Lone Star Blues

by Delores Fossen

  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 Ad
ele’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 st
ay 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.