Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Copyright

Evan Quartermain on the art of being a twin

Sometimes I wonder if my twin brother and I are even related. I’ve always been “the responsible one,” the one with clear-cut goals and plans for my future—Devin was the one who used to get into trouble. But now I’m the one in a mess. An anonymous woman left a baby on my desk—a baby that I’m sure isn’t mine! Now I have to rely on Devin to find her. Maybe he can also give me some advice on how to handle my next-door neighbor, Claire Walker. She’s been so good with baby Rachel, but I’m beginning to wish she’d share some of that TLC with me….

Claire Walker on the art of being a twin

I think Evan is lucky—at least he knows who his brother is. My twin and I were separated at birth; in fact, until recently, I didn’t even know she existed. And finding her now may be close to impossible. Growing up, I would have loved to have a sister. I can understand why my daughter, Libby, is becoming so attached to Evan’s new charge. To tell the truth, I’ve gotten a little attached to her myself…not to mention her gorgeous and stubborn daddy, if that’s who he is….

Dear Reader,

The holiday season is a time for family, love…and miracles! We have all this—and more!—for you this month in Silhouette Romance. So in the gift-giving spirit, we offer you these wonderful books by some of the genre’s finest:

A workaholic executive finds a baby in his in-box and enlists the help of the sexy single mom next door in this month’s BUNDLES OF JOY, The Baby Came C.O.D., by RITA Award-winner Marie Ferrarella. Both hero and heroine are twins, and Marie tells their identical siblings’ stories in Desperately Seeking Twin, out this month in our Yours Truly line.

Favorite author Elizabeth August continues our MEN! promotion with Paternal Instincts. This latest installment in her SMYTHESHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS series features an irresistible lone wolf turned doting dad! As a special treat, Carolyn Zane’s sizzling family drama, THE BRUBAKER BRIDES, continues with His Brother’s Intended Bride—the title says it all!

Completing the month are three classic holiday romances. A world-weary hunk becomes The Dad Who Saved Christmas in this magical tale by Karen Rose Smith. Discover The Drifter’s Gift in RITA Award-winning author Lauryn Chandler’s emotional story. Finally, debut author Zena Valentine weaves a tale of transformation—and miracles—in From Humbug to Holiday Bride.

So treat yourself this month—and every month!—to Silhouette Romance!

Happy holidays,

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to: Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Baby Came C.O.D.
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To

Marcia Book Adirim,

pure joy

in the form of

an editor

MARIE FERRARELLA

lives in Southern California. She describes herself as the tired mother of two overenergetic children and the contented wife of one wonderful man. This RITA Award-winning author is thrilled to be following her dream of writing full-time.

Chapter One

“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?”

Chapter Two

There was amusement in her eyes. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to take offense. Right now, he needed to prevail upon the good graces of a woman he hardly knew, even by sight.

“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 shifted 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 shirt 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?” Compassion, learned at her mother’s knee, filled her expressive eyes as she continued looking up at him. “Doesn’t your remembery work?”

Claire affectionately passed 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 pushing her daughter behind her? Did the woman think he was going to strike her? Where the hell 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 morning.”

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-fashioned. Someone quiet. So much for a perfect match. “Quartermain,” 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 lusty 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 hell 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 embarrassed 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 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 grinned. She heard surrender in his voice. In the face of that, she could afford to be magnanimous.

“I’m making them up as I go along.” Setting the seat down again, she undid the straps restraining Rachel, then lifted her out. Gingerly, Claire tucked her arm around the baby, who was soaked. “But I really want you to try your hand at changing the baby.”

He remained rooted to the spot. There was no way he was about to touch that. “Into what?”

Claire gave him a look. “Into dry diapers.”

“You mean open up that—?” There was horror written all over his face. He’d sooner put up with a first-class, intensified audit than attempt to remove Rachel’s very heavy diaper.

Libby erupted into a fit of giggles, not bothering to cover her mouth this time. The sound was infectious, and Claire found it difficult not to join in. And impossible to keep the smile from her lips.

Gently, she laid Rachel down in the center of the blanket and slipped off the soggy pajama bottoms. “That is exactly what I mean. You obviously don’t know how, and there’s no time like the present to learn.”

Was she out of her mind? “Why would I want to learn?”

Claire dropped the pajama bottoms in a little heap on the blanket and looked at him. She answered patiently, speaking to him as if she were trying to make a child understand something that was just beyond his reach.

“I have a little news flash for you—the number of times you change a baby is disproportionate to its size.” She considered that for a moment. Math had never been her strong suit. “Or maybe the inverse. At any rate, the smaller they are, the more they need to be changed. And at this stage of her life, Rachel is going to need a lot of changing.”

All right, he understood that part of it. But why did he have to learn how to do it? “But you’re going to be—”

“Helping out,” Claire supplied, and squashed any other belief he had been entertaining. “I don’t intend to be her permanent nanny. I have a business to run.”

“A business?” Evan echoed in disbelief. “You?”

It was a rare thing for Claire to get angry. She liked to think of herself as a reasonable and even-tempered woman. But she knew an insult when one was hovering in front of her.

“You say that as if you don’t believe that’s possible. Why?”

As if in reply, Evan glanced down at her long legs curled beneath her as she sat on the edge of the sofa, and at her clothes, which lovingly adhered to her body. Businesswoman wouldn’t have been the first label he would have pinned to her. Nor the second. She looked as if she would be more at home on the cover of a magazine than undertaking any sort of business venture.

But this wasn’t the time to get into that. “No reason.” And then he looked at his watch again. This was taking far longer than he had anticipated. He still had to go over his notes before he went into the meeting. “Look, I’m really pressed for time.”

“You keep saying that.” And it was obvious from her expression that she neither believed his protest nor was going to accept it. “Make time. She obviously must mean something to you or you wouldn’t have her.”

The leap from point A to point B seemed to have been made entirely without reason. Evan’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of it and failed. “What kind of logic is that?”

“Mine,” she informed him blithely. “Now, then, shall we?” Claire patted the blanket in an open invitation.

Not to be left out of the project, Libby demanded, “What can I do? What can I do?”

Wedging in between Evan and the baby on the sofa, Libby pranced from foot to foot as if the ground were too hot for her to stand on in any one place for more than a second.

Evan assumed that Claire would tell her daughter to stand aside and be quiet—that’s what he would have done. But Claire didn’t do what was expected. He had a feeling the statement covered a lot of territory.

“Get me some tissues, Lib. I don’t have any wipes,” she explained to Evan as if he even knew what those were. “So tissues are going to have to do in a pinch. And a washcloth,” she called out to her daughter. “Run some warm water over it, honey. And be sure to wring it out.”

Claire emphasized the last part, knowing if she didn’t, Libby was going to leave a trail of water all the way from the bathroom sink to the sofa.

Waiting, Claire cooed soft words at the baby that Evan could only half make out. But the tone was soothing. And it worked, he noticed. Rachel was calming down. Maybe this would work out after all, at least for now.

Claire stripped Rachel down to her diaper, then leaned back and gestured for Evan to take over. “All right, go ahead.”

Evan felt something sicken in his stomach. “Go ahead?” he repeated dumbly.

Why was he acting as if his brain level had suddenly been reduced to that of a potato?

“Change her,” Claire urged, moving aside for him to have clear access. “The grand opening awaits.”

He actually reached out one hand before he stopped. He just couldn’t go through with this, not for any amount of money in the world.

“I don’t—I’ve never—” He looked at her helplessly, falling back on the only thing he’d learned that worked. “How much do you want per diaper?”

“That’s pathetic,” she informed him. Then, with a tolerant sigh, Claire elbowed him out of the way. Evan was never so glad to move aside in his life. “Watch and learn,” she instructed, taking her place again.

Rachel began to kick, churning up the mess within, he guessed.

“Libby?” Claire called out expectantly.

The streak wearing pink overalls zipped back to her side, with a box of tissues in one hand and a slightly dripping washcloth in the other. “Here, Mama.”

Claire took them as solemnly as if she were receiving a knight’s sword and shield. She set both items on the table.

Evan forced himself to watch. He got as far as seeing Claire tear off the tabs on either side of the kicking chubby legs before he averted his eyes.

“Yuck!” Libby pronounced.

For once, Evan thought, the little girl was guilty of understatement.

Chapter Three

The first thing Evan did when he returned to his office was call Devin. Maybe it wasn’t an entirely rational decision on his part, given that Devin was four hundred miles away. But Evan knew that if anyone could find out who the mother of this child was, it was Devin. His brother had a knack for locating missing people. Distance wouldn’t be a problem.

Why Devin wanted to spend his life in pursuit of people who, for all intents and purposes, had vanished was beyond Evan’s comprehension. In his opinion, finding them didn’t pay nearly enough to compensate for the effort involved. But for the first time in his life, Evan was actually glad his brother had decided to become a private investigator.

As soon as he heard the receiver being picked up on the other end, Evan asked, “Are you busy?”

There was a pause, and for a second, Evan was afraid that he’d gotten Devin’s answering machine. He was in no mood to deal with recorded messages and was about to hang up when he heard, “Depends on who’s asking. If it’s the IRS, the answer is no. If it’s the competition trying to see how I’m doing, then the answer is yes. Truth is located somewhere in between.”

Evan didn’t need to see his face to know that Devin was grinning. They hadn’t shared the same sense of humor since a year after puberty had hit.

“It’s me, Devin. Evan,” he added impatiently when there was no response on the other end.

The deep chuckle told Evan that his brother had known all along who was calling. “And a hello to you, too, brother,” Devin replied. “Don’t you believe in preliminary niceties anymore?”

“You’re the last one to give a lecture about that.” Evan had always been the one who lived by the rules, who crossed every t and dotted every i. That was why this turn of events seemed so incredible, so unfair if it was true. He’d always taken precautions, for heaven’s sake.

Except, he realized suddenly, that one time.

The fruity taste of the Mai-tais had hidden their potent punch, and he’d downed one after another until he’d found himself acting amorous and passionate—entirely out of character.

No, he refused to believe that that one night, which was mostly a blur anyway, could have resulted in the fifteenpound bundle he’d had delivered to his office.

“Look,” Evan said sharply, “I didn’t call to argue about protocol.”

Accustomed to his brother’s abrupt manner, Devin was unfazed by the annoyed tone. “Nice to know. Why did you call?”

Evan was aware that he was gripping the receiver too tightly. He hated asking Devin for a favor, even one he was planning on paying for. “I need you to find someone for me.”

If Devin was surprised by the request, he hid it well. “All right, what’s the person’s name?”

Evan thought of the note. There’d been no signature on it. “I don’t know.”

That made it harder, but not impossible. Half of the people Devin had looked for were nameless to him when he began his search. “Description?”

Irritation, fueled by frustration, began to mount. Evan knew he sounded like a fool. He could just visualize Devin smirking at him. “I don’t have one. That is, I do, a few, but none of them might be the right one.”

If Devin was smirking, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he sounded concerned. “Evan, you okay? You sound…addled.”

It wasn’t a word that Devin would have used to describe his brother under normal circumstances. Yet addled was exactly how Evan sounded—as if something had just happened to shake him up. This had to be big. Evan didn’t rattle easily—at least, not enough to come to his brother for help.

Evan bristled. He didn’t care for the observation, however deserving it might be. “You’d be addled, too, if someone just left a baby in your office and said it was yours.”

Devin let out a low whistle. “Someone left you a baby?”

Had his brother suddenly gone deaf? “I just said that,” Evan snapped.

Devin wasn’t slow, but when it came to his work, he believed in being methodical. That meant getting all the facts down straight the first time around. “And it’s not yours.”

“No.” The denial was quick, decisive. And untrue. “That is, I don’t think so.” Evan’s wavering deteriorated even further. “I don’t know.”

Right now, it didn’t strike Devin that his brother knew a hell of a whole lot, but this wasn’t the time to point that little tidbit out.

“And the person you want me to find is…?” His sentence trailed off as he waited for Evan to complete it for him.

Was Devin playing games at his expense? “The baby’s mother, naturally.”

Devin blocked out his brother’s tone. Letting it get under his skin wasn’t going to do either of them any good.

“Do you have any idea who she might be, Evan? Anything at all for me to go on?”

Yes, he had something for Devin to go on. Something he didn’t want to admit to. His night of the endless Maitai. Evan ran a hand through his hair, bracing himself. If Devin was going to be of any use, he had to tell his brother everything.

“My best guess is that it might be this entertainer I met on a cruise ship. A singer,” he added. If he’d been sober, this would never have happened. He wouldn’t have thought of flirting with a woman he didn’t know, much less bedding her.

Or had she flirted with him? Evan tried hard to remember, but it was all one heated blur with very little of it clear.

“Why, Evan, you sly devil. And here I thought you were married to your work.” His laughter obliterated anything else Devin might have said for more than a minute. “Boy, did I ever have you pegged wrong.”

Evan didn’t care for being the source of Devin’s amusement. If he could have, he would have slammed the phone down in his brother’s ear. But now wasn’t the time to take offense.

He needed Devin. But he also needed his privacy, and a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Look, not a word of this to the girls and Mother, do you hear?”

“Raise your voice any louder, and everyone between Newport Beach and San Francisco will hear.” Devin paused, as if considering something. “Send me a dollar.”

Evan thought he must have heard wrong. Devin was making even less sense than he normally did. And if this was a joke, it wasn’t funny. “What?”

“Send me a dollar,” Devin repeated mildly. “Then you’ll be a client and I won’t be able to tell them anything, even if they try to wheedle the information out of me.”

Evan knew his sisters were more than capable of getting a stone to talk if they set their minds to it. Determination, in one form or another, was a strain that ran through them all.

“You find out who this is, and I’ll send you more than a dollar. I intend to pay you for your services, you know,” he added, feeling somewhat uncomfortable about the whole arrangement. He didn’t want Devin getting the wrong impression. “I’m not asking for charity.”

Nothing changed. Evan was as uptight as ever. Devin blew out a breath. “In case you haven’t looked in the mirror lately, Evan, we’re brothers. It’s not called charity when it’s between family.”

Still, if you paid for something, you got what you paid for. “I’d feel better paying you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t.” There was a note of annoyance in his voice. There were lessons Evan had never learned, he thought. He wondered if his brother ever would. But now wasn’t the time for that, either. Devin got down to business. “How old is this baby?”

“You know I’m not any good at things like that.” But because Devin obviously wanted an answer, Evan thought for a minute, remembering the note. It had mentioned taking care of the baby for six months. “About six months old or so.”

Devin did a quick calculation. “I’m going to need a list of the names, numbers and addresses of the women you’ve been intimate with within the last two years or so.”

The laugh that met the request was dry and without humor. “Won’t be much of a list.” He waited for Devin to make some sort of snide comment. But Evan was disappointed.

“Good, I won’t have that much work to do. I’m really busy with another case, as it is.”

So Devin was working. No ego, no attempt at crowing or rubbing the matter in. Maybe he’d been too hard on Devin, after all. Evan thought a minute. “How about the cruise entertainer?”

She was the first one Devin intended to question. “By all means, include her.”

It wasn’t that easy. “I haven’t got an address for her, or a number. Or a name, for that matter,” he added, thinking out loud. “She called herself Siren.”

“Original,” Devin commented dryly. “That’s where the detecting part comes in, brother of mine.” He tapped a pencil on his desk, thinking. “I’ll need the name of the cruise line—and anything else you can think of. Fax everything to me when you’re ready.”

Evan was ready now. “I don’t have to fax it—I can give you everything you asked for right now.”

Jotting them down for his own sake as he went, Evan recited the women’s names. There was a grand total of three. He added in everything that seemed relevant, including the fact that as far as he knew, two of them were in relationships now. They might even be married. He’d lost touch.

“You’re right,” Devin agreed, looking the names over. “It’s a short list. Sure you haven’t forgotten anyone?”

Evan knew that Devin hadn’t meant it as a criticism, but it still smarted. “You’re the one who’s always had women pounding at your door, not me.”

His brother was referring to their formative years, Devin thought with a smile, when for some damn reason, Evan had hung back, refusing to avail himself of the ready companionship that was out there. But that was all in the past These days, Devin had more-serious thoughts on his mind than the easy, pleasurable loving of willing women. More and more, one woman was beginning to take center stage.

“Only because you weren’t interested,” Devin reminded him. He had the feeling his brother could do with someone in his corner. “Look, like I said, I’m busy with another case right now, but I can take a commuter flight and be up there in forty-five minutes if you need me.”

The offer was unexpected and appreciated, even if Evan didn’t know exactly how to make that fact known without embarrassing both himself and his brother. Because he didn’t know how else to do it, he let it slide without comment.

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