Lone Star Blues

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 (#u9260719f-f437-51fa-83ea-2ab748465979)

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.