Lone Star Blues. Delores Fossen

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