Читать книгу Lone Star Blues - Delores Fossen, Delores Fossen - Страница 9
ОглавлениеMAJOR 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 “welcome 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.
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 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 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 stay 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.
Thirty of them.
There went Dylan’s heart racing again.
“I gotta pee-pee,” Corbin said.
The kid might as well have announced he needed a rare form of uranium to save the world. Like just about everything else that’d happened this morning, Dylan didn’t know how to handle it. Was Corbin wearing a diaper? If so, Dylan was positive he didn’t know how to deal with that, but maybe Susan or the cop did.
He went to the powder room that was just off the foyer, and Dylan threw open the door. “Wait here,” he told Corbin, and he hurried back to the porch to get help from the social worker. Since she was still in an argument with Lucian, Dylan took hold of Karlee instead.
“Corbin has to go pee-pee,” Dylan said, and he wished he hadn’t repeated the boy’s words.
Apparently, being superefficient didn’t just apply to Karlee’s business skill set because without hesitating, she nodded and went to the powder room as if this, too, was part of her job description. But by the time they got there Corbin already had his elastic-waist jeans down to his knees. His superhero underpants, too, and he was peeing. The stream wasn’t going in the toilet because he wasn’t tall enough, but it was landing in the general vicinity of where it was supposed to go.
“Flush,” Corbin said. Or rather he said an approximation of that as he flushed. “Pull up.” Another approximation that he said, though Dylan did have to help a little when his jeans got caught on his butt cheek. “Osh hands.”
Dylan helped with that, too, by lifting him up to the sink, but Corbin managed the soap and water all on his own. He dried his hands on the sides of his jeans. There was a towel by the sink, but the jeans worked, too.
Dylan glanced out the front door. It was still wide-open, and he could see that the cop and Susan were now gone. Lucian was there, though, pacing and talking to someone on the phone. Their lawyer, probably. Lucian wouldn’t give up on finding a way to undo this.
“Lunch now?” Corbin asked. Or rather, “’unch now.” He tugged at Dylan’s hand.
Dylan’s next moment of panic wasn’t as strong as the pee-pee reaction. Food, he could handle. Or at least semihandle.
“Sure. This way,” Dylan said, and he was about to lead the boy to the kitchen, but Lucian came toward them.
“Have you lost your mind?” Lucian growled. “Why the hell—”
“Uh, I’ll see what Corbin and I can find to eat,” Karlee interrupted. Probably so that the boy wouldn’t have to hear this, she whisked Corbin away with Booger scampering after them.
“Why in the blazing hell did you sign that paper?” Lucian demanded.
“Because it was the right thing to do. Even if he’s not mine, he needs a place to stay until all of this is sorted out. And besides, it’s only for thirty days.”
Lucian gave him a look that could have melted a glacier at the peak of the Ice Age. “The temporary custody arrangement is for thirty days, and then there’ll be a hearing.”
Dylan shrugged. “By then Adele should be out of jail, and we’ll get this all worked out.”
“No.” And because Lucian didn’t immediately add anything to that, Dylan didn’t have a clue which of those two things got the no-vote. “Adele won’t be getting out in thirty days,” Lucian snapped. “With her criminal record combined with the current charges, she’ll be lucky if she gets out in five years.”
Shit on a stick. There came another of those funny feelings. A sick one in the pit of his stomach.
“And as we speak,” Lucian went on, “Adele’s lawyer isn’t working on getting her released from jail. Instead, he’s filing the paperwork to give Corbin to you permanently.”
