Lone Star Blues. Delores Fossen

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      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—”

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