Chapter Six
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
