“Did you call about Carly, or did you just feel like pissing off one more person before you turned in for the night?”

“Carly? That’s her name?” J.P.’s tone was almost wistful.

“According to her, yes. Short for Charlotte. Keep in mind, she was calling herself ‘Zelda’ a few hours ago.” He figured he understood why she’d done that—her own form of self-defense.

“What is it with you?” J.P. snapped. So much for wistful. “She’s a kid, and five will get you ten, she’s in some kind of trouble. Why not give her the benefit of the doubt?”

“I’m doing that,” Cord replied reasonably. “She’s here on my ranch, isn’t she?” He paused. “Or you want the kid at your place, J.P.? Come and get her.”

“Whoa. Dial back on the attitude a little, will you? This is me, your old pal J.P. McCall. And I’m on your side.”

Chagrined, though he’d be damned if he’d let on, Cord took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, exhaled slowly.

Before he could pick up the conversational ball, J.P. went on again. “Look,” he said, “I know you’ve got trust issues, but right now, you need to let all of that go. We have to get a handle on this situation, Cord.”

“‘Trust issues’?” Cord bit out. What did that mean and what did it have to do with anything?

J.P. sighed expressively. “That’s what I said,” he replied. “Your ex betrayed you. So did Reba, even though that was years ago. Plus, the kid—Carly—mentioned being in foster care. I’m guessing that brought up some stuff you don’t want to deal with. And believe me, I know all about bad memories.”

“Okay,” Cord managed, still furious and well aware that his mood was irrational. “Can we move past that, please, and discuss the problem at hand?”

The problem.

He didn’t have a lot of memories of those early years, but recalled being referred to as “the problem” by a foster parent or two before Bill and Mimi found him and brought him home. Now here he was, sticking the same label on Carly.

“Let me rephrase that,” he added, before J.P. could start up with the amateur psychological analysis again. “We ought to be talking about the girl.”

“Right,” J.P. said. “Carly. Reba’s daughter and, most likely, yours, Eli’s or mine. What are we going to do, Cord?”

Cord rubbed the stubble on his jaw. He’d shaved that morning. Maybe he ought to give up and just let his beard grow in.

“We can settle the matter easily enough, it seems to me,” he said calmly. “All we need to do is have our DNA tested, see if one of us is a match.”