Wrangler’s Creek’s most eligible bad boy has just become its most eligible single dad

Dylan Granger could always count on his rebellious-cowboy charm to get his way—until the day his wife, Jordan, left him and joined the military. The realization that during a wild night he got her cousin pregnant is shocking enough. But the news that Jordan has come home to Texas to help raise the baby is the last thing he expects.

Raising a baby with Dylan in Wrangler’s Creek is a life Jordan might’ve had years ago, but she doesn’t want regrets. She wants what’s best for the child—and to find out if there’s something deeper between her and her ex than blazing-hot chemistry. Getting closer means letting down her guard to Dylan again, but will he be able to accept the emotional scars on her heart?

Also available from Delores Fossen

and HQN Books

A Wrangler’s Creek Novel

Lone Star Cowboy (ebook novella)

Those Texas Nights

One Good Cowboy (ebook novella)

No Getting Over a Cowboy

Just Like a Cowboy (ebook novella)

Branded as Trouble

Cowboy Dreaming (ebook novella)

Texas-Sized Trouble

Cowboy Heartbreaker (ebook novella)

The McCord Brothers

What Happens on the Ranch (ebook novella)

Texas on My Mind

Cowboy Trouble (ebook novella)

Lone Star Nights

Cowboy Underneath It All (ebook novella)

Blame It on the Cowboy

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Lone Star Blues

Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08325-6

Lone Star Blues

Lone Star Blues © 2018 Delores Fossen Cowboy Heartbreaker © 2018 Delores Fossen

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen

“Always a Lawman...includes plenty of thrills, romance, suspense and a hot cowboy/lawman hero.”

—RT Book Reviews

“This is much more than a romance.”

—RT Book Reviews on Branded as Trouble

“Nicky and Garret have sizzling chemistry!”

—RT Book Reviews on No Getting Over a Cowboy

“Clear off space on your keeper shelf, Fossen has arrived.”

—New York Times bestselling author Lori Wilde

“Delores Fossen takes you on a wild Texas ride with a hot cowboy.”

—New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels

“You will be sold!”

—RT Book Reviews on Blame It on the Cowboy

“This...series...has gotten better and better with each new installment.”

—RT Book Reviews on Holden, part of The Lawmen of Silver Creek Ranch miniseries

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

THE FIRST THING that Dylan Granger saw when he opened his eyes was the woman’s naked butt. It was impossible to miss it because he’d been using it for a pillow.

Hell, not again.

It was one thing to face an unfamiliar butt when he was twenty, but he was thirty-four now and too old for this.

He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. He was in his own bed. Well, sort of. He was in his own room anyway at his family’s ranch, but only the bottom half of his body was actually on the mattress. The rest of him was angled off the bed, his arms dangling, and his face was squished against the woman’s left butt cheek.

At least it was soft.

Groaning and grunting, Dylan lifted his head. It wasn’t easy. He felt every one of the tequila shots he’d downed the night before. All for a good cause—it had been his brother’s bachelor party. At least it’d seemed like a good cause when the celebration was in full swing. Right now, Dylan could just add it to his too old for this shit list.

He managed to scoot back on the mattress so he could sit up, and that’s when he realized he was fully clothed. In fact, he still had on his cowboy boots, and his jeans were even zipped. Those were good signs.

The naked woman on the floor, however, wasn’t a good sign in any way, shape or form.

She was on her stomach, her face turned away from him, and she was snoring. He couldn’t tell who she was. But she was blonde, and there was a bumble bee tat on her lower back. That was hardly enough info for Dylan to make an ID so he gave her arm a little shake to wake her so he could ask her name.

“Go away,” she grumbled without moving, and within seconds she was snoring again.

Not exactly a friendly reaction, but maybe she, too, was feeling the effects of multiple tequila shots.

Dylan made himself stand up. Again, there was nothing easy about it. All the livestock in the entire state of Texas were clomping in his head. The room was spinning, and every strand of his hair was hurting. That’s why it took him a good minute, maybe more, to make it a couple of steps to the other side of the woman so he could get a look at her face.

And after that look, he still didn’t know who she was.

It was hard to tell with her cheek squished from her awkward sleeping position. At least there was no wedding or engagement ring, thank God.

He forced himself to try to remember what had happened at the party. It’d been at the Longhorn Bar here in his hometown of Wrangler’s Creek. There’d been strippers and skimpily dressed cocktail waitresses. His brother Lawson had been there, of course, since it was his bachelor party, and plenty of their friends had shown up, as well.

Dylan’s other brother, Lucian, had even made an appearance. The only other things Dylan could recall with any accuracy were the tequila shots and the limos he’d hired to make sure everybody got home safe and sound. That included him. He remembered coming into the house. Even recalled staggering into his bedroom, but there sure as heck hadn’t been a naked woman when he’d arrived.

Dylan blinked hard a couple of times to get his eyes to focus, and he glanced around the room, looking for the snoring woman’s purse so he could find out her name. But no purse. No clothes scattered around, either.

That was another bad sign.

He went into the bathroom, took a quick shower, and after he dressed, he headed downstairs to go all Sherlock Holmes and look for clues. He soon found one, too. The housekeeper, Marylou Culver, was in the hall heading toward his room, and she had a heap of women’s clothes gathered up in her arms. Dylan saw a devil-red lace bra and what appeared to be a strappy black dress. Two equally strappy silver shoes dangled from Marylou’s fingers. Since Marylou was in her sixties and usually dressed like a 1950s schoolteacher, the clothing probably didn’t belong to her.

“Uh, these things were on the stairs and on the front porch,” Marylou said. “I’m guessing you have...company.”

It was no guess, and Marylou’s slightly disapproving look told him that. The woman had only worked at the ranch for a month or so, but Dylan knew his reputation preceded him. It wasn’t the first time a housekeeper had found women’s clothes on the stairs. Or even the porch. And that kind of information wouldn’t have stayed secret for long in a small town like Wrangler’s Creek.

“There was a pair of panties, as well,” Marylou went on, “but the dog got to them before I could.”

Great. The dog was Booger, the persnickety Yorkie that his mom had left at the ranch while she went to a yoga retreat in Costa Rica. Booger had failed multiple obedience programs, and he was finicky about what food touched his mouth. Everything else was fair game, though. Manure-caked boots, table legs, toilet paper. He’d probably chewed the panties to shreds by now.

“How did the dog get out of the house?” he asked.

“Beats me. Maybe he got out when you and the naked woman came in.”

That was possible. After all, if he couldn’t remember the woman, then he might not have noticed a dog the size of his foot making an escape. “Was there a purse or wallet with the clothes?”

Marylou shook her head. “I can keep looking, though. What do you want me to do with these?” She tipped her head to the clothes.

“Just put them outside my bedroom door for now.” Best not to have Marylou actually witness the bare butt for herself. She already had enough gossip to fuel the town for a week or two.

Dylan started down the stairs on a mission to find some strong coffee, the naked woman’s ID and perhaps a large rock that he could use to hit himself on the head for drinking too much.

“Oh, and your brother wants to see you,” Marylou added. “He’s not in a very good mood.”

Before she’d tacked on that last part, he was about to ask which brother, but Lucian was the most qualified for the bad mood award. That meant Dylan would avoid him. At least until he’d tanked up on coffee and got the naked woman clothed and wherever she should be.

He made a beeline for the kitchen, hoping it was empty. No such luck. But at least it wasn’t Lucian, Booger or another naked woman. However, it was a female.

Lucian’s assistant, Karlee O’Malley.

She was pouring herself some coffee, but she took one look at him and handed him the quart-sized mug that’d been meant for her. “Are you already regretting the vow of celibacy you took last night?” Karlee asked.

Since Dylan had been in midmumble to thank her, it took him a moment to hear what she’d said. As bad as he needed the coffee—and he needed it—he didn’t gulp any down just so he could say, “Wh-what?”

Karlee whipped out her phone from her pocket and pulled up a video. Of him.

“I, Dylan Granger,” he slurred on the video, “do hereby take a vow of celibacy for the next month.” He’d only pronounced two of those words correctly. “No form of sex whatsoever. If I fail, then I agree to carry out the donation.”

“I’m guessing lots of alcohol was involved in this,” Karlee said. It wasn’t a question. “Especially since you sent it to me shortly after midnight.”

Oh yes, alcohol had been involved. He’d been drunk, and Lucian hadn’t been, which meant his turd-head brother had likely been the one to come up with this stupid idea.

“Do you remember doing this?” Karlee pressed.

Unfortunately, he did. Now that his head was clearing some, more of what’d happened was coming back to him. But it was coming back as impaired, jumbled memories that Dylan wasn’t especially eager to remember.

“The last time you got drunk was what...three years ago?” Karlee went on. “That’s when you ended up staying in a hotel in San Antonio, and you called me to come and get you. You didn’t remember much of anything then.”

He had indeed ended up in a hotel after a party and had called Karlee the morning after when he couldn’t find his truck. But that hadn’t been because of tequila shots but rather a bad reaction to some prescription cold meds. The pills had knocked him on his butt.

“What’s the donation?” Karlee, again. Her forehead bunched up. “It’s not like to a sperm bank, is it?”

No, thank God. This didn’t involve anything that would require him to lower his zipper. “Fifty grand to be donated to the Wrangler’s Creek Charity Rodeo.”

Karlee’s mouth quivered as she fought back a smile. She lost that fight. Smiled. Then, she laughed. And she kept on laughing until Dylan glared at her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, but she was clearly still trying to hold back a giggle. “But you’ve never come close to lasting a month. What will the rodeo committee do with all that extra money?”

Dylan wanted to believe that was a dilemma that the committee would never face, but Karlee was right. He’d never lasted that long. Still, it was probably time he took on this challenge. Time he gave up booze completely, too.

“Where’s Lucian?” Dylan asked after he got some more coffee in him.

“He’s here at the house, in his office.” Karlee checked the time on her phone. “He wants to see you, but he’ll be leaving in about a half hour for San Antonio.”

There was nothing unusual about any of those three things she’d just told him. Lucian only lived part-time at the ranch, which meant he was always coming and going. Though there’d likely be no going today until he’d seen Dylan. Which was fine because now that he had seen the video and had some coffee, Dylan wanted to confront his big brother about what part he’d played in that vow.

“When I came in earlier, I saw what appeared to be bits and pieces of a pair of shredded red panties by the back porch,” Karlee added. “Should I ask about them?”

“Only if you can tell me who they belong to.” He saw the concern flash through her eyes so he added, “There’s a naked woman in my bedroom.”

The concern vanished, and she had a fight with another smile. “Your celibacy didn’t last long.”

“I think it did. I woke up like this.” He fanned his hands over his fully clothed body, and then pointed to his closed zipper.

Of course, if Lucian knew about the naked woman, and Dylan was betting he did, then there was no way his brother would believe that sex hadn’t happened. That meant Lucian would try to hold him to the stupid celibacy agreement.

And to that rodeo donation.

Lucian might have even planted the naked woman in Dylan’s room. Though this kind of prank seemed more suited to a teenager than a grown man.

Dylan didn’t mind giving the money to the rodeo. It was for a good cause since they used the profits to fund the hospital library and such. In fact, he made an anonymous donation every year. He just didn’t want the money tied to his sex life or a drunken vow.

Karlee gave his arm a pat. “Have you actually thought about the wacky notion of giving up on all this frat boy behavior and settling down?”

Even though Karlee hadn’t meant for it to happen, that gave him some instant bad memories. He’d tried settling down, once, and he had the wedding band in his dresser drawer to prove it.

Since there was no way Dylan wanted to talk about that, he just flashed Karlee one of his grins. The kind that made men smile back and women blush. Karlee didn’t blush, but she did shake her head.

“Just hang in there,” she said. “Once Lucian is back in San Antonio, I’ll try to keep him as slammed as I can with meetings and such so he’ll get his nose out of the ranch business.”

Dylan wanted to kiss her. Not in the way he wanted to kiss most attractive women. And Karlee was indeed attractive. But he didn’t feel that way about her.

Plus, she was also in love with Lucian. Or in strong “like” anyway.

She had felt that way about Lucian for as long as Dylan could remember. Why, he didn’t know. Apparently neither did Lucian because Dylan was positive that his thickheaded big brother had no idea whatsoever how his assistant felt about him.

“Oh, and when you see Lucian,” she added, “it’s okay to talk about the celibacy-donation pact, but it’s best not to bring up anything about the rodeo itself.”

Since that was an event Lucian looked forward to every year, her words surprised him. “Has he actually decided not to compete since he loses every year anyway?”

Karlee shook her head. “Not a chance that he’d drop out of it. But first thing this morning, he was practicing his bronc riding skills and got thrown hard. His family jewels and pride took a bruising.”

Dylan would definitely rub that in. It was the brotherly thing to do.

He topped off his quart of coffee, thanked Karlee again and made his way to Lucian’s office, which was at the other end of the house from Dylan’s. Instead of feng shui, Dylan had gone with the “out of sight, out of mind” approach when choosing his work space. He got along best with Lucian when they weren’t in the same general vicinity.

Lucian’s door was open, and before Dylan could even step inside, he heard his brother growl, “There was a bra and a dress on the front porch this morning.”

Obviously, Lucian had missed the strappy silver shoes. “They’re mine.” Dylan said it with as much cockiness as he could manage. It also had more than a smidge of anger since he wasn’t especially happy with Lucian right now.

“You’ve started cross-dressing?” Lucian managed some cockiness of his own.

“Yeah, I started it right about the time you decided to get me to take a vow of celibacy when I was drunk.”

“A vow you’ve already broken. There’s a naked or seminaked woman in your bedroom, isn’t there?”

Since Lucian almost certainly knew the answer to that, Dylan went with the truth. “Yeah, but I don’t know who she is, and I didn’t have sex with her. I’m figuring you planted her there. Maybe even paid her.”

Lucian gave him a flat look. “I wouldn’t have to plant or pay. Naked women gravitate toward you and your bed. I’ve even heard there’s a Dylan Granger Sex Bingo Game being played around the county.”

Sadly, that last part was true.

Tiffany Kelly, a cocktail waitress at the Longhorn Bar, had indeed started a bingo game that involved sex categories—specifically sex categories with Dylan—and she had distributed variations of the cards to women around town. The one card he’d seen had things on it like give Dylan a BJ, Dylan gives you a thigh hickey and a double orgasm from Dylan to you. Apparently, once a woman had her card filled, Tiffany would give them a drink on the house.

So far, there’d been four winners.

Okay, there were five, but one of them had cheated. No way had Susan Finkley had two orgasms since he’d had to work for nearly an hour to give her just one.

While Dylan wasn’t especially proud of those winners or the game itself, it was obvious Lucian was only bringing it up to take the attention off the fact that he’d been a dick. A busy one. Because while he was riling Dylan with this conversation, he was also answering an email. And ignoring the three lights that were flashing on his office phone. Apparently, Dylan wasn’t the only person who wanted to have words with Lucian this morning.

“I didn’t have sex with the woman in my bedroom,” Dylan repeated once he got his teeth unclenched. “But even if I had, there’s no way in hell I’d let you hold me to a promise that I made while I was drunk.”

“You didn’t just make the promise to me. You sent a copy to Mom and your lawyer.”

Well, shit. Dylan didn’t care about his lawyer knowing. He’d sent her drunk texts before. Heck, he’d had sex with her, too.

But their mom, Regina, could be a problem.

She was always nudging him to quit sleeping around and find Ms. Right. This was despite her own failed marriage that’d happened nearly two decades ago. Apparently, his mother wore a pair of massive invisible rose-colored glasses when it came to love and such. Dylan tended to see things a lot clearer than she did. Ironic because her marriage had been to an asshole. Dylan’s had been to, well, a woman who wasn’t an asshole.

Jordan.

Dylan hated how she just kept popping into his head. Even the remnants of the booze-haze didn’t stop it. Neither did sleep. Time. Or anything else he’d tried.

He went closer to Lucian’s desk and leaned in so that his brother wouldn’t miss a word or any of the ice-ray glare he was giving him. “I don’t care if I sent that text to Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, it’s not a binding agreement. And it was pretty low-down and dirty for you to come up with it.”

Lucian quit typing on his computer keyboard only long enough to spare him a glance. “It wasn’t my idea. It was yours.”

Dylan just rolled his eyes because there was no way he would believe that.

“It started off as a friendly conversation between Lawson and you,” Lucian continued after he huffed. “And Lawson mentioned your reputation around town and the sex bingo. Folks call you the cowboy rake, you know?”

Yeah, he was well aware of that, too, though Dylan always tried to make sure that a commitment was never on the table, or in the bed, when it came to sex. He always hoped that would lessen the chances of a broken heart, but he knew it had happened a time or two.

“How the heck did all of this lead to my celibacy?” Dylan pressed. He actually remembered snippets of the conversation from the night before, but the logic behind it—if there had ever been logic, that is—was lost in the clomping stampede that was still going on in his head.

“I tried to convince Lawson that you could give up sex if you really wanted to do that,” Lucian went on. “He laughed. Actually, everyone in the Longhorn laughed. A lot. That’s when you got mad and said you’d show them, that you’d make a celibacy vow. Lawson’s the one who pressed for the vow to have consequences when you failed.”

Clearly, he needed to have a chat with Lawson for egging him on to do something this stupid.

“So, who came up with the charity donation?” Dylan demanded. “And are there any other specifics that I don’t know about?”

Another shrug. “You’d have to ask Lawson. That’s about the time I left, and Lawson and you were still hashing things out.” Lucian’s huff was louder and more impatient this time. “Look, I’ve got three hours of work that I need to do in the next twenty minutes. Just finish sobering up, deal with the woman in your bedroom and don’t miss the meeting you’ve got first thing tomorrow morning with the new feed supplier.”

Oh, he was sober all right, and Dylan didn’t need a reminder about the meeting since he had been the one to set it up. Lucian never seemed to remember that he didn’t run the ranch 95 percent of the time. Dylan did. But that was an annoyance for another day. Today, he needed to deal with the naked woman right after he spoke to Lawson.

Dylan took out his phone, called Lawson, but it went straight to voice mail. Not really a surprise. After all, it was the morning after his bachelor party, and Dylan was betting Lawson had gotten as shit-faced as he had. Also, it was possible Lawson would be unable to recall what’d actually happened. If so, Dylan might never discover if the rodeo payout held some other special level of hell he didn’t know about. He wanted any and all specifics that he could pass on to his mother when she called.

Which she’d already done.

That’s when Dylan saw the five missed calls from her on his screen. He’d had his phone on silent, but it had only been three minutes in between the time when he’d sent out the celibacy video and her first call.

“Remember, you’ll need to apologize to Walter Ray,” Lucian threw out there. “Maybe send him a bottle of scotch to smooth things over. He favors single malt.”

Dylan only knew one Walter Ray. “Judge Walter Ray Turley?”

“That’s the one,” Lucian verified with a layer of smart-assery in his tone.

Dylan got a jolt of more memories, and these were the clearest yet. Walter Ray had shown up at the bachelor party, but things had gotten a little ugly when the subject of the Dylan Granger Sex Bingo had come up.

Because Walter Ray’s daughter, Melanie, was one of the winners.

The judge hadn’t approved. Dylan hadn’t approved of the threats that Walter Ray had doled out. Threats involving neutering or a shovel to the head if Dylan didn’t “put a ring on it.” His brother Lawson and his cousins Garrett and Roman had broken things up before they got ugly, and Walter Ray had stormed out.

“We do business with plenty of Walter Ray’s friends and family,” Lucian went on. “Best not to let this sort of thing fester.”

It was already past the festering point. About three months ago, Dylan had gone out with Melanie, and they’d run hot and heavy for a couple of weeks. Longer than most of Dylan’s relationships. That length of time was probably why Melanie, and therefore the judge, had got the notion that it was serious between them.

It hadn’t been.

And even though Dylan had long since ended things with Melanie, he wasn’t sure that she truly believed it was over between them. Walter Ray certainly didn’t believe it.

“Oh, and you might have to take Booger to the vet,” Lucian added just as Dylan headed for the door. “He might have eaten the elastic from your guest’s red panties.”

Great. Now, he could add possible canine intestinal issues to this already-shitty day. But there was a silver lining in this. At least there was if he believed in the old wives’ tale that bad luck came in threes. Booger was number three since Dylan had already gotten the naked woman and the riled judge. So, maybe the bad luck was all finished.

“Where’s Booger now?” Dylan asked.

“The sunroom. Karlee chased him down and left him with Bertha, the housekeeper.”

For a man with his pulse on the business, Lucian didn’t bother keeping up with the daily workings of his family home. Bertha had quit weeks ago, during Lucian’s last visit, and now they had Vera and Marylou. Dylan knew Lucian hadn’t meant Marylou because Booger hadn’t been with her when she was upstairs. So the dog had to be with Vera.

Since it was obvious Lucian already had too much on his plate, Dylan would keep the family jewels’ injury ribbing for later. Instead, he tried to call Lawson again, but when he got no answer, he decided to drive over and see him in person. His house wasn’t far, less than a half mile away, but he wasn’t going to walk there today. Best to get back here fast and take care of getting the naked woman home.

He walked the maze of halls that zigged and zagged through the house and came out the back door where he kept his truck. When he stepped out onto the porch, Dylan spotted their cook, Abe Weiser, who was stretched out, napping, in one of the wicker lounge chairs. He was a lousy cook, not especially good at managing the house, either, but he tolerated Lucian. That was Abe’s sole asset and the reason he’d stayed employed at Heavenly Acres for the last twenty years.

“One of the hands said I’m supposed to tell you that a longhorn broke fence,” Abe said without sitting up. Or even opening his eyes. “It made it to your truck, and its horn hooked your radiator. Busted it. The radiator, not the horn. The horn’s all right, I reckon. You’ll have to take one of the other trucks if you’re going anywhere.”

There went the old wives’ tale of three. Maybe old husbands’ tales had four bad things going wrong. If so, then he’d fulfilled that quota, too.

Downing some more coffee, Dylan headed off the porch and toward the large detached garage for another vehicle. However, before he could even make it there, he saw something sparkly on the stone path. A silver purse that was smaller and flatter than the palm of his hand. It had some chew marks on it and was wet, possibly from dog slobber.

Since this likely belonged to the naked woman, he opened it to see if he could find her ID. And there it was—her driver’s license along with a credit card and some lipstick. There was also one of those stupid Dylan Granger Sex Bingo cards folded up inside.

Thankfully, it was blank.

He pulled out the license and looked at her birth date first. She was twenty-six. Way too young for him but at least she was legal. Then he read the name, and his stomach went to his ankles. Because it was Misty Turley, the same last name as the judge who was pissed at him. And with the way his morning was going, Dylan seriously doubted that was a coincidence. No, this was likely another of his daughters. One younger than Melanie.

Maybe he could send Walter Ray a whole case of scotch.

Dylan didn’t know exactly how many daughters the judge actually had. Walter Ray had gotten divorced years ago, and when his ex-wife had moved away, the girls only visited Wrangler’s Creek every now and then. Or at least that had been the case until Melanie had moved back after she’d finished college.

He picked up the purse so he could take it back inside and add it to the pile of clothes. Since the identity of the naked woman was bad news number five, that had to mean he was good to go at least for the rest of the day.

Or not.

Dylan heard the sound of an engine right before he saw the cop car pull up in front of the house. It wasn’t the local cops, either. The cruiser had San Antonio Police on the door.

A tall, lanky man in uniform stepped out. “I’m looking for Dylan Granger,” he said, and he flashed his badge.

Hell. What now? Had Walter Ray sent someone to look for his daughter?

“I’m Dylan Granger.” He tucked the purse in his back pocket and walked toward the cop. “Is there a problem?”

The cop didn’t answer. He just motioned to someone inside the cruiser, and a moment later, a gray-haired woman stepped out. She wasn’t alone. She was gripping the hand of a little boy who couldn’t have been more than two or three years old.

Dylan silently repeated that—hell, what now?

“You need to sign for him,” the woman said. She had some papers in her left hand, and she started toward Dylan, pulling the little boy with her.

Dylan shook his head. “Why do I need to sign? And who is he?”

The woman smiled as if there was something to smile about. “Well, Mr. Granger, according to this paper, this precious little boy is your son.”

CHAPTER TWO

MAJOR JORDAN RIVERA caught a reflection of herself in the airport window and realized something.

She totally sucked at disguises.

The floppy white crocheted hat with its drooping sides, the fuzzy mauve hoodie and bulging sunglasses made her look like a perverted Easter bunny.

She was drawing attention to herself. The exact opposite of what she wanted to do. It wasn’t good attention, either. People snickered. There were elbow nudges and behind-the-hand whispers.

The next time she needed a disguise, she really had to put more thought into it. And not get her traveling clothes from the Lost and Found at the base hospital. In hindsight, she wasn’t convinced the items had actually been lost but purposely abandoned because no one wanted to be seen in them.

She kept walking from the gate where her flight had just landed, and she took out her phone. One look at it, and that got her attention off her inadequate disguise skills. The phone screen was filled with missed calls that she’d received while on her flight from Germany to Atlanta. The most recent one, though, caused her to frown and silently curse, and it had come in just five minutes ago.

Why the heck was her ex, Dylan Granger, calling her?

Maybe he’d heard that she was going to be stationed at the base in San Antonio and wanted to welcome her “home.” Or tell her how sorry he was for what’d happened to her. The latter would be far worse than the former so Jordan deleted that one without even listening to the voice mail Dylan had left. She didn’t have time for a blast from the past, especially when it would mean talking about wounds—both old and new ones.

She quickly went through the rest of the list. There was a call from her good friend and occasional boyfriend, Lieutenant Colonel Theo Shaw, but it could wait because Theo was no doubt just checking on her. Too bad that she needed to be checked on.

And Theo knew that firsthand.

Jordan knew it, as well, but he’d have to wait. She didn’t delete his voice mail, though, the way she had Dylan’s, and she kept scrolling. Crap. There were seven calls from her cousin, Adele, and two from an unknown number.

Obviously, something had gone wrong.

But then, there was often something wrong when it came to Adele. She was Jordan’s first cousin, but they’d been raised together after Jordan’s aunt died from breast cancer when Adele was just a baby.

Since Jordan was six years older, she’d become the big sister. The kind of big sister that Adele thought should bail her out, repeatedly, when she got into tight spots. Which happened way too often. Adele considered herself an activist, always chasing some cause or another, but that chasing had often gotten her into trouble with the law.

“Welcome home, Major,” an elderly man said as he walked past Jordan.

It wasn’t unusual for strangers to greet her when she was in uniform. They often would thank her for her service, but even with the shady-bunny clothes, this man had obviously recognized her. That meant he’d likely seen the news stories about her. About the helicopter crash and her being taken captive.

Jordan still wasn’t able to say POW, but she suspected the news outlets here in the US had plastered those initials in their headlines. Ditto for her rescue, too.

“You’re a hero,” the man added.

No. She wasn’t. Far from it. Her rescuers were the real heroes. And Theo was part of that hero team that’d gone in and extracted Jordan and six others from what could have become a deadly situation.

Yes, Theo knew firsthand what it was to be a hero. He also knew that what had happened five weeks ago was still eating away at her.

Despite that eating away, Jordan managed a smile and a polite nod to the man who’d welcomed her home. Then, she pulled the floppy hat even lower over her face so that no one else would recognize her.

Thankfully, there didn’t appear to be any reporters, but then maybe enough time had passed since the helicopter crash and rescue. And during those five long weeks, she’d been tucked away at the hospital in Ramstein, Germany. When Jordan had finally gotten her medical clearance, she’d kept her travel plans a secret from everyone but Adele, Theo and the handful of people in her immediate chain of command.

The fewer “welcome home/you’re a hero” greetings she got, the better.

Jordan kept weaving her way through the stream of passengers who were moving to and from the other gates. She’d gone nearly four months on this deployment without the smells of fast food and the thick crowds, a reminder that she hadn’t missed either. But that could be the headache and nerves talking.

Once she’d dealt with whatever family emergency was going on, had downed some ibuprofen and spruced up the disguise a little, then she’d buy herself a burger and chocolate shake. There’d be plenty of time for that because she had a three-hour layover before her flight to San Antonio.

Moving as fast as she could with her carry-on luggage and laptop bag, she finally saw the sign for the women’s restroom and threaded her way out of the crowd to duck inside. Jordan located an empty stall that was at the far end of the room, and the moment she was inside, she shut the door and took out her phone. She’d learned from experience that it was often best to deal with family matters in private.

Sometimes, yelling was involved.

And even though this bathroom stall wasn’t exactly private, it would have to do.

While Adele might not have remembered that Jordan had been on an international flight and couldn’t answer her phone, something had obviously happened.

Something urgent.

Of course, there was usually something urgent in Adele’s life—most of it from her own not-fully-thought-out actions. But whatever was wrong, maybe it was something that Adele had already managed to fix in the past seven hours since she’d made the first call. If not, then Jordan would figure out a way to take care of it for her. That was the one good thing about her being assigned to San Antonio. She’d be nearby when Adele needed her.

That was also the bad thing about being assigned there.

Sometimes, like now, Jordan wondered if she was actually helping or if she’d just become an enabler to Adele’s insane life choices.

Jordan hit the call-back button on Adele’s number. No answer. So, she played the first of several voice mails, and she immediately heard Adele’s frantic voice.

“Jordan, I’m in big trouble. I need to talk to you. Call me ASAP.”

Even though Jordan had gotten many, many messages like that from Adele over the years, it still twisted her stomach. Still made her angry, as well. Adele was twenty-eight now, too old to be getting into trouble and calling her big sister for help. But then, Adele didn’t have anyone else.

Neither did Jordan.

And that’s why the knot twisted even harder.

The next two voice mails had the repeated gist of the first message so Jordan kept going through them, hoping for some explanation.

“Where are you?” Adele had shouted in the fourth one. “I need you. Corbin needs you. Why aren’t you answering your bleeping phone?”

“Because I was on an international flight that I told you about—twice,” Jordan grumbled. Behind her, the automatic toilet flushed. “And why are you using words like bleeping?” But she was obviously talking to herself.

Jordan didn’t know who Corbin was, but since it had been over a year since she’d seen Adele, it was possible that was the name of her current boyfriend. Also possible that this Corbin was the reason Adele was in some kind of trouble. Adele didn’t usually make good choices when it came to men or her social/political causes—a reminder that only twisted Jordan’s stomach even more.

Before she went to voice mail number five, Jordan tried to call Adele again. Still no answer, and she hoped this was a case of Adele’s crisis already being fixed. Maybe Adele and Corbin were in the kiss-and-make-up stage and had turned off their phones so as to not be disturbed. If so, then Jordan was definitely going to have that burger and shake. Maybe a margarita, too.

After Jordan left a message for Adele to call her back, she played the next voice mail. This one didn’t start with a shout but rather a sob. “Oh God. Jordan, I really screwed up. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me. Please.”

That hit Jordan far harder than the shout had. Adele apologized a lot, but an apology mixed with tears was never a good sign. With her hands a little unsteady now, Jordan quickly scrolled down to the next voice mail.

But this one wasn’t from Adele.

It was a number that wasn’t in Jordan’s contacts, and when she hit Play, the voice was unfamiliar, too. “Major Rivera, I’m Ruth Gonzales, a social worker from the Department of Human Services in San Antonio. Could you call me immediately?”

Jordan’s stomach did more than merely tighten. It went to her knees. She doubted it was a coincidence that DHS and Adele had left her messages within the same hour. But what the heck was going on? There was only one more voice mail, and it had also come from the social worker’s number.

Her hands were more than just a little unsteady when she hit Play, and her heart was beating hard enough that it might be difficult for her to hear. “Major Rivera,” the message said. “This is Ruth Gonzales again from the DHS, and I just wanted you to know that it’s all been worked out. Corbin is on his way to be with his father.”

All right. That calmed Jordan’s nerves and heartbeat some. Or at least it did until she thought about why a social worker would have contacted her to tell her that Adele’s boyfriend was with his father.

A social worker wouldn’t have done that.

Mercy. Yeah, this was bad.

Jordan hit the button to call Ms. Gonzales to find out what the heck was going on, but she had to wait through five long rings before the woman finally answered.

“This is Major Jordan Rivera—”

“Oh yes,” the woman interrupted. It was the same person on the two voice mails. “Didn’t you get my message? It’s all taken care of.”

“Yes, I got your message, but I don’t understand. Who’s Corbin?”

Silence. And it lasted even longer than the telephone rings. “He’s your cousin’s two-and-a-half-year-old son.”

The relief came just as the toilet flushed again. This time, though, the plastic seat cover decided to switch itself out, as well. The whirling-grinding sound was so loud that Jordan had to raise her voice to make sure the social worker heard her.

“There’s been some mistake. Adele doesn’t have a child.”

“But she does.” Ms. Gonzales sounded pretty adamant about that.

However, Jordan was equally adamant. “If Adele had had a baby, she would have told me.”

Though the moment the words left her mouth, Jordan got another of those bad thoughts. Maybe Adele would have told her. Unless she’d thought it would upset Jordan.

Which it would have.

Adele had no business having a child when she could barely take care of herself.

“It was your cousin’s name on the boy’s birth certificate,” Ms. Gonzales went on. “And she had his social security card. The child even called her Mama.” The woman paused. “Major Rivera, I watch the news so I know who you are. I’m also aware of what you’ve been through.”

Jordan heard something in the woman’s voice that she’d been hearing way too much of lately—sympathy. Not just a little dose of it, either. It was the poor, pitiful you tone. Since she was a woman, everyone thought the worst. That she’d been sexually assaulted. She hadn’t been. But during those two days she’d been held captive, Jordan had imagined in crystal clear detail all the bad things that could have happened to her.

She’d broken down and cried.

Some hero she turned out to be.

“Major Rivera,” the social worker said, getting Jordan’s attention. “Adele explained that you’ve been out of the country for months and that you were coming here on leave in between assignments, but do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Apparently not. “Why don’t you fill me in?” Jordan suggested.

It sounded as if Ms. Gonzales dragged in a deep breath. “Well, before your cousin was arrested, she brought her son to me, hoping that he wouldn’t be put in foster care while she was in jail. She said she didn’t have time to take him anywhere else because the cops followed her here.”

There was only one word that Jordan managed to hear in that explanation. “Arrested?” she howled. “For what?”

“Uh, I’m not at liberty to discuss that, but maybe you can talk to Dylan Granger about it? If you’re comfortable talking to him, that is. Your cousin said something about things being strained between you two. Because he’s your ex-husband.”

Even though the toilet was flushing nonstop as if it were possessed by a demon, Jordan had no choice but to sit down on it. The automatic plastic cover seat slithered like a snake beneath her butt.

“Dylan Granger?” Jordan managed to repeat.

“That’s right.” Ms. Gonzales sounded downright perky that Jordan had managed to make the connection. “Your cousin gave him temporary custody of Corbin because Dylan Granger is the boy’s father.”

* * *

DYLAN NOW KNEW firsthand what it was like to be a Ping-Pong ball. He was volleying stunned glances between the paperwork the social worker had handed him and the little boy who was standing just a few feet away from him.

He was a cute kid. Dark hair and big blue eyes. And he was eyeing Dylan with as much concern as Dylan was eyeing him.

According to the paperwork, the boy’s name was Corbin Dylan Rivera, and his mom was none other than his ex-wife’s cousin, Adele. Dylan hadn’t had Adele’s number, and that’s why he’d gotten Karlee to locate Jordan’s, but his ex-wife hadn’t answered when he’d tried to call her.

Of course she hadn’t.

She was Adele’s gatekeeper, and if Jordan knew there was any possibility that he’d fathered a child with Adele, then his ex might be on her way to issue some of the same kinds of threats as Judge Walter Ray had the night before. And Jordan just might have the right to carry out those threats, too.

Because this wasn’t just unforgivable. It was also a really shitty thing to do. It didn’t matter that Jordan and he were divorced. Adele was Jordan’s family, and this was like dicking around with someone she thought of as a kid sister.

“Are you okay?” Karlee asked him.

Dylan didn’t even try to lie. “No.”

Shortly after he’d gotten hit with the he’s-your-kid bombshell, the bones in Dylan’s feet and hands had vanished. That’s why he’d sunk down onto the porch steps. That was also about the same time that Karlee had come outside. Why, he didn’t know exactly, but it was possible that she’d heard the police car. Or his stunned groans. Once she’d alerted his brother that something was wrong, Lucian had come out, too. So had the two housekeepers and Booger.

Lucian was now reading through the papers—a good thing because Dylan was worried he might no longer be capable of seeing words much less understanding them. Karlee was next to Dylan, her hand making slow, circular motions on his back. She was also doing some volleying glances of her own. No doubt trying to figure out if the kid looked like him.

Booger was gnawing through the heel on Dylan’s right boot.

Dylan wasn’t anywhere near that stage yet of picking through the boy’s features. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the basics of me, father/you, son. Still trying to rein in his emotions, as well.

Still trying to stop all those wussy groans that he was making.

It was time to man up and get some answers as to what was going on. Or read something. Or stand up. He could groan later, in private.

“How old is he?” Dylan pressed, but it was a question that caused both the cop and the social worker to huff. That was probably because he’d already asked them that or had already been told. At the moment, his mind felt a little like a sieve.

“Corbin’s two and a half,” the social worker answered. She’d told Dylan her name, Susan something-or-other. So had the cop, Officer something-or-other. But that information wasn’t sticking in his head, either. “And you need to sign for him, remember?” she reminded him.

Yeah, the social worker had made the signing thing pretty clear, but Dylan wasn’t sure he could hold the pen she kept thrusting at him much less sign his name. Hell, he still had trouble standing when he finally managed to get to his feet.

“Here are Corbin’s meds.” Susan handed Dylan a bag. “He has asthma, and the directions are on the inhaler. It’s important that he not miss a dose because it could be dangerous.”

Shit. That sent Dylan’s heart into another tailspin. Not only did he have a kid, but he had one with a medical problem. One that could be dangerous.

Lucian didn’t seem to hear any of that. He huffed when he handed the papers back to Dylan, but he aimed his attention at the social worker. “Why was Adele arrested?”

Susan looked at Officer something-or-other, and both ended up shaking their heads. “Look, I don’t know the charges against her,” the cop explained. “I’m only trying to do my job. Just have your brother sign the papers so I can be on my way and get to my kid’s ballet recital.”

“Dylan’s not signing anything until our lawyer gets here,” Lucian snapped. “And until I’m convinced this child is actually his. What proof do you have other than Adele’s claim?”

It was a good question, and everyone seemed to think Dylan had the answer. The cop, social worker, Karlee and even Booger looked at him. No doubt waiting to hear him say the magic word.

Yes. Or no.

But at best Dylan could only offer a maybe.

He didn’t remember ever having sex with Adele. Even if she hadn’t been Jordan’s cousin, she was so not his type. He didn’t have a thing for women with trouble written on them—literally. Jordan had told him that when Adele had been just fifteen, she’d convinced some tattoo guy to ink TROUBLE across her chest. There was no way Dylan would have willingly gotten involved with her.

That said, just this very morning, he’d woken up from a hangover with a naked woman in his bedroom. The last time he’d had a memoryless hangover like that was more than three years ago.

Right around the time Corbin Dylan Rivera could have been conceived. Why would Adele have named the boy after him if he wasn’t Corbin’s father?

“There’s no other proof—” Susan said at the same time Corbin interrupted her and said, “What de doggy’s name?”

The sound of his voice seemed to freeze everybody for a couple of seconds. For Dylan, it was because that little voice stirred something inside him. It was a reminder that this was a living, breathing, speaking child and not just some signature required on a paper.

“Booger,” Dylan told him.

The right side of Corbin’s mouth lifted in a smile, and the Yorkie must have taken that as a “Come here, boy” because the dog quit chewing on Dylan’s boot and trotted toward the child. What was even more surprising was that he didn’t immediately start chewing on any part of Corbin or his clothing. Booger just sat there, calmly looking up at Corbin.

The boy bent down and ran his hand over the dog’s head, a soothing gesture, much like what Karlee was doing to Dylan. The hand running soon turned to a full pat before Corbin sat down on the ground with the dog. Booger jumped straight into his lap and started licking his face.

Corbin laughed.

That stirred yet something else in Dylan. He didn’t know much about kids, but Corbin wasn’t asking about his mom. Nor was he asking who these strangers were who were staring at him. He must have heard the social worker say that Dylan was his father, but he hadn’t brought that up, either. Maybe it was simply because he was too young to express himself that way, but Dylan thought of another possibility.

A bad one.

Maybe Corbin’s life with Adele had been filled with stuff just like this. Maybe he’d been shuffled around until Adele had no other place to shuffle him.

And that felt like a kick in the teeth to Dylan.

It had been bad enough that he might have a son that he didn’t know about, but it was a whole new level of hell to think this child might have been neglected or mistreated.

Dylan snatched the papers from Lucian and glanced through them. Now that he was seeing things a little clearer, he noticed what was in the document. It wasn’t an acknowledgment of paternity but rather a temporary custody agreement that would expire in just thirty days. One that Adele had already signed.

“Don’t do that,” Lucian warned him when he took the pen from the social worker. “Wait until the lawyer gets here. Wait until we can do a paternity test.”

But Dylan ignored him and signed it. The moment the woman had the papers, Dylan held out his hand to Corbin. “Are you hungry?”

Corbin nodded so fast that it tugged away at Dylan again. It had no such effect on Lucian, though. He was trying to get the signed paper back from Susan, but Dylan ignored that, too, and he led Corbin onto the porch.

The housekeepers parted like the Red Sea to let them through the front door, but the moment Dylan was in the foyer, he spotted a problem.

The naked woman. Misty Turley.

Thankfully, she was dressed now. For the most part anyway. One of the heels was broken so she was hobbling down the steps, and the right strap on her barely there dress had slipped off her shoulders, pulling down the dress so that her nipple was practically showing.

She opened her mouth, but then her attention fell on Corbin. “Oh,” Misty said. “Sorry.” She fixed the dress, swiping at it. “Is this one of your cousins?”

Dylan looked at Corbin. Corbin looked at him. And Dylan just shook his head. No way would any of this stay a secret for long. The housekeepers had already disappeared, which meant they were likely off somewhere phoning and texting every person they knew. It was possible it’d be on the news before Corbin and he made it to the kitchen.

“He’s my son,” Dylan answered, and he was more than a little surprised at how easily those words rolled off his tongue.

Misty’s eyes widened, and her face flushed. “Oh,” she repeated. “I’m so sorry.” She repeated that again, too, and with her forehead bunching up with every step, she went to him, the sound of her broken shoe slapping on the marble floor of the foyer. “I didn’t know.”

Welcome to the club.

Misty looked around as if trying to figure this all out. Dylan suspected that he had the same kind of look in his own eyes.

“I had the limo you hired drop me off here last night,” Misty whispered. “It was all because of that bingo card. I got the one that said surprise s-e-x with Dylan Granger. But I fell asleep while I waited for you to come home.”

Dylan really didn’t want to get into this right now, but he had to ask. “How’d you know where my bedroom was?”

“My sister, Melanie, mentioned it in conversation. But don’t worry,” Misty quickly added, “I’ll put a stop to that stupid game. Little pitchers have big ears, and you wouldn’t want your son hearing about it.”

Dylan couldn’t agree more. The game had been an embarrassment right from the start, but nothing he’d said in protest had stopped it. Who knew that instant fatherhood would do the trick?

“You need a ride home?” Dylan asked when Misty started for the door.

Misty shook her head. “I’ll ask one of your hands. You’ve got more important things to do.” She mumbled another apology and headed out, past Lucian and Karlee who were still talking to Susan and the cop.

Yeah, he did have plenty to do, and Dylan started with looking in the bag. There was indeed an inhaler, and just as the social worker had said, the directions were on it. He’d need to make sure Corbin took it in the morning.

“Morning,” Dylan mumbled. It hit him then that for Corbin to be there in the morning, he would also be spending the night.

Thirty of them.

There went Dylan’s heart racing again.

“I gotta pee-pee,” Corbin said.

The kid might as well have announced he needed a rare form of uranium to save the world. Like just about everything else that’d happened this morning, Dylan didn’t know how to handle it. Was Corbin wearing a diaper? If so, Dylan was positive he didn’t know how to deal with that, but maybe Susan or the cop did.

He went to the powder room that was just off the foyer, and Dylan threw open the door. “Wait here,” he told Corbin, and he hurried back to the porch to get help from the social worker. Since she was still in an argument with Lucian, Dylan took hold of Karlee instead.

“Corbin has to go pee-pee,” Dylan said, and he wished he hadn’t repeated the boy’s words.

Apparently, being superefficient didn’t just apply to Karlee’s business skill set because without hesitating, she nodded and went to the powder room as if this, too, was part of her job description. But by the time they got there Corbin already had his elastic-waist jeans down to his knees. His superhero underpants, too, and he was peeing. The stream wasn’t going in the toilet because he wasn’t tall enough, but it was landing in the general vicinity of where it was supposed to go.

“Flush,” Corbin said. Or rather he said an approximation of that as he flushed. “Pull up.” Another approximation that he said, though Dylan did have to help a little when his jeans got caught on his butt cheek. “Osh hands.”

Dylan helped with that, too, by lifting him up to the sink, but Corbin managed the soap and water all on his own. He dried his hands on the sides of his jeans. There was a towel by the sink, but the jeans worked, too.

Dylan glanced out the front door. It was still wide-open, and he could see that the cop and Susan were now gone. Lucian was there, though, pacing and talking to someone on the phone. Their lawyer, probably. Lucian wouldn’t give up on finding a way to undo this.

“Lunch now?” Corbin asked. Or rather, “’unch now.” He tugged at Dylan’s hand.

Dylan’s next moment of panic wasn’t as strong as the pee-pee reaction. Food, he could handle. Or at least semihandle.

“Sure. This way,” Dylan said, and he was about to lead the boy to the kitchen, but Lucian came toward them.

“Have you lost your mind?” Lucian growled. “Why the hell—”

“Uh, I’ll see what Corbin and I can find to eat,” Karlee interrupted. Probably so that the boy wouldn’t have to hear this, she whisked Corbin away with Booger scampering after them.

“Why in the blazing hell did you sign that paper?” Lucian demanded.

“Because it was the right thing to do. Even if he’s not mine, he needs a place to stay until all of this is sorted out. And besides, it’s only for thirty days.”

Lucian gave him a look that could have melted a glacier at the peak of the Ice Age. “The temporary custody arrangement is for thirty days, and then there’ll be a hearing.”

Dylan shrugged. “By then Adele should be out of jail, and we’ll get this all worked out.”

“No.” And because Lucian didn’t immediately add anything to that, Dylan didn’t have a clue which of those two things got the no-vote. “Adele won’t be getting out in thirty days,” Lucian snapped. “With her criminal record combined with the current charges, she’ll be lucky if she gets out in five years.”

Shit on a stick. There came another of those funny feelings. A sick one in the pit of his stomach.

“And as we speak,” Lucian went on, “Adele’s lawyer isn’t working on getting her released from jail. Instead, he’s filing the paperwork to give Corbin to you permanently.”

CHAPTER THREE

“DO YOU REMEMBER when you got that tat in Singapore?” Theo asked her.

With a question like that, Jordan knew where this phone conversation was heading. It was going to be a mini life lesson. One that she wouldn’t want to hear but Theo would tell her about anyway.

The tat had indeed been a huge mistake. It’d not only gotten infected and ruined the rest of their vacation, but the inker had also botched it big-time. The Chinese symbol was supposed to be for “military” but instead looked like a stick figure with an enormous engorged penis. Worse, the penis pointed in the direction of her butt, making it look like a sordid sexual invitation to anyone who got a glimpse of it.

“Well, I think this is an even worse mistake than the tat,” Theo concluded. “It’s not a good idea for you to make this trip.”

And therein was the mini life lesson Jordan had been expecting while she drove from the San Antonio Airport to Wrangler’s Creek. Theo was right, though. It wasn’t a good idea. But it wasn’t as if she had options. No. Dylan and Adele had seen to that.

“I can be there in Wrangler’s Ridge in a day or two. I’m sure I can get leave, and I can help you deal with this situation,” Theo added. He’d already made that particular offer twice. It had preceded the tat reminder.

“Wrangler’s Creek,” she automatically corrected. “And really, there’s no reason for you to fly all this way.” Especially since Theo was stationed in Germany. Also, he’d eaten up a lot of his leave to be with her during her so-called recovery.

“Yes, there’s a reason for me to be there. A damn good one. You,” he argued. “You don’t know what you’ll be facing there. Adele can be so...unpredictable.”

Theo knew that firsthand, as well. He’d met Adele a few years back when they’d all ended up in San Antonio while Jordan was on leave. Adele had gotten mixed up with a group protesting a cause that Jordan couldn’t even recall. Things had gotten out of hand, rocks had been thrown, windows of an office building had been damaged. The only reason her cousin hadn’t been arrested then was because Theo had stepped in to talk the cops out of hauling her off to jail.

Theo had this whole rescue/hero thing down pat.

“Do the people there in Wrangler’s Creek even know you’re coming?” Theo asked a moment later.

Once she’d arrived at the San Antonio Airport, Jordan had texted Dylan to inform him that she was on the way, but she hadn’t checked her messages since then. She didn’t want to give him the chance to tell her not to come.

“It’ll all be fine,” Jordan assured her, though at best that was wishful thinking. Or possibly a whopping big lie.

Theo must have picked up on her doubt because he made a sound that he wasn’t quite buying it, either. “I hate that you have to go through this alone.”

Jordan knew Theo had her best interest at heart, but there was nothing that would stop her from making the drive so she could see Adele’s son and confront Dylan. She certainly wasn’t going to wait a day or two, either. She had waited long enough with the layover in Atlanta and the flight itself to San Antonio. And she’d seethed every minute of the delay. First for Adele not telling her that she’d had a child and second for Dylan screwing around with someone in her own family.

The man had no boundaries.

Of course, Jordan could say the same thing about Adele, but Dylan was six years older than Adele. He should have known better and kept his jeans zipped when she was around. Of course, from the bits and pieces she’d heard over the years, Dylan frequently unzipped.

But Dylan and Adele’s son wasn’t the only concern. There was the issue of Adele’s arrest.

Jordan had yet to find out the charges because she hadn’t wanted to call Dylan to ask him the specifics. A conversation like that was best face-to-face, but whatever Adele had done, Jordan needed to start working on getting her out of jail. That meant hiring a lawyer if she didn’t already have one.

“Are you still there?” Theo asked.

That’s when Jordan realized she hadn’t responded to the last thing that Theo had said. She was too busy bashing Dylan and Adele in her head.

“Yes, I’m here,” Jordan answered. “I just have a lot on my mind. And I’m trying to focus on the traffic.”

That last part for sure was a big fat whopper. Because there was no traffic to speak of. However, she wanted to get this call finished so she could gear up for the battle ahead.

“I won’t keep you on the line then because I don’t want you to get in an accident,” Theo said, and he paused again. “Look, I know the timing for this is all wrong, but have you given any more thought to what we talked about last week?”

Obviously, he was keeping her on the line despite his worry about an accident. But yes, she had thought about it, along with the swarm of information and memories. The swarm moved so fast sometimes that it was hard to catch onto only one piece. Well, except for the bad stuff. The bad memories had a way of lingering longer than the rest.

“You know how I feel about you,” Theo went on, “and after what happened, it’s made me realize that life’s too short not to hold on to the things we have. God, Jordan, I could have lost you.”

By things, he meant love. Theo loved her. Jordan had no doubts about that. He’d risked his life to rescue her, and he would do it again if necessary. Since her rescue, he’d made it clear that he wanted marriage. Jordan wanted that, too.

But she didn’t love him.

“I’m still thinking about it,” she settled for saying. She hated blowing him off like that. He deserved better. But right now, her emotional energy was spent. Any energy she could muster would be to work out this mess with Adele and Dylan.

Now it was Theo who hesitated. “Just promise me that while you’re there, you’ll keep taking your meds.”

Yes, that. Jordan was sorry she’d told Theo that the doctors at the base in Ramstein had prescribed her anxiety meds. And she’d taken them, too, while she was there for medical evaluation and debriefing. She’d also taken some on the flight because being in closed-in places made her feel on the verge of a panic attack.

But Jordan wasn’t sure about continuing the drugs.

They made her feel out of it, as if she weren’t quite herself. No need to have pills do that since she already felt that way.

“I brought my meds with me,” she said, and hoped that Theo wouldn’t say anything more about it.

He did.

“I just don’t want the flashbacks to hit out of the blue and pull you down,” he went on. “The meds will help you stay ahead of things.”

In this case, things meant the fear that kept coming back. It washed over her in waves, and yes, it did hit out of the blue.

Often.

And sometimes, it was so bad that she thought the panic might finally win and that she would have a full-blown attack. However, she doubted any dose of meds was going to make her forget that she’d been at the mercy of men, soldiers, who at any moment could have killed her and the rest of the crew.

“I need to go,” Jordan told him. “I’m in Wrangler’s Creek, and I’ll be at the Granger ranch soon. I’ll call you when I know more about Adele and Corbin.”

Just saying the boy’s name brought on a new kind of wave. A jumble of emotions. More anger at Adele for keeping him a secret. Concern for what would happen to him now that Adele was in jail. But there was also love. Despite the circumstances, Corbin was her flesh and blood, and even though she’d yet to lay eyes on him, she loved the little boy.

Jordan ended the call with Theo and took the turn down Main Street. A definite blast from the past. She’d been raised in Wrangler’s Creek, but it’d never especially felt like a place she wanted to be. The only times she’d been at peace here had been while she was with Dylan.

And that hadn’t lasted, either.

The restlessness had come. The feeling of inadequacy that most people from the other side of the tracks probably felt. She hadn’t been grounded here like Dylan. She still wasn’t.

After their marriage had ended, she’d had no trouble going. She had moved, leaving Adele and her mother behind. By then, her dad had been long gone. After Adele had finished high school, she’d also left—that’d been only a couple of months before Jordan’s mom had been killed in a car accident. After she’d died, there had been no reason for Jordan to come back.

Not until now.

Her chest tightened when she reached the gate to the Heavenly Acres, Dylan’s family’s ranch. The name was one of those ironies of life because so few heavenly things had actually happened there. Dylan’s family wasn’t exactly the heaven-inducing sort. For that matter, neither was Dylan unless it was a veiled reference to his sexual abilities. Those abilities were one of the big reasons he’d convinced her to marry him. They had temporarily glossed over problems that couldn’t have stayed glossed over for long.

The gate was open, no doubt left that way for her since it was normally closed, but that didn’t mean the Grangers were welcoming her. Not a chance. Jordan figured she’d managed to rile every single one of them when she’d ended things with Dylan. She would no doubt rile them further today when she confronted Dylan.

Other than a new house by the creek, the ranch looked pretty much as it had way back when. There were acres of pastures and pristine white fences. Plenty of livestock, too. All the things to let her know that the Grangers were still as wealthy as they always had been.

The tightness in her chest went up a huge notch when she pulled into the driveway of the massive house—yet another sign of wealth.

Despite having been married to Dylan, Jordan had never spent a single night in the place. Dylan and she had lived in the little guesthouse at the back of the property. It hadn’t been nearly as grand as the family “estate,” but it had given them the privacy that they’d thought would somehow help them succeed at something that had been doomed right from the very start.

Jordan pushed that all aside now. Pushed away her tat/mistake conversation with Theo, too, as she pulled to a stop in the driveway. She glanced in the mirror to see if she looked as nervous and worried as she felt.

She did.

If she’d been in a police lineup, she would have been an immediate suspect for multiple felonies because the nerves were showing all over her face. Her eyes were even a little twitchy. She’d ditched the perverted Easter bunny hoodie and hat. Now she did the same to the sunglasses, and she felt instantly naked.

Exposed.

Which really wasn’t a good thing to feel around Dylan. He had a way of undressing her with that bedroom smile. Or at least once it’d been bedroom-y. As upset as she was about all of this, it was highly likely she was immune to Dylan and anything he dished out.

When she stepped out of her rental car, she got another reminder. Of the scalding Texas heat. It was May, not yet summer, but even though the sun was about to set, the temps were still in the midnineties. Of course, it’d been hot on the deployment, but there’d been no thick humidity or pollen.

Before Jordan had even made it a step, the front door opened, and she tried to steel herself up to see Dylan. But what she saw was actually a friendly face.

Her old high school pal, Karlee O’Malley.

With a big smile and her arms outstretched, Karlee ran to her and pulled Jordan into a hug. “It’s so good to see you. Wish it were under better circumstances,” she added in a whisper.

Yes, Jordan wished that as well, but the truth was she wouldn’t be here at the Granger ranch if it hadn’t been for those circumstances.

Karlee eased back from the hug, sliding her hand around Jordan’s waist to get her moving toward the house. “I hope we’ll have time to catch up...after you’ve chatted with Dylan and met Corbin, that is.” She paused a heartbeat. “How are you?”

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.

Karlee was right behind the judge, and she was communicating without words, as well. Dylan recognized the silent apology she was giving him. “Corbin and I were waiting for the pizza I ordered,” Karlee said.

In other words, she’d opened the door without realizing it was the judge. That was okay. If Karlee hadn’t answered the door, it was very possible that one of the housekeepers would have. Plus, as riled looking as the judge was, he probably wouldn’t have just left without seeing Dylan.

Karlee had Corbin by the hand, and the boy was munching on an apple slice. Despite the frustration over this visit and Jordan’s demand, Dylan found himself smiling at Corbin.

And Walter Ray noticed, too.

“So, this is your son,” Walter Ray grumbled as he slid glances between Dylan and the boy. Jordan got in on that glance sliding, too.

Karlee must have decided that all the glancing might lead to some things being said that she didn’t want Corbin to overhear so she led the boy out of the sunroom and back toward the kitchen.

“Yes, he’s mine,” Dylan verified.

Dylan didn’t have to guess how the judge had found out about Corbin. Misty had likely told him. He hoped Misty hadn’t told him about stripping naked and sneaking into Dylan’s room. If so, this conversation might go in an R-rated direction.

Walter Ray stared at him a long time as if waiting for Dylan to launch into some kind of lengthy explanation. Maybe about Corbin. Maybe about what’d gone on at the party the night before. Maybe about Misty and her missing panties. Since Dylan knew a couple of those discussions could get him in hot water, he just stared back at the man and stalled to see where this would go.

The return stare didn’t help ease Walter Ray’s intensity, but he did shift the direction of it. He turned back to Jordan. “The boy is your son?” he asked her.

Even though it was a pretty straightforward question, Jordan hesitated. Maybe because she didn’t think it was any of the judge’s business. It wasn’t. But the long pause might also be because she hadn’t finished her conversation with Dylan and the judge was interrupting that.

“Corbin’s mother is Adele,” Dylan provided. “She gave me custody because of some personal issues she’s having.”

Of course, it wouldn’t take the judge long to figure out that personal issues was code for Adele getting arrested. It also didn’t take long for Jordan’s eyes to narrow again, no doubt because Dylan had spelled out that part about him having custody.

“So, Jordan and you aren’t back together,” Walter Ray concluded. His expression lightened up a little so he must have taken it as good news. Sort of. “FYI,” he added to Dylan, “it’s not a good idea for a man to bed his ex-wife’s kin.”

“Hmmp,” Jordan said, and it was a sound of agreement.

Dylan added his own grunt to agree to that. Maybe though, the judge had meant that advice for Jordan and Adele and not his own two daughters. Though Dylan had only bedded one of the Turley sisters, Melanie, if Walter Ray found out about Misty staying the night—naked, no less—then things might take an even-uglier turn than they already had.

“I got your text with your vow of celibacy,” Walter Ray threw out there. Dylan groaned, but the judge just kept on yapping. “It seemed like a good start, but I’m not thinking that so much right now.”

Neither was Dylan. There was nothing good about a drunken vow of celibacy.

Walter Ray turned to Jordan. “Maybe you should step out of the room so Dylan and me can talk. Man-to-man. I know you’ve been through a bunch of bad stuff, and I don’t want you to hear anything that’ll upset you.”

Jordan’s hmmp turned to a groan. She probably didn’t like that bad stuff/man-to-man remark, and she likely didn’t want to leave, either. After all, in her mind she thought they still had to discuss Corbin’s custody, but as far as Dylan was concerned, there was nothing to discuss. It was a done deal.

“Our conversation isn’t over,” she warned Dylan, but at least she headed out of the room.

Dylan heard the front door again, but he seriously doubted that Jordan had just left. No. This was probably the pizza delivery that Karlee and Corbin had been waiting for.

“Did you get the scotch Dylan sent you?” Lucian asked the judge as soon as Jordan was gone.

“Sure did. I’m guessing that’s your way of apologizing?” Walter Ray added, not to Lucian but to Dylan.

Since Dylan didn’t know the scotch had been sent, probably either by Karlee or Lucian, Dylan just nodded.

“Well, I wasn’t gonna accept your apology.” Walter Ray gave his huge belt buckle an adjustment. “But Melanie said you’ve been under a lot of stress. She’s the one who talked me into coming here and patching things up between us.”

That would be good, but no doubt came with strings.

“I’m guessing you’ll be calling Melanie soon to chat to her about the boy you had with Adele,” the judge went on. It wasn’t a question.

Dylan huffed. He didn’t mind smoothing things over for the sake of business, but he wasn’t a doormat. And he wasn’t going to stand here and kowtow to this man.

“I’m not marrying your daughter,” Dylan spelled out to Walter Ray.

Lucian shot him a glare that could have withered a cactus on the spot. It was similar to the glare he’d given Dylan the night before when he’d gotten into it with the judge at the party. Dylan remembered all of that now, but apparently, he hadn’t gotten into it deep enough since it still hadn’t sunk into Walter Ray’s head.

“I’m not going to be roped into marrying someone simply because she chose to go to bed with me,” Dylan explained. “Hell, if I did that, I’d be married to...too many women.”

Best not to even attempt a number on that.

Lucian stepped forward, obviously ready to intervene, but Dylan held up his hand to silence him so he could finish having this out with Walter Ray. “I made it clear to Melanie that being with her wasn’t a commitment. She knows that, and now I’m making sure you know it, too.”

Walter Ray’s glare topped Lucian’s, something that Dylan hadn’t thought possible. “You toyed with my girl’s feelings. She’s in love with you.”

Dylan had indeed done some toying, but he doubted she was in love with him. Melanie was more sensible than her dad and had likely mentioned the l-word when Walter Ray had discovered the bingo card. Still, he needed to have an air clearing and smoothing over with Melanie in case there was an outside chance that she had indeed been hurt.

But all of this was a “big can of whip-ass” revelation for Dylan.

He’d made that celibacy vow when he was drunk, but it was a stellar idea, and it could be the first step toward moving on to the next stage of his life. Too bad it’d come so soon after seeing Jordan. Or rather, remembering Jordan.

There was hardly a day that’d gone by over the past fourteen years that he hadn’t thought about her, but he’d always been able to push those old flames aside. It was hard to do that now with her just a few rooms away. Maybe though, he could regain his footing and rein in his bedtime memories once she was on her way. Then, he could get on with his new path to celibacy without any temptations from the past.

Walter Ray leaned in closer, and the man violated a whole bunch of Dylan’s personal space. “You don’t want me on your bad side.”

“No, I don’t,” Dylan assured him. “But I’m not marrying your daughter for the sake of keeping peace between us. I’m a father now, and I need to focus on my son.”

Even though it was logic that Dylan thought a father could understand, that argument didn’t seem to appease Walter Ray one little bit. The man looked at Lucian as if he expected him to scold Dylan. Thankfully, Lucian didn’t do that. Not with words anyway, but Dylan suspected they’d have it out later. Because this could indeed affect business. Even if it did, though, Dylan wouldn’t be Lucian’s doormat, either.

“You better hope you don’t need any favors from me,” Walter Ray warned Dylan. He extended his glare to Lucian, too.

Lucian moved to Dylan’s side. “And you’d better hope you don’t need any favors from us.” That was the tone that had earned Lucian the nickname of Lucifer.

The staring match started—a game of eyeball chicken—and it didn’t surprise Dylan when Walter Ray was the first one to look away. Lucian’s venom wasn’t something that anybody wanted to dick around with because Lucian could be, well, a dick, and his bad side could be a whole lot worse than all the collective bad sides in town.

“My beef’s not with you,” Walter Ray grumbled to Lucian after he’d lost the eyeball-chicken match.

“If it’s with my brother, then it’s with me,” Lucian assured him. “You can show yourself out.”

Dylan didn’t know who was more surprised—him or Walter Ray. His guess was Walter Ray, because the man’s face turned red. He looked like an inflamed testicle, and it didn’t go well with the dick-shaped nose.

Walter Ray stood there several more long moments, volleying his glare, getting redder and sputtering out some ripe profanity until he finally turned and left. He made his size known with his clomping footsteps. And then he slammed the front door.

“You fuck this up, and I’ll smother you in your sleep,” Lucian snarled to Dylan as he walked out.

Ah, there was Lucifer again, who’d stepped up to dissolve the caring brother. And Dylan didn’t get a chance to ask him what would cause that potential smothering. Hurting the family business or messing up things with Corbin. The first was a huge possibility now that they were on the outs with Walter Ray, but Dylan thought he could still do all right by Corbin.

Of course, that started with laying down some ground rules to Jordan. No custody for her, but he would be generous with visitation when she wasn’t off doing her duty for the military. Once he had made that clear, then she could be on her way to work out those changes she’d talked about.

Changes she would be making with Theo, no doubt.

Dylan could smell the pizza once he stepped out of the sunroom, and he crossed the foyer and went into the kitchen. Corbin was at the table, chowing down on a slice with a small plastic cup of milk next to his plate.

“Pep-ronni,” Corbin announced.

It was indeed pepperoni with extra cheese. Dylan’s favorite. Apparently, it was Corbin’s favorite, too.

Karlee was sitting across from the boy. She smiled at Dylan when he came in, but the smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes. He had no idea why, but maybe she’d overheard the argument that Lucian and he had had with the judge.

He glanced around the large eat-in kitchen, but there was no sign of Jordan. “Did she leave?” he asked Karlee.

She shook her head and motioned to the side porch. “Jordan got a call and stepped out there to talk.”

Probably Theo again.

It really wasn’t an adult thing to hate a person sight unseen and when he knew little about him, but Dylan did know one important thing. That he was green-eyed-monster jealous.

Yep.

It made no sense. He hadn’t been married to Jordan in a long time, and they’d obviously both gotten on with their lives. Still, it stung, and Dylan wasn’t sure he wanted to think long enough about it to figure out why.

Dylan gave Corbin a thumbs-up when the boy finished his pizza and went into the box for another slice. Corbin grinned around the next bite he took. Dylan intended to do some eating and grinning, too, but then he looked out the side French doors and saw Jordan. Her back was to him, and she wasn’t talking on the phone, which meant she’d finished the chat that had required some privacy.

“Whatever you do, don’t show any hints that you feel sorry for her,” Karlee said when she followed Dylan’s gaze. “Jordan’s upset that folks treat her like she’s damaged goods because she’s not. She says she’s fine.”

That worked for him. He didn’t want her to be damaged or feel as if she was. He wanted her tough and strong, like the old Jordan. His Jordan.

Well, when she had been his, that is.

But that was a lot of water under an old bridge. She had a new life, and so did he, and it started with those ground rules.

His phone buzzed, and when he saw his mom’s name on the screen, he let it go to voice mail.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Corbin and Karlee, and he headed to the French doors. Dylan took a deep breath. Several of them. And he planned out exactly what he was going to say to get Jordan to leave and forget all about trying to get custody of Corbin.

The moment he opened the doors, Jordan whirled around to face him, and those ground rules floated off like dandelion fluff. That’s because the unguarded look she gave him sent him spinning back to when they were nineteen and crazy in love.

But now he was obviously just “ordinary/not in love” crazy.

Because there was no way his body should feel that need slide through him. No way he should be staring at her mouth as if he wanted that instead of a slice of pizza. Thankfully, Jordan put a quick stop to it by saying just a handful of words.

“Your mom just called me.”

Dylan hadn’t seen that coming, and he wondered if it had something to do with the call that she’d just made to him. He got the feeling that it did when his phone buzzed with yet another call from her.

“You should answer that,” Jordan insisted. “Because your mom knows about Corbin. She knows that I’m here, too, and she just told me that she wants me to stay at the ranch until we’ve all had a chance to talk. She’s hoping to be back here by tomorrow night.”

Crap. That wasn’t good. Yes, his mom, Regina, co-owned the house, but it wasn’t her place to do this. Not when it would put Jordan, Regina and him under the same roof.

Dylan was about to hit the answer button to take the call, but then Jordan said something else that had him saying something much stronger than crap.

Jordan looked him straight in the eyes. “And Regina’s talking to her lawyer now so that she can petition to get custody of Corbin.”

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