Читать книгу The Baby Came C.O.D. - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

“Mr. Quartermain, a lady just dropped off something she said you would know what to do with better than she does.”

Evan Quartermain barely glanced up from the monthly status report he was reading. It was an unsatisfactorily written monthly status report, and he meant to chew out the person responsible at the earliest opportunity. He had no time for any games initiated by mysterious women uttering coded messages. Time was something that was in increasingly shorter supply these days.

Why Alma thought the message warranted an appearance from her rather than the usual buzz on the intercom was beyond Evan. He waved a hand in vague dismissal as he circled a particularly daunting and most likely unsubstantiated figure on the spreadsheet that was included with the report. He knew for a fact the statement was incorrect. Didn’t people take pride in their work anymore?

“Just leave it on your desk,” he instructed. “I’ll get to it eventually, time permitting.”

Alma had been his secretary for the past four years; Evan had taken her with him as he received each new promotion at what others saw as breathtaking speed. They both knew that time permitted very little for him, other than more work.

She glanced back toward her desk to make sure that what she had left there was secure. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

He sighed, annoyed at being disturbed over what was probably nothing. Keeping a neat desk was an obsession of Alma’s. She undoubtedly thought an extra sheet or two left out of place would upset the delicate balance of things. While it was an asset to have such an organized employee, at times he had to admit that it was also a royal pain.

Evan frowned as he circled another figure, pressing progressively harder on his pencil as he went further and further into the report. “Then file it”

“I really can’t do that.”

Her tone had him looking in her direction. His unflappable secretary looked extremely fidgety, and it prodded his curiosity. He never remembered her being difficult.

“And why is that?”

In her own fashion, Alma was very protective of her boss. She went out of her way to spare him any unnecessary annoyances during the course of the day. But there was absolutely no way to shield him from this.

“Because it’s a baby.”

The pages of the report went fanning through his fingers, settling back down on the desk like so many colored leaves. He had to have heard wrong. “You’re joking.”

Her thin shoulderblades straightened so far back, they appeared to be touching. “I never joke, sir.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the door to his inner office standing open.

But she had gotten his full attention with her announcement. Evan was still staring at the doorway, mystified.

“Then I don’t—”

Alma reentered, carrying a baby seat, complete with baby, in her arms.

“—understand…”

Evan’s voice trailed off. He didn’t remember getting up or rounding the desk, but he must have, because he found himself looking down into the baby’s face in utter disbelief. The child was gurgling, and there was a series of interconnecting bubbles going down its chin.

He didn’t need this today. Evan raised incredulous eyes to Alma’s face. “Whose is this?”

Alma’s face was a blank slate as she looked at him. If she had an opinion regarding the matter, it was hers alone and not for sharing.

“Yours, apparently. The note was open.” She pointed at the piece of paper that was pinned to the baby’s shirt.

It was to Evan’s credit that his mouth didn’t drop open. There was a note, an actual note pinned to the baby’s shirt. This was like something out of one of those B movies from the forties that his brother loved so much. Worse than that, it was surreal.

“I don’t have any children,” Evan protested.

And he didn’t intend to have any. Despite the fact that he came from a fairly large family by present-day standards, the thought of having tiny miniatures of himself and some future wife milling about the house held absolutely no appeal for him. Children were a breed apart, and he didn’t begin to flatter himself that he understood anything about that mysterious world. He was a man who knew his strengths and his limitations. Children were part of the latter.

This had to be someone’s poor idea of a practical joke, and he couldn’t begin to describe his annoyance.

“You do now,” Alma said, bringing him back to the present.

The hint of an actual smile on Alma’s face testified to the fact that she had always felt Evan Quartermain, latest, as well as youngest, CEO of Donovan Digital Incorporated, couldn’t possibly be as completely work oriented as he had led everyone to believe.

Evan didn’t care for this breach of loyalty on Alma’s part. She above all people should know that if he said something, it was true. Lies and pretenses had no place in his world.

The baby squealed, and Evan’s eyes darted back to the round, messy face.

“There’s no way,” he whispered.

And then, for the first time in Alma’s recollection, Evan Quartermain faltered.

“I mean, there’s a way, but…” He looked both annoyed and in shock.

Collecting himself, Evan tried to approach the problem logically, as if it were merely another project to be conquered at work and not something with far more devastating consequences. “The woman who brought the baby, what did she look like?”

Like a typical mystery woman, Alma thought. She recited what little there was. “Tall, thin, sunglasses and a scarf.” Pointy shoulders rose and fell. “She was in and out before I could stop her.”

Evan sighed, running his hand through his dark hair. For whatever reason it was happening, it still had to be a mistake, a gross, ridiculously annoying mistake. There was just no possible way he could be responsible for this gurgling bit of humanity.

Her arms were beginning to ache. Since Evan was making no effort to take the child from her, Alma rested the baby seat on his desk.

“Maybe the note might give you a hint,” she suggested. Then, when he didn’t remove the paper from the baby’s shirt, Alma opened the large safety pin and took it off herself. She handed the note to Evan.

Like someone trapped within a bad dream that refused to end no matter how hard he tried to wake himself up, Evan looked down at the note.

It was addressed to him, all right.

Evan, it took me a long time to find you—otherwise, I would have brought your daughter to you sooner. I’ve given this six months, but it’s just not working out for either of us. You can give Rachel a much better life than I can.

He turned the note over, but there was nothing on the back. No signature, no name, no indication whom the note had come from.

“That’s it?” he asked incredulously. He looked at Alma, waiting. There had to be more. “She didn’t say anything?”

Alma shook her head. “Just what I said. She wanted me to give you the baby.”

There had to be something Alma was forgetting, some minute clue that she didn’t realize she had. It was something his brother had told him once. People were always giving away clues about themselves; you just had to listen. Up until this moment, Evan had thought Devin was pontificating from some old Agatha Christie novel, but now he fervently hoped his brother was right.

“Her words,” he prodded, “her exact words, Alma.”

Since it had happened less than five minutes ago, recalling wasn’t a challenge. “‘Tell Mr. Quartermain that he’ll know what to do with this better than I do,’” Alma recited.

From the frozen, horrified expression on his face, Alma figured that the woman had seriously overestimated Evan’s capabilities.

“But I don’t know what to do with a baby,” he protested.

Evan circled his desk slowly, as if searching for some infinitesimal escape route hidden to the naked eye. And then, slowly, he looked up at Alma, making a last-ditch attempt to reroute the problem, at least temporarily.

“Alma, you’re a woman—”

Alma raised her hands. “Stop right there. That fact doesn’t necessarily qualify me for anything more than you.”

He refused to believe that. “But you must have some sort of maternal instincts—”

“No, I don’t. George and I didn’t have kids for a reason.”

There were more bubbles flowing from the baby’s mouth, and she was cooing. Alma reached for a tissue, but rather than wipe the tiny mouth, she handed the tissue to Evan, who took it reluctantly. He dabbed at Rachel’s mouth as if it were a stain on the carpet.

Alma frowned at the baby. Her presence was obviously upsetting her boss, and he had work to do.

“Under the circumstances, Mr. Quartermain,” she said, already edging her way to the door, “I think your best bet here is family services. Would you like me to get them on the line for you?”

It was a rhetorical question, one Alma was certain her boss would jump at. He didn’t disappoint her.

“Yes.”

Evan looked down at the baby. Rachel. He rolled the name over in his mind, but it meant nothing to him, nudged no memories to the surface.

That was because she wasn’t his, he told himself.

Rachel smiled at him, waving her hands excitedly as she made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Probably at his expense. Her eyes were green, a deep, seawater green.

Like his were.

What if…?

“No,” Evan said suddenly, looking up toward Alma.

The secretary stopped in the doorway, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and expectation. But she made no further move to her telephone.

Evan tried to think, although for the first time in his life, it was difficult. If he called a government agency into this, there was no telling how much red tape he was going to find himself in. And if, by some strange whimsy of fate, the child did turn out to be his, it would take him forever before he could reclaim her again.

Besides, there was his reputation to think of. He wanted to keep this as quiet as possible.

“Hold off on that,” he told her.

“I think you’re making a mistake, Mr. Quartermain,” she warned.

“Maybe.”

Evan tried to put together the scattered pieces in his head into something that made sense. He had a major meeting scheduled for three with Donovan, the president of the company, and several representatives from a Japanesebased firm. That gave him almost four hours to try to get his life into some kind of order.

Like an Olympic lifter psyching himself up to hoist a record-breaking weight, Evan drew in a long breath before picking up the baby’s seat The baby screeched and laughed. He looked, he thought, catching his reflection in the window, like a man attempting to carry a bomb without having it go off.

In a way, he supposed that the comparison was not without merit.

“Alma,” he began as he passed her, “I’ll be out of the office for a while.”

Alma moved farther back, giving him all the room he needed and more. “Are you going to be back in time for your meeting?”

He raised an eyebrow as he spared her a look. “Have I ever missed one yet?”

When she pressed her lips, they disappeared altogether. Her eyes never left the baby. Everything in her body language fairly shouted, Better you than me. “No, but you’ve never had one of those dropped off in the office, either.”

“Not a word of this, Alma,” he warned sternly. “To anyone. If there’s even so much as a hint, I’ll know where it came from.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. “Understood. What should I say if someone comes looking for you?” she called after him.

He didn’t have time to come up with a plausible excuse. There was too much else on his mind. “Make something up. As long as it’s not as bizarre as this.”

Her small, dry laugh followed him all the way to the elevator. “I’m not that creative.”

Neither was he, he thought, looking down into the child’s face. Neither was he. Rachel just couldn’t be his.

He refused to believe it. He didn’t want children, but if he were to have a child, it would be conceived in love, not in error. And he’d never been in love, not even once. He’d wanted to, tried to, but the magic that his brother Devin always talked about had never happened for him.

But then, during their teen years, his twin had fallen in and out of love enough for both of them.

And he didn’t have one of these, Evan thought sarcastically as he looked down at the child in his arms.

There was just no way she was his.

* * *

His head in a fog, his thoughts refusing to form any rational, coherent ideas, Evan really wasn’t sure just how he managed to arrive home in one piece. The only thing he did remember clearly was getting behind the wheel and taking off, then stopping abruptly when he realized that he hadn’t strapped the baby seat in properly.

Or at all.

Pulling over to the curb, he fixed that as best he could, fumbling with straps in his blazing red sports car that were never meant to restrain a female small enough to ride in a car seat.

The rest of the drive through the streets of San Francisco was an emotional blur, a rare thing for a man who did not consider himself to be the least bit emotional to begin with. He barely registered the sound of the child wailing beside him.

Over and over again, he kept telling himself that the baby couldn’t possibly be his. The number of times he’d been intimate with a woman in the past—what, year and a half?—could be counted on the fingers of one hand. And the number of women he’d been involved with was even less than that. That narrowed down the possible candidates for motherhood, and none of them had had jet-black hair.

He glanced at Rachel. Most babies had little or no hair. She had a mop of it, and it was black as coal.

Like his. Good heavens, like his. Her sudden appearance had rattled him so much, he’d actually forgotten that he had black hair.

The nervous feeling taking hold jumped up several notches on the scale.

In classic denial, he shut away the obvious. She wasn’t his.

So what was he doing, acting like a high-school kid who’d been caught trying to blow up the chem lab and was now looking for a way to avoid being expelled? He was a respected member of the business world. This wasn’t a matter to be handled by an established bachelor—this was for people who knew what they were doing. Who were accustomed to dealing with abandoned babies.

As he stopped at the red light, Evan entertained the thought of pulling over to the curb and calling directory assistance for the location of the nearest family services office. That would certainly take the matter out of his hands.

Or would it?

There would be questions to answer, questions he didn’t have the answers to. And he hated looking like a fool. He’d done enough of that when he was growing up.

And what if word about this got out somehow? The corporation he’d worked his way up in was on the cutting edge of technology, but it was comprised of people whose personal ethics were as old-fashioned as his. There was a new wave of strict morality overtaking the bastions of the corporate world, one that, up until this moment, he had fully appreciated.

It wouldn’t look good for him if this was brought to anyone’s attention. The members of the board prided themselves on their company’s down-to-earth, homespun image, as did Adam Donovan, who had taken a liking to him and a personal interest in his career.

Nothing more homespun than a baby. Unless it was one people were playing hot potato with, he thought cynically.

And despite everything, there was still that tiny, nagging uncertainty in the back of his mind that refused to be completely erased.

What if…?

Well, “what if” or not, first and foremost he had to find someone to take care of this wailing child. Then he would find out who the mother was.

The latter, he forced himself to acknowledge, was right up Devin’s alley. As a private investigator specializing in missing persons, his brother would know how to go about locating this “mystery woman” who was making these false accusations.

But he didn’t like having to ask Devin for anything. It wasn’t that Devin would refuse him, or even act as if he were being put out—it was just that Evan prided himself on being able to handle anything that came his way, no matter what.

“No matter what” had lusty lungs and was in the process of sucking out every bit of oxygen within the car and turning it into noise. Evan rolled down the window, hoping the street traffic would cut into the wailing and neutralize it.

All his adult life, Evan had gone out of his way to prove how much more responsible he was than Devin. Devin had always been the reckless one, the one who seemed to be without a serious thought. The one his parents had despaired would never amount to anything, not because he wasn’t smart enough, but because he didn’t apply himself.

Evan’s mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile. So why was he the one who was being accused of fathering an unwanted child?

Sometimes, the world made no sense.

The open window didn’t help. Rachel’s cries just rose to the challenge, increasing Evan’s feeling of helplessness. The entrance to his development had never looked so good. Not that there were any ready solutions there, but at least he would be out of the crammed confines of the car. His ears were beginning to ring.

“We’re here, we’re here,” he told Rachel, trying to calm her down.

The wailing continued a minute longer, then, as if intrigued by the sound of his voice, Rachel stopped as abruptly as she had started. He felt like rejoicing at the temporary reprieve. It was funny how so little could suddenly mean so much.

“Opera,” he murmured, “you should definitely consider a career in opera.”

Evan turned into his driveway, not even bothering to use the automatic garage-door opener.

He’d no sooner pulled up his hand brake and turned off the engine than he was laid siege to. Not by the child inside the car, but by the child outside. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approaching at ten o’clock. A bouncy four-year-old who was bound and determined, since he’d moved in next door to her and her mother three months ago, to learn everything there was to know about him. He’d already discovered that short, one-word replies did not discourage her. They just led her to ask more questions.

Please, not now, he thought

“Hi!”

Standing on her toes, Elizabeth Jean Walker hooked her fingers on his open window, all ten of them. Since she was forever eating some candy or other, Evan could just envision what her sticky prints were doing to the highly polished shine on his car.

“You have a baby!” Libby’s eyes were huge as she looked past him to the wiggling baby in the car seat. “I didn’t know you had a baby!”

“I don’t It’s not mine.” He put his hand on the latch, then looked at Libby expectantly. “Would you mind stepping back? I need to get out of the car.”

Libby danced backward on the points of her toes, her eyes still riveted to the baby. She was pirouetting this week. It went along with her current choice of career—ballerina. Last week, when she had wanted to be a cowhand, she had galloped everywhere she went. “If it’s not yours, did you steal it?” There was breathless excitement in each word.

He was glad someone was getting enjoyment out of this. “No, someone gave it to me.” Evan got out and slammed his door.

Without a trace of self-consciousness, Libby stuck with him like a shadow as he rounded the hood to the passenger side. “You mean, like a present?”

Where was this kid’s mother? Didn’t she know better than to let her little girl run around, harassing neighbors? “No, not exactly.”

He stared down at Rachel. Should he take her out of the car seat, or carry her into the house in the seat? He decided on the latter. He didn’t want drool on his expensive jacket.

Libby cocked her head, watching him think his problem through. “Whatcha gonna do with the baby?”

“I don’t know.” He bit off the answer. Evan didn’t like feeling as if he was lost, but he still hadn’t a clue what to do. There had to be someone he could call, a baby-sitting service that dealt in emergencies. Something. He had a meeting to go to, damn it. He didn’t have time to stay home and play surrogate father to someone else’s child.

Libby wiggled in front of him for a better view of the baby. Swallowing an oath he knew was inappropriate for Libby to hear, he placed both hands on her shoulders and firmly moved her out of his way.

She looked up at him, a sunny expression on her pale face. “Do you need help?”

What he needed right now was for Mary Poppins to come flying down out of the sky. “Yes, I need help.” He began working the tangled straps that he’d buckled so haphazardly before while Rachel waved 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 was a delayed reaction. She didn’t exactly look like a mother. Barefoot and in black shorts despite the autumn bite to the weather, the petite blonde looked more like the girl’s older sister than her mother. Didn’t mothers usually look a little worn, a little frayed around the edges? If anyone had a right to that look, she certainly did, given that she was Libby’s mother.

But this woman was fine, and the look in her eyes was sheer amusement At his expense. “Can I help you?” he asked coolly.

He’d all but snapped the words out at her. No doubt about it, the man was not a contender for the Mr. Congeniality award, baby or no baby in his arms. But Claire had to struggle to hold off an attack of the giggles. She doubted if she had ever seen anyone look more uncomfortable than he did. He was holding the baby practically at arm’s length, as if he feared any closer contact would make one of them self-destruct.

He didn’t like babies very much, she judged. For her part, Claire was a sucker for them, always had been. She loved the scent of them, the feel. She longed to take the baby in her arms, but refrained. No use getting worked up and mushy. After all, it wasn’t like it was her baby.

“No,” she finally answered, “but I think I can help you.”

He almost said Thank God out loud as he held out the car seat to her. But she took his keys instead and, with a minimum of fuss, unlocked the door for him.

With a sigh, he entered, still holding the car seat as if he expected the baby to begin throwing up with an eighteeninch projectile.

When he turned around, he narrowly avoided hitting Claire with the baby seat, but she managed to jump back in time. She nodded at the baby, seeing the resemblance. “I take it that’s your daughter?” She ignored Libby tugging urgently on her sweater, knowing a contradiction hovered on the girl’s lips.

Evan really didn’t feel like discussing his problem with this woman. He wasn’t even going to answer, then finally said, “Supposedly.”

“‘Supposedly’?” she echoed, stunned, taking another look at the fussing child. The baby certainly looked like him, right down to the wave in her hair. Just look at all that hair, she thought, longing to curl her fingers through it. She raised her eyes to Evan. This wasn’t making any sense. “Who’s the mother?”

Instead of answering, he turned his back on her, setting the baby seat down on the first available flat surface, the top of the two-tier bookcase.

“I don’t know.” As far as he knew, the child couldn’t be his. He’d always used precautions.

It took very little imagination on Claire’s part for her to see the baby seat plummeting from its perch. Was he crazy? She picked it up and thrust it back into his hands.

“If you’re not careful, she’ll fall off. And what do you mean, you don’t know?” How did he get this baby, then?

“Just what I said.” Evan stared at her, surprised, as his arms were suddenly filled with baby again. He saw where Libby got her pushiness from. “She was just left, on my doorstep, so to speak—actually, on my secretary’s desk at the office.”

He looked at his watch again. Damn it, time was growing short. Desperate—that was the only word to describe his mood—he decided to take a chance. “Look, are you any good with kids?”

Claire ran her hand along the waves and curls of her daughter’s hair, hair that was no mean feat to comb in the morning. “I haven’t broken the one I have.”

If that was a joke, he didn’t have time for humor. “Great. How would you like to earn some extra money?”

She frowned. Normally, she’d tell him what he could do with his money. Spend it on his “supposed” daughter. But this past month had been rough, and Claire was in no position to turn down work that fell into her lap. Any reasonable work, she amended for her own sake.

“Just what did you have in mind?”