Delores Fossen - Lone Star Blues

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.”