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 hal
ls 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 “we
lcome 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.
Lone Star Blues Page 2
