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 halls 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
