here, I'll start it for you." Claire pretended to write in the air. "'Claire!'" She looked at him. "Okay, you take it from there."

Amus.e.m.e.nt lifted the corners of his mouth. "What's the memo supposed to be about?"

She sighed. This might be more difficult than she antic.i.p.ated. "Why you want to take us to meet your family. And why your mother is going to fall in love with Libby."

He settled back, draping his arm over her shoulder. "Well, my mother'll fall in love with Libby because you can't help falling in love with Libby."

"Did you?" she pressed.

It was his turn to tease her, and he rather enjoyed doing it. "Maybe."

"I'll take that as a yes," she decided. "Now, the first part." Turning, her face was a scant inch away from his. That would account for why her heart was beating so fast. "Why should we meet your family?"

Evan played out his line. "Because they're nice people."

"Okay," she allowed. "And why should they meet us? And if you say because we're nice people," she warned him, "I may be forced to hit you."

He could just picture that. "My, have you always had this violent streak?"

"Only with very stubborn men."

Evan nodded. "I'll have to remember that. They should meet you because, other than being very nice people," he said, grinning, "you've also become important to me."

It was like pulling teeth, but she wasn't about to stop now. "Important how? Important like a nanny or a housekeeper?"

He knew what she was after and he was enjoying himself. "A little more than that."

Claire raised her chin, her eyes narrowing. "How little?"

Evan flicked his finger down her nose. d.a.m.n, but she stirred him. And she had a right to know it. "All right, a lot more. Satisfied?"

"No," she sighed, "but we're getting there."

The smile on his lips grew serious. "Come up to my room and we'll see what we can do about the 'satisfied' part. We're both finally well enough to stay in the same bed at the same time." He couldn't begin to count how many times he'd thought about that in the past week.

Claire looked down at Libby, nestled so peacefully on her lap. "Evan..."

He could read her thoughts. "You're afraid she'll wake up and find us together?"

Maybe that sounded old-fashioned, but that was the way she wanted to raise Libby. With a good sense of values firmly entrenched. "Yes."

He pretended to consider that. "She might have to get used to it."

She didn't want to hurt him or spoil this. Any of it. But he had to understand her position-as difficult as it was for her to take. As much as she knew she loved him, she was still Libby's mother, and with that came a responsibility that had to take precedence over her heart.

"Evan, it's not that I don't want to. I do. For the first time in years, I really do, but Libby's too young to understand about the way it is between men and women." And it was up to her to protect Libby for as long as she could.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Lightly, he ran his hand over Libby's hair. It felt as silky as Claire's. "She's pretty savvy, and most kids understand that their parents sleep in the same bed."

"Parents?" Claire echoed dumbly. What did that have to do with what they were discussing?

She really didn't know, did she? He'd never met a woman as una.s.suming as Claire. "Yeah, you know, mother, father." He pointed to her, then jerked his thumb back to himself. "You, me."

Claire held up her hand. This was going way too fast for her to a.s.similate. "Hold it, hold it, what are you saying?"

Evan shrugged. "I told you I wasn't any good at talking." He gave it to her straight. "I'm asking you to marry me."

She knew how she felt about him, but she hadn't thought that he actually reciprocated these feelings. "When did this happen?"

"Just now. I just asked you if you'd marry me," he answered innocently.

She hit his shoulder with the flat of her hand. He was doing this on purpose.

"Not that, I mean when did you decide that you wanted to marry me?" If the signs had been there, she certainly hadn't seen them.

He didn't even have to think about it. "Somewhere in between my pa.s.sing out on my bed and holding you in my arms in the hall this morning. Why, did I miss an entry deadline?"

She felt completely dazed. "No, it's just that...I didn't... That is..." Claire gave up. "You leave me completely speechless."

He sincerely doubted that, but for the sake of peace, he let it go. "That's good, because what I've got in mind doesn't need words. As a matter of fact, words only get in the way." He framed her face with his hands, becoming serious. "I love you, Claire. I don't need an answer right now-just tell me that you'll think about it."

There was that wild, heady feeling again. The one that took her breath away and made her pulse leap as if she were sprinting toward a finish line.

"Yes."

He searched her eyes, wanting an answer despite what he had just said. He knew he shouldn't push, but it was hard not to, not when he felt this way. "Then you'll think about it?"

"No."

Confused, he tried to decipher which question she had just answered. "You won't think about it?"

Obviously, he needed this spelled out. Claire began spelling. "The answer is yes, Evan. Yes, I will marry you."

He'd always been cautious and even now, he was afraid to take her reply and run with it. "This isn't just the fever talking, is it?"

"Yes." She laughed. "But it's not the kind of fever you think. It's more of a slow roast, the kind I feel in my chest every time I see you. Every time I watch you with Rachel or hear you reading a story to Libby."

The last surprised him. "When did you hear me reading to Libby?"

"When you read Cinderella to her."

"That narrows it down," he quipped. "I've been reading Cinderella to her for the last four nights." He'd come to learn that it was one of the main staples of her nighttime routine.

Claire remembered every word she'd overheard perfectly. "The night you said I was beautiful."

He'd thought he'd heard something in the hall that night, but he had chalked it up to his imagination. Now he knew it wasn't. "You eavesdropped?"

Claire preferred to think of it differently. "I thought I was coming to the rescue." She laughed at herself. "I was making my way down the hall, holding on to the walls. All in all, I'm glad you didn't see me." The smile lit up her face, already aglow in the firelight. "And I'm glad I heard you."

"So am I." She was going to marry him. She'd said yes. He felt like celebrating, like announcing it from the rooftops, or better yet, e-mailing several million people with the news. "So what do you want to do? We have the whole night ahead of us."

Claire sighed, snuggling against him. "Just sit here by the fire, listen to Libby breathe. Feel your heart against my cheek."

"Funny, I was just going to suggest that." Evan's arm tightened about her shoulders as he brought his lips down to hers.

Chapter Twelve.

"We get to do this two times this year, huh, Mama?" Libby beamed as she tossed another handful of tinsel at the Christmas tree.

"Yes, honey." Claire undid the last box of silvery streamers. She figured that four should do it, as long as Libby remembered to toss the tinsel on all sides. It wasn't a very big tree, but it was a Christmas tree, which was all that really counted.

"Why didn't Evan want to have one this year?" Another fistful sailed and landed in a clump around a ball depicting Santa and his reindeer.

From his complete lack of decorations, Claire suspected that this wasn't exactly the first year Evan hadn't had a Christmas tree in his living room. Determined to do it right, she'd gone out while he was at work and purchased ornaments, garlands and lights, all reduced to half price because it was so close to Christmas. Then they'd all gone out for the tree together. The slightly listing tree had been Libby's choice.