Buch lesen: «Twins For Christmas»

Chapter One

Noah Knight’s wet jeans clung uncomfortably to his thighs. Drenched, he took refuge from the rain in a dimly lit bar. Finnegan’s Pub in College Station, Texas, catered to an older crowd. At thirty-two he wasn’t exactly middle-aged, but he was too old to find common ground with the majority of the local college students.

Once, sometimes twice, a year he conducted helicopter-logging recruitment seminars in town. Now he had four hours until his flight home to Aurora, Oregon. It gave him enough time to grab a bite and a beer or two before catching a cab to the airport. Noah wanted a booth to himself, but they were all taken, so he sat at the bar. He wasn’t in the mood for company after being awake for the last thirty hours.

He placed his order and reviewed the preliminary applications he’d collected during the seminar. One out of the twelve had potential, while the rest had been drawn to the danger of the job rather than the job itself.

“Enough work for today,” Noah muttered. He flipped his portfolio closed and jammed it into his bag, then picked up the folded newspaper someone had left behind on the stool next to him.

“That poor girl.” The bartender nodded to the paper as he set a pint of beer on a coaster in front of Noah. “She used to come in here and study right over there in that booth.” He nodded toward the corner of the pub. “Said it was quieter than the sorority house. Lived on coffee and fries.”

Noah read the obituary.

Lauren Marie Elgrove, 24, Boston, Massachusetts, formerly of Ramblewood, Texas, was killed Friday, November 18, 2016, in a car accident. Born on October 30, 1992, to James and Elizabeth Elgrove (both deceased) of San Angelo, Texas. She is survived by her twin twenty-one-month-old daughters, Charlotte and Cheyenne. Graveside services will be held at 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday at the Memorial Garden Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, contributions to the Charlotte and Cheyenne Education Fund are being accepted through Hannah Tanner of Ramblewood.

Noah felt a touch of sadness. A single cold paragraph seemed inappropriate when someone’s life had been cut so short. He unfolded the newspaper and the woman in the photograph above the obituary almost knocked him off his stool. Carefully he read the caption: “Lauren Elgrove with her daughters, Charlotte and Cheyenne.”

Lauren. His shoulders sagged. They’d met a few years ago in this very bar. She had graduated earlier that day and had been celebrating with a friend. The memory made him smile. He had found her fascinating as she spoke of biochemistry and physics. He could still hear her infectious laugh. They’d spent the night together tangled between the sheets, but he woke up the following morning alone.

Last names and phone numbers had been an afterthought and he’d never seen her again, which was a shame because he had wanted a chance to get to know her better. She’d popped into his head a few times since then, probably more than he cared to admit.

He calculated the dates quickly in his head—they’d slept together around two and a half years ago. Staring at the photograph, he saw his own eyes reflected back in the twins’ faces. Noah’s chest tightened and he swore he stopped breathing. Was it possible? Were Charlotte and Cheyenne his daughters? His gut told him he already knew the answer, but he needed confirmation.

His mind raced. “Excuse me.” Noah fought to steady his voice and waved for the bartender. “You—” He cleared his throat as the man approached. “You said you knew this woman—Lauren Elgrove?”

The bartender’s head slowly bobbed up and down. “She had a bright future ahead of her.”

“There’s no mention of the children’s father. Do they have one?” Noah winced at his own question. Nervousness trumped diplomacy and tact. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he was the father.

“I haven’t seen Lauren in at least two years.” The bartender shrugged. “I didn’t even know she had kids until I saw her obituary. Your order will be right up.”

Noah attempted to wrap his mind around the possibility he’d fathered twins without knowing it. What were the chances? If she had spent the night with him, maybe she had done the same thing with other men. That didn’t seem like Lauren. Not that he knew who Lauren had really been. One night certainly hadn’t made him an expert. Despite the passion they’d shared, there had been a shyness about her and he doubted she’d slept around.

He raked his fingers down his face and exhaled. How could it be possible? They had used protection. Picking up the paper again, he braved another glance at the photo. His hands shook as he scanned the grainy print. Speculating wouldn’t do him any good. He needed to physically lay eyes on them and see for himself.

Noah smacked the top of the bar. “Change of plans. Make mine to go and can you call me a taxi?” Home would have to wait. Instead, he intended to rent a car and drive to the town mentioned in the newspaper. Ramblewood, wherever that was. He wasn’t leaving the state until he found out if those girls were his. His head began to spin. What if they were his daughters? Did he want to be their father?

* * *

FOR THE SECOND night in a row, Hannah Tanner paced the floor of the twins’ bedroom. She cradled one girl in each arm in an attempt to soothe them. It had been less than a week since Lauren’s death. She hadn’t yet processed that she’d never see her best friend again, let alone that she was the legal guardian of twins.

“Mommy!” Cheyenne shrieked at the top of her lungs. The girls had been restless last night, but tonight was much worse. She’d been adamantly against letting them attend Lauren’s funeral earlier in the day, but her family had convinced her the children needed some semblance of closure and a chance to say goodbye. She didn’t feel they needed to see the coffin or know Mommy was going in the ground. She shivered at the thought. She understood death, but it was Lauren. How could she be gone?

The twins were having a hard time adjusting to the drastic changes in their lives and she couldn’t blame them. It had been bad enough when Lauren accepted a job so far away, moving her small family to Boston. Now the children were uprooted once again. Hannah couldn’t remember anything that had occurred in her life at twenty-one months old and she hoped the girls would forget both the upheaval and the funeral this morning. But doing so would mean they’d forget their mother, and Hannah couldn’t bear the thought.

“What’s a matter, baby girl?” Her sister-in-law, Abby, entered the room and lifted Cheyenne out of her arms. “Hannah, why don’t you take a shower and unwind for a little bit. I’m not going anywhere. You need a break.”

The strength to protest escaped her, which would have been fine if her heart didn’t fill with guilt every time the girls were out of sight. They were perceptive and they knew something was wrong. Her mother said they were grieving. How was that possible if they didn’t understand the concept of never seeing their mother again? No, they were confused. They’d been in a horrific car accident and now Mommy wasn’t around.

Hannah padded down the hallway into the bathroom, closing the door and shutting herself off from the rest of the world. She could still hear the officer explaining what had happened. Lauren had been thrown from the car and had died on impact. Thankfully, the twins had been relatively unharmed. Hannah had caught a flight to Boston the following morning to pick up the girls, her mother by her side. Monday morning, the four of them had flown home to Ramblewood. The funeral home had arranged for Lauren to be flown back with them.

Everything had happened so fast. Thanksgiving was in two days. The twins’ second Thanksgiving and the first without their mother. And then there was Christmas. How would they ever get through Christmas? How would they get through today?

After her shower, she peeked in the room at Charlotte and Cheyenne. Both twins were curled up together in one crib while Abby read them a bedtime story. She tiptoed down the stairs, praying the worn boards wouldn’t creak and shift the twins’ focus from Abby onto her. Her belly growled. It had been days since she’d last eaten a decent meal.

Trays of food covered the butcher-block kitchen countertop. She had intended to sand and oil the counter this week as part of her never-ending house renovations. It’d have to wait along with the rest of her plans. She grabbed a plate from the cupboard and lifted the foil lids of various dishes.

“Honey, I didn’t hear you come down.” Her mother appeared in the doorway. “I’ve devised a system. Desserts not needing refrigeration are on this counter.” Fern waved her arm dramatically as if she were Vanna White turning a letter. “The other nonperishables, like breads and crackers, are over here. And I managed to freeze most of the casseroles, but I left the sandwiches and salads in the refrigerator for you to nibble on. What wouldn’t fit in your freezer, your father took home to ours. Let us know when you need something and we’ll send it over.”

“I think we have enough food to last a year.” Hannah chose a turkey sandwich, poured herself a glass of water and sat at the table. “Mom, how am I going to afford this? Most of my money goes into the ranch. I still have upcoming competitions I’d be crazy to back out of. We need the prize money. It helps that I board and train horses, but it’s still not enough for the three of us to live off. I can’t compete in Vegas in a few weeks with all this going on. I’d pick up some extra hours teaching at the rodeo school if I had any extra hours to give.” She shook her head. “That would mean spending less time with the girls, and I won’t do that to them. I still can’t believe Lauren didn’t have life insurance.”

Fern sat across from her at the table, clasping Hannah’s hands between her own. “You have a huge support system in place. Everybody loved Lauren and the girls. Donations are already coming in. And your father and I will help you in whatever way we can.”

Hannah cringed. She hated feeling like a charity case, but as much as it pained her to admit it, she needed the charity. When Lauren had discovered she was pregnant, Hannah promised she’d help raise the babies. Lauren’s parents had died years earlier and she’d had no one.

“This house isn’t ready for children,” Hannah said. Her father and brother had begun working on the turn-of-the-century farmhouse as soon as Hannah and her mother had left for Boston. She wasn’t complaining, but the expenses had already gotten out of hand, charity or not. The ranch was supposed to be a long-term endeavor, and now she had to rush to finish the projects she’d started after Lauren moved out. “None of this feels real. I keep waiting for her to call or pop in and yell surprise any minute.”

Hannah pushed the sandwich away. She had the annual Christmas Dash-4-Cash barrel race on Saturday and she needed to take home first prize. She couldn’t even begin to think how she’d maintain her rodeo schedule next year with the twins in tow. But giving it up was out of the question if she expected to keep a roof over their heads.

She had already spread herself too thin. Between her part-time job teaching at the rodeo school and training barrel race horses on her ranch, she hardly found time to practice her own sport. As much as she loved racing, she didn’t want to be doing it when she was fifty.

She had a strong five-year plan. At least she’d thought so a week ago. She’d bought the ranch with organic farming in mind, but the large stables and round pen areas had given her the opportunity to board horses in addition to training them. Every waking hour of her day had been chock-full before the twins had become her full-time responsibility. None of her careful planning mattered anymore. Her first priority had to be Charlotte and Cheyenne, and she didn’t even know where to begin.

* * *

IT WAS ALMOST ten o’clock in the evening when Noah rolled down Main Street. Ramblewood was located in the heart of Hill Country, almost two hundred miles southwest of College Station. The town was quiet except for a local honky-tonk. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see when he drove into town. He’d had an inexplicable need to get to Ramblewood, uncertain of what he’d find or even wanted to find. He’d asked himself the same question repeatedly during the three-and-a-half-hour drive. What will I do if the girls are mine? Somewhere south of Austin he’d concluded he wasn’t ready to be a dad. It might be a little too late for that, though.

He had passed a hotel on the way into town and decided to double back and check in for the night. After he spoke to his boss and let him know he wouldn’t be coming into work until sometime after Thanksgiving, he phoned his mother. Her disappointment that he wouldn’t be home for the holiday coupled with her curiosity about the business that would keep him away left him antsier than before. He loved his mom, but he felt the need to leave out the majority of the details. She’d be on the next plane to Texas complicating matters further if she knew the whole story. Once he had the paternity results, then he would tell her—if there was anything to tell.

He walked down the hotel hallway to grab a soda from the vending machine. How do you let your mom know you’re the father of almost-two-year-old twins? Hell, he couldn’t even fathom the fact he may have created another life, let alone two lives. His knees buckled. He reached out for the wall to steady himself, almost knocking a fire extinguisher to the floor.

I can’t breathe.

Noah barreled through the exit leading to the outdoor pool. He collapsed into one of the lounge chairs and closed his eyes, praying the world would stop spinning. Paternity test. He’d heard about them on The Jerry Springer Show, but he’d never actually known someone who needed to take one. He had no idea how long a test would even take, but he’d schedule it right after he found out where the girls lived. If he could find them. He had to find them. But then what? Take them home? He supposed the sooner the children had an established routine, the better. The thought alone surprised him. Hours ago, he was a childless man sitting in a bar. Now he might be the father of two, worrying about their routine. No, he definitely wasn’t ready for this.

Noah had hoped to find fresh perspective by morning, but that would’ve required sleep. Instead, he was back in town before the sun was even above the horizon. Memorial Garden Cemetery had been simple enough to locate. The freshly covered grave and flower arrangements were visible from the street. His feet felt leaden as he forced himself out of the car and onto the lawn. The gentle autumn breeze carried the delicate scent of roses and carnations, almost teasing him with the promise of something happy.

A hand-printed sign had been placed at the head of the grave. The L and E in her name stood out long before he got close enough to read the rest. He’d been to more than his share of funerals, but he’d never seen this many flowers. The obituary had even requested donations be made to an educational fund for the girls in lieu of flowers. The phrasing had left a bad taste in his mouth. His children shouldn’t need donations when he could provide for them. And he would have if he had known they existed. He snorted quietly. Here he was getting annoyed about other people providing for two kids he didn’t even know were his. The sound of a truck backfiring startled him. A battered Ford pickup trundled into the cemetery on what appeared to be its last legs. Appropriate place for it to die. He caught a glimpse of the driver. She looked remarkably like the woman he’d pulled up on the internet last night. Hannah Tanner...one of the country’s top barrel racers. Hers was the only other name mentioned in the obituary. His only lead to the truth.

He casually walked away from the grave, slipping his sunglasses on to hide his obvious perusal. After exiting the driver-side door, she lifted two tiny tots out of the passenger side. Since when was it okay for kids to ride in the front seat of a truck? Holding each of their hands in hers, they made their way slowly toward the mountain of flowers. Hannah’s long copper-red hair shone in the morning sun. And that was when it hit him.

Hannah was the woman who had been with Lauren when they’d met. In the pictures he’d seen online, her hair had been pulled away from her face and she’d worn a cowboy hat. This morning she wore an unadorned black button-down dress and a cropped denim jacket along with a pair of worn cowboy boots.

He climbed back into his car as he watched them, almost feeling guilty for intruding on their private moment. A part of him wanted to walk up and say hello. But if she recognized him, how would she explain who he was to the kids? He had been a one-night stand, nothing more. He wasn’t exactly a friend, either. If only the twins would turn around and look his way. A photo in a newspaper wasn’t the same as seeing them in person. He needed to be sure before he approached them.

After watching them for a few minutes, he detected the twins’ subtle differences. One was slightly taller than the other. Their barely shoulder-length, rich mahogany-brown hair reminded him of Lauren’s. When the shorter of the two faced his direction, he noticed hers was a shade or two lighter. Her gaze met his and he knew. His heart began to race. The urge to run to her and scoop her into his arms caught him off guard. She had his eyes—electric blue. They were piercingly visible even from a distance and he’d bet any amount of money in the world they were rimmed in black. He should go to her—to them—but his body remained frozen. Perspiration trickled down his left temple.

Before he could muster the will to approach them, they climbed into the old pickup and left. Noah’s palms began to sweat against the steering wheel, which he’d been using for support. Panic set in. What if he never saw them again? Fear and anxiety gripped his heart. He may not be ready to be a father, but he couldn’t walk away. Not without making absolutely sure.

He started his rental car, preparing to follow them. As they drove onto Main Street, he almost lost them at a traffic light. Once it changed, he managed to catch up while maintaining a reasonable distance until they turned onto a dusty ranch road. Quickly jotting down where he was and how he got there, he reluctantly headed into town. He could have followed them home, but that seemed creepy. He didn’t want to scare them or cause Hannah to feel unsafe. Approaching them required some thought and definitely more finesse than he had at the moment.

If he planned to stay in Texas for more than one night, he needed to buy some clothes and toiletries. His original trip to Texas hadn’t involved staying longer than a day. Maybe he’d be able to learn more about Hannah and her connection to the kids before he made his next move. He’d start with calling the hospital about a paternity test. If he was right, he had some enormous decisions to make. That both terrified and excited him. None of his relationships had reached the kid-talk stage. He’d assumed he would have kids someday, but he had never given much thought as to when.

Noah took a deep breath. Most men had nine months to plan for this; he hadn’t even had twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter. He’d love them more than life itself. Noah smiled. He already did.

* * *

THE RAP AGAINST the screen door caught Hannah by surprise. Everyone she knew didn’t bother with formalities and always let themselves in.

“It’s open,” Hannah called from beside the living room hearth. She wanted to finish replacing the loose tiles before her mother dropped off the kids. The person knocked again.

What in the world? Hannah huffed.

She scraped off her trowel and loosely covered the tub of adhesive grout. Her parents had taken the twins over to their house to play, giving her a chance to make some repairs without them underfoot. Just when she completed one task, she’d notice another potential hazard. She’d even considered sending them to her parents’ house to stay for a week or two, but she didn’t want to confuse them even further. “I said it was open.”

Hannah rounded the corner to the front door, surprised to see a stranger in a pantsuit peering at her through the screen.

“Miss Hannah Tanner?” the woman asked.

Hannah hesitated. The woman looked official...too official. “May I help you?”

“Are you Hannah Tanner?” the woman asked a bit more sternly.

Hannah stiffened her spine and gripped the doorframe. “I am, and who might you be?”

“I’m Constance Malone from Luna County Social Services.” The woman’s face showed zero expression. “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend Lauren Elgrove. Normally I would have called first, but I was unable to find a number for you. I’m here to follow up on the placement of Charlotte and Cheyenne Elgrove. May I come in?”

“I don’t have a house phone, just a cell.” Hannah opened the screen door, allowing her to enter. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expecting you. I gave all my information to Social Services in Boston. I didn’t realize there was anything more for me to do.”

Constance glanced around the foyer toward the living room, and then in the opposite direction at the dining area, which had become a construction catchall over the past few days.

“Please pardon the mess.” Hannah wrung her hands. “We’re in the middle of making some improvements on the house.”

“We?” Constance removed a pen and notebook from her oversized tote and began writing.

“My family and I.” Hannah didn’t appreciate being on the defensive in her own home. “I am trying to baby-proof the house. The girls’ arrival was quite unexpected.”

“Where are the children? I would like to meet them.”

“They’re visiting with my parents for a few hours while I work on the house.” Hannah pulled her phone from her pocket. “I can call and have my mom bring them back.”

“I can meet them another time.” Constance stepped farther into the living room. “I understand they have lived with you before. Do you mind if I have a look around? I’m required to perform a home evaluation.”

Oh, crap! “Um, sure. I wasn’t exactly prepared for your visit.”

“I understand this is rather sudden. Everyone involved needs time to adjust. That’s why I’m here—to aid in the girls’ adjustment.” Constance examined the thermostat. “Do you always keep it this cold in here?” She jotted down something on her notepad.

Hannah tugged the bandanna from the top of her head in a vain attempt to look more presentable. “I lowered it because my brother sanded the banister earlier and I wanted to air the residual dust out of the house before I damp mopped the floors. That’s also why the front door was open.” She ran her hand down the front of her paint-stained T-shirt.

She followed closely behind Constance for almost an hour as the woman took numerous notes. Hannah’s jaw began to ache from clenching it so tightly. After a mini interrogation about her lifestyle and finances, the social worker handed her a mile-long list of items that needed to be resolved before next week’s inspection.

“What happens if I can’t get these completed by then?” Hannah asked. They’d been mired in long-term renovations even before they realized they’d need to baby-proof.

“Miss Tanner, we understand this is a very difficult time for you and the children.” Constance removed her glasses. “It’s not my intention to appear hardhearted, but your home isn’t exactly a child-friendly environment. I know you were in the middle of renovations when the twins arrived, but it’s my job to put their safety first. I sympathize with you, but I’m afraid if the repairs aren’t made, I’ll be forced to remove the children and place them in temporary foster care until your home is ready. And I’m emphasizing temporary. It wouldn’t be forever. Just until you are better equipped to manage them.”

“Foster care?” Hannah tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m their legal guardian. Our attorneys drew up the documents when Lauren created her will before the twins were born.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” Constance gathered the paperwork she’d spread across the kitchen table. “Since you already have a couple of completed rooms and what appears to be a strong support system, I feel comfortable leaving them here with you, for now. But I urge you to complete that list. I will work with you in whatever way I can. It’s clear to me you’re making a valiant effort. Please be sure the children are available next week. I will be out to see you next Friday.”

Hannah followed Constance to the door. Even with her family’s help, it would be impossible to finish everything. “What if I move into my parents’ house with the girls until the repairs are completed? Will that give me more time?”