Lone Star Blues

Jordan knew that question encompassed more than just Adele’s bombshell. Karlee had no doubt heard about the other thing. “I’m okay.”

Karlee lifted her eyebrow.

“Not okay with Dylan,” Jordan corrected. “I guess he doesn’t have the same man-rules as most guys about having sex with someone in your ex’s family.”

Karlee didn’t argue with that or jump into some Dylan bashing. She just led Jordan into the house. Still no sign of Dylan, but Lucian was there, talking to someone on the phone. However, when he spotted Jordan, he stopped and issued a terse “I’ll have to call you back” before he ended the call and stared at her.

“Jordan,” Lucian greeted. It wasn’t anywhere on the friendly scale, but unless Lucian had changed a lot, it was downright warm and fuzzy for him. “It’s been a while.” Again, warm and fuzzy.

And that made Jordan silently curse.

He was treating her with kid gloves, and while she didn’t especially want a confrontation with the head of the Granger empire, she didn’t want him to look at her in that “poor, pitiful you” kind of way.

“Where are Dylan and Corbin?” she asked, and she didn’t bother to make her tone polite. Even with her bark, it didn’t cause Lucian’s “soft” expression to change.

Lucian hiked his thumb toward the back of the house. “They’re in the sunroom. This way.” Apparently, he thought her captivity had robbed her of memories about the layout of the house because he started ahead of her, showing her the way.

“Are things about to get ugly?” Karlee asked, following them. “Because if they are, I can take Corbin outside to play.”

It was a kind offer, and Jordan hoped she didn’t have to take Karlee up on it. Still, Jordan wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep her temper in check when she confronted Dylan. She didn’t want to yell in front of Corbin because it might frighten the little boy. It turned out, though, that her first response wasn’t to rant and rave. It was to try to hang on to her breath.

Because the air vanished when she saw Dylan.

Crap. She wasn’t immune to him after all.

He was indeed in the sunroom, and when Jordan stepped in, he looked at her, their eyes automatically connecting. For just a split second, the past fourteen years vanished. So did much of her dignity and common sense, and Jordan felt like a teenager again.

One who was kicked in the butt by the old lust.

And she silently cursed it. Really? After what he’d done, her body still wanted him?

Apparently so.

That probably had a lot to do with the fact that Dylan was still a lust-inducing cowboy with his rumpled dark brown hair and lazy smile. A smile he gave her until he remembered there wasn’t anything to smile about. Or at least there wasn’t until the little boy peeked out from behind Dylan’s leg.

Mercy, that face. Pure cuteness framed by curly hair. She had already known that she loved this child, but she had way underestimated the intensity of that love. All the anger inside her just vanished.

Corbin had a toy horse clutched in each hand, and judging from the other toys scattered around the sunroom, Dylan had managed to bring in plenty of stuff to keep a toddler entertained.

“It’s okay,” Dylan said to the boy. It was a tone that Jordan had thought she would never hear him use.

Because he sounded like a father.

That was a pretty fast transition, considering that Dylan had only known about Corbin for less than eight hours. And Corbin seemed to have adjusted, as well. At least he wasn’t crying. Unlike her. Jordan felt the tears in her eyes and quickly blinked them back.

Dylan scooped up Corbin and walked toward her, his attention not on her, thank goodness. Jordan didn’t want him to see the hint of those tears. Lucian was already looking at her as if she were a damaged box of goods, and Jordan didn’t want to see that in Dylan’s eyes, too.

“How is he?” Jordan managed to ask after she cleared her throat.

“He’s doing great,” Dylan answered, smiled, and Corbin gave him a smile right back.

On the surface, that was a good thing, Jordan reminded herself, but there were plenty of things not so good about this situation. “Any health problems?” She groaned because she sounded like a nurse and not the concerned relative that she was.

“Corbin has asthma,” Dylan explained. “But we have his meds.”

Asthma. She tried not to react to that, but it was hard. “Adele had that when she was a kid.” And she’d had a couple of attacks that were so bad that she’d landed in the hospital. Hopefully Corbin wouldn’t have to go through that.

Even though Dylan and she needed to talk, Jordan went closer, touching Corbin’s arm with just her fingertip. “Who dat?” he asked Dylan.

“Jordan,” she answered. And she wished she could put the aunt label in front of that. It sounded better than mere cousin, and it certainly didn’t stand up to the label that Dylan had.

Daddy.

But that didn’t erase the history that Jordan had with Adele. They’d been together for years, but she was betting Adele’s relationship with Dylan hadn’t lasted long at all. Probably a single night.

“Should I take Corbin so you two can talk?” Karlee offered.

Neither Jordan nor Dylan jumped to say yes, but Jordan finally had to nod. Dylan nodded, too, but he hesitated even longer than she did.

“Maybe you can go ahead and give him some dinner?” Dylan asked Karlee.

“Ice tream?” Corbin said, his whole face lighting up.

“For dessert,” Dylan assured him, jostling his hand through Corbin’s hair. “But you got to eat the real food first. Sorry.”

Corbin gave a little shrug that was almost identical to the one that Dylan gave him. It was a cute moment. One that made Jordan feel as if she’d just got caught in a downpour while wearing her Sunday best. She didn’t want it to pop into her head, but the thought came anyway. Fifteen years ago, this was the life she’d planned.

Dylan and a baby.

Now, here she was, thirty-four years old, and she didn’t have either of those things. Not that she wanted Dylan. Not as a husband and father anyway. She couldn’t stop the involuntary lust reaction, but her head knew that she was a lot better off without him.

Jordan had to keep repeating that to herself.

Corbin gave them a wave as Karlee ushered him out of the room, and Jordan waited until he was out of earshot before she snapped toward Dylan. “What happened to Adele?” she demanded. “And why are you Corbin’s father?”

Jordan really wished she’d figured out a better way to phrase that second question, and she hoped Dylan didn’t give her a smart-mouthed lesson about the birds and bees. But no lesson. He looked, well, uncomfortable. That was a good start, but Jordan wanted a lot more than a squirming look from him.

“Adele’s been charged with being in possession of stolen goods,” Dylan explained. “Lots of stolen goods. Specifically, forty-eight cases of SpaghettiOs and another thirty crates of Ding Dongs.”

Jordan was sure that she blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me right,” Dylan assured her, his expression flat now. “Adele arranged to receive stolen food. Apparently, she did it for a homeless shelter that’d lost its funding.”

She stood there, stunned, for several moments. All right. Stolen goods—even those taken for a noble cause—would definitely lead to an arrest. But the charge didn’t sound serious enough to force Adele to hand over custody of her son.

“Adele can get probation—” Jordan started, but Dylan interrupted.

“No. She won’t. I haven’t personally spoken with Adele,” Dylan went on, “but from what I’ve been able to find out from her lawyer, she’s getting some kind of plea deal to give the cops the names of others involved in the theft ring.”

“A theft ring?” Jordan howled. “She talked other people into helping her with this lunacy?”

“It looks that way. Some of them stole cases of flip-flops and raincoats.” He paused. “I can’t make sense of it, either. I mean, if you’re going to steal stuff for a homeless shelter, why take these things?”

Jordan didn’t have to think about it for long. “The food items are Adele’s favorites. Along with tacos.”

“Those were stolen, too,” Dylan added. “The boxed makings for them anyway.” He huffed. “And the flip-flops and raincoats?”

Jordan had to shake her head. Even she couldn’t fit that into Adele’s crazy logic. “So, we’re talking a lot of goods worth...what...hundreds of dollars?”

“Thousands,” he corrected. “Even with the plea deal, though, it’ll be a longer than average jail sentence because this isn’t her first offense.”

Oh God. When this conversation had started, Jordan thought the worst she would hear was that Adele was a misguided activist who was going to end up with hours of community service—something Adele would have probably enjoyed doing. Apparently not, though.

Jordan located the nearest chair and sank down onto it.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asked at the same moment that Lucian said, “I’ll get you some water.”

Jordan waved Lucian off. Water wasn’t going to help this. Heck, straight shots of liquor wouldn’t, either.

“You didn’t know about Adele’s prior arrests?” Dylan threw out there, but he didn’t wait for her to answer. “And yes, that’s plural. Four years ago she was arrested for trying to break into a jail and then for assaulting a guard when she kicked him in the nuts.”

Jordan had given more blank stares during this conversation than she had in years. “Adele tried to break into a jail? Why?”

Dylan shrugged. “One of her activist friends had been arrested, but Adele thought he’d been wrongfully accused. Anyway, she’s still on probation for that and for some other things, and that’s why she won’t get parole for this latest stunt.”

God, she’d been living under a massive rock when it came to Adele. Jordan had thought that because she hadn’t heard from her cousin that all was well. Or rather, well-ish. Things were never truly right when it came to Adele. But she hadn’t expected something this big. This wrong.

Dylan sat in the chair across from her though she didn’t think it was because he was unsteady on his feet. Like her. No. But he was giving her the same kind of “you’re broken” look that Lucian was.

Since Jordan didn’t want to admit there was apparently so much about Adele that she was clueless about, she just moved on to the next question. “You didn’t know Corbin was your son?”

Dylan immediately shook his head. “I haven’t seen Adele in over three years.”

You didn’t need any math skills to work that out. He’d last seen her when Corbin was conceived. Which made Jordan wonder—why hadn’t Adele told him? Heck, why hadn’t Adele told her?

Lucian walked closer and stood behind his brother. “Dylan doesn’t recall being with Adele.”

Jordan knew where this was going. “You were drunk.”

Heck, Adele likely had been, too. That didn’t make things easier though for Jordan to swallow, but she was well aware that Dylan had trouble remembering things when he drank.

Because it had happened the night they’d eloped.

After an incredible night of newlywed sex, Dylan had woken up, not remembering that he’d married her. Things had gone downhill from there. Unfortunately, even “downhill” had involved more incredible sex.

“I would have thought you’d learned your lesson,” Jordan mumbled.

“You’d think, especially since I’ve blacked out three times now,” Dylan mumbled back. “But in Adele’s case, it wasn’t booze. I had a bad reaction to some prescription cold meds. I remember seeing Adele that night, but that’s about it.”

So, once with her and another time with Adele, but Jordan didn’t want to know about the third.

“Because Dylan can’t remember—that’s why I want him and Corbin to take a DNA test,” Lucian said.

Dylan huffed. The kind of huff that came when an argument happened that the person already thought had been settled. “I don’t think Adele would lie about something like this.”

Yep, they’d already argued, and as much as Jordan hated to admit it, she could see Lucian’s side of this. Plenty of Granger money was at stake, maybe millions, and all because of drunken sex. Or in this case, medicated sex.

Lucian looked at Jordan as if she might take his side. She wouldn’t. That’s because she was about to bring up her own argument, and judging from what she’d witnessed between Dylan and Corbin, Dylan wasn’t going to like it.

She stood, dragging in a deep breath so she could start. But before she could get a word out, a little dog came trotting into the room. It had a piece of paper in its mouth. The dog went straight to Dylan and deposited it at his feet.

“Shit,” Dylan said.

“Hell,” Lucian said.

And both of them grabbed at it. The dog was quicker, though. As if this were a fine game the Yorkie was enjoying, he snapped up the paper and scurried to the other side of the room.

“Don’t let him eat it,” Dylan warned his brother. “He’s been shitting elastic all day from those red panties. I don’t want him shitting paper, too.”

Since that seemed unhealthy for the dog, Jordan went to help. Dylan, Lucian and she cornered the critter by a pair of wicker chairs, but just as Dylan was reaching for him, the dog ran through Dylan’s legs. That brought on more cursing, and they hurried after him.

“Booger!” Dylan snapped. “Drop that.”

With a name like Booger, Jordan doubted this was Dylan’s dog. No, this looked more like something his mother, Regina, would have.

Booger jetted around the room, somehow managing to keep hold of the tattered paper he was carrying. Jordan got lucky when he charged in her direction, and she managed to latch onto the paper. And that’s when Jordan saw what it was.

The Dylan Granger Sex Bingo Game.

She got only a glimpse of one of the boxes—get a stomach licking from Dylan—before Dylan snatched it away from her. He didn’t even look at it before he mumbled some profanity, crumbled it up and stuck it in his back pocket. Jordan hadn’t needed proof that her ex had gotten on with his life, but that was it.

“Any winners?” she asked, but Jordan waved that off.

Of course there were winners. Dylan was a hot, rich, charming cowboy. The red panties that the dog had partially eaten had likely belonged to one of the players of the game. However, there was something that Dylan couldn’t charm his way through.

Fatherhood.

Corbin needed stability. Someone who could help him manage his asthma in case Adele ended up in jail for a while. She figured after Dylan gave this some thought, that he’d actually be relieved by what she was about to say.

“I know that Adele signed over temporary custody to you.” Jordan looked Dylan straight in the eyes. “But she only did it because she thought I wouldn’t be in the picture. Well, I can be. And that’s why I’m here. Because I should be the one to have custody of Corbin.”

CHAPTER FOUR

HELL IN A turd-filled handbasket. Dylan’s head was no longer throbbing so he didn’t have any trouble hearing what Jordan had said.

I should be the one to have custody of Corbin.

No trouble feeling the kick-to-the-gut reaction that he had, either. Or the anger. Really bad, pissed-off anger.

That particular emotion wasn’t exactly a new feeling when it came to Jordan. They’d had way too many arguments before they’d split, but “out of sight” had cooled down some of that old ire. However, it hadn’t done squat for the way his eyeballs kept looking at her.

Specifically, at her mouth.

It had been Jordan’s mouth that’d first attracted him, and it was apparently still a lust magnet. Thankfully, though, he could push the lure of that mouth aside since it’d been the very part of her body to utter those words that’d riled him.

“I’m Corbin’s father,” Dylan reminded her.

“Biologically,” Jordan countered.

“Maybe,” Lucian reminded both of them.

Both Jordan and Dylan shot him glares. Dylan’s was meant to stop any future reminders like that from anyone, not just Lucian. Yeah, there were a lot of things in question, but Dylan was going to believe Adele on this. He also wouldn’t just hand over his son to Jordan. Or anybody else for that matter.

“Is this about that bingo card?” Dylan asked her. “Because if it is, I didn’t start that dumb game.”

Jordan took a deep breath. “It’s not just the game. It’s your, well, lifestyle. Red panties and sex cards. That can’t be good for Corbin.”

It wasn’t. But Dylan had planned on making some big changes in his life. Not that Jordan, Lucian or anybody else would believe it, but he would. He’d do whatever it took to make sure Corbin had a good life.

A good life that Jordan might not be able to give him.

“You’re still in the Air Force?” he asked.

Dylan knew it wasn’t just a simple question. There were other questions that went along with that, including the “right back in her face” reminder that deployments and overseas assignments might be good for a military officer but not necessarily for a toddler.

Jordan nodded. “I’m still in. For now. I’m being assigned to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio. But I’ve been...rethinking things.”

He saw it then, the slight shift of her posture, and she glanced away. Not exactly any in-your-face gestures, but Dylan could see something simmering just beneath the surface. And he wanted to kick himself. She was rethinking things because she’d been held captive by those insurgents.

Now he was the one who had to glance away from her. Even though Jordan and he hadn’t seen each other in years, she’d once been his wife. He still cared for her. Or at least he had cared before she’d done that custody-challenge throwdown about a minute ago. Now he was riled, along with wishing that something that bad hadn’t happened to her. But it had happened, and Dylan had to take it into account.

“Are you okay?” he asked her. And, yes, he probably should have figured out a different way to ask if she’d gone bat-crap crazy because of being held captive when she was on deployment.

Jordan’s eyes narrowed a little. Her mouth tightened, too, a reminder that yes, that mouth still had a way of getting his attention. That’s why Dylan looked away again.

“I’m fine.” Her tone was snappish, but it was like a person gushing blood saying that it was just a flesh wound. No way could she be fine after something like that, especially since it’d only happened weeks ago. Some folks didn’t get over trauma like that—ever.

“I can get out of the Air Force if I want,” she added a moment later, and her voice was a lot more even-keeled now. “While I’m on leave, I’m considering my options.”

Well, Dylan wanted her to consider those options elsewhere. But he immediately frowned at that thought. Feeling that way wasn’t right. Jordan was Corbin’s family, too, and the kid would need all the support that he could get.

“If you’re at Lackland Air Force Base, does that mean you won’t be deployed or have to go do temporary duty somewhere?” he pressed.

Jordan shook her head. Hesitantly shook it, though. “There’s still a chance something like that would happen.” Her tone was hesitant, too.

That was his winning argument, all wrapped in her own words. Well, it was a winner if she stayed on active duty and took that assignment.

“So, you’re saying you’ll get out of the military, move back here and sue Dylan for custody,” Lucian clarified. His brother didn’t say it as mean-spirited and grouchy as he could have. He did it more the way he would while negotiating a business deal that he wasn’t especially sold on. However, Dylan knew how Lucian wanted this particular deal to go down.

With Jordan getting custody.

And preferably, having the DNA results to prove that Corbin wasn’t even a Granger. That would tie everything up in a neat little package for Lucian.

Dylan didn’t want either of those things, and the only reason Lucian did was he thought this would interfere with business as usual. And all because he thought Dylan was too much of a screwup to handle raising a kid. Of course, Jordan felt the same way. He could see that in her eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dylan grumbled at the exact moment that Jordan said, “Don’t look at me like that.”

Obviously, they quit giving each other the looks that’d caused their comments, but that’s because they were both surprised now. And frowning. Even after all these years, they were on the same wavelength.

“I’m not broken,” Jordan snapped. “I was doing my job when I was taken—a job I was trained well to do—and then I was rescued. End of story.”

Since she’d gotten a little louder and a little crisper with each word of that explanation, Dylan doubted it was anywhere near the end. Nope. His sex bingo past didn’t hold a candle to possible PTSD, though Dylan wasn’t especially pleased that he’d won this particular contest.

Dylan was about to tell her how terrible he felt about this god-awful thing that’d happened to her, once he figured out how to say it, that is, but her phone buzzed before he had a chance to work that out.

Jordan yanked the cell from her jeans pocket, and when she saw the name on the screen, she glanced up at the ceiling as if asking for some divine intervention. Obviously, this wasn’t a call she especially wanted to take. Probably because she was more interested in continuing her debate with Dylan, but she hit the answer button anyway.

“Theo,” she greeted the caller.

Theo. She hadn’t exactly said that with love and affection, but judging from the way the name just rolled off her tongue, it was a name she said often.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t talk now,” she added, dodging Dylan’s gaze.

Yeah, definitely a rolling off the tongue kind of name. Which meant this guy was probably her boyfriend. Or maybe even her fiancé. She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring, though. But then, the only jewelry she had on was a thin gold chain around her neck.

“No, we’re working that out now. I’ll call you later,” Jordan told him. She hit the end call button, put her phone away and faced Dylan again. She looked a lot more steeled up than she had earlier so Theo must have worked some good mojo with whatever he’d said to her.

However, the “working out” didn’t get to happen because the doorbell rang. Dylan really didn’t want to deal with anything else today, but apparently someone answered it because it wasn’t long before Dylan heard the footsteps. And the voice that went with them.

“I need to see Dylan right now.”

Great. More complications.

Maybe he should look to the ceiling for some divine assistance, too. Because that voice belonged to none other than Judge Walter Ray Turley.

Several moments later, the hulking man appeared in the doorway of the sunroom. It would have been impossible to miss him since the judge was built like a sumo wrestler, and his facial expressions were just as intimidating. Thankfully, he wore more clothes, though. Walter Ray didn’t seem to make good use of his champagne budget. He was wearing jeans and a yellow plaid jacket that clashed with his dark red cowboy hat.

There was also that nose.

Walter Ray probably didn’t know that most folks called him dick-nose, and it was a well-earned moniker. It was one of those noses that made you stare and wonder why the heck he hadn’t run to a plastic surgeon.

Dylan’s first reaction was to tell the judge to get lost. Lucian must have known that, too, because he shook his head. Definitely a silent warning. Without saying a word, Lucian lectured him about the fact that Walter Ray was a powerful man in these parts. A powerful man with multiple daughters, two of whom Dylan had seen naked. And one of the daughters had won the sex bingo game. For the sake of business, Dylan decided to hold his tongue.

For as long as he could.

But his fun meter was at zero right now, and the judge had better not do anything to send that meter into the minus setting.