J.P.’s response was slow in coming. “I’m not sure I want to know yet, one way or the other,” he finally confessed. “Eventually, but I don’t feel ready…”

“Maybe none of us is ready, with the possible exception of Carly herself,” Cord answered, feeling hollowed out and more than a little bit lonesome. Considering what all had happened in one day, that wasn’t surprising. And he knew J.P. had to feel much the same…

He’d thought he’d be happily married by now, with a passel of kids, but things hadn’t turned out that way and, deep down, he was disappointed.

He was thirty-five years old, and what did he have to show for it, besides his work? One short, tempestuous marriage to Ms. Wrong, a mistake from “I do” right on through to the final showdown, when his bride backed a rented truck up to the front door and had her three brothers load up most of the furniture, the still-unused wedding china and silver, the whole shooting match. She’d stripped the walls of the expensive art they’d chosen together, helped herself to half the pots and pans, even taken the aspirin from the medicine cabinet.

She’d tried to make off with his dog, for God’s sake! Out of spite, no doubt, since Jenna didn’t much care for animals—or maybe she’d planned on holding poor Clyde for ransom.

Turned out she didn’t much care for ranch life in general.

Or him.

And there went his mind, wandering again. Maybe J.P. was right, and he ought to find himself a shrink, have his head examined.

Nope, not gonna happen.

“You off in the hinterlands again, buddy?” J.P. prompted.

“I’m here,” Cord insisted. For now.

“What if Carly won’t agree to a DNA test?”

“That would be a little suspicious,” Cord replied carefully, remembering J.P.’s observations earlier.

Hell, maybe he did have trust issues.

If so, he was entitled to them. He’d been screwed over often enough, hadn’t he?

Fortunately, or maybe out of simple mercy, J.P. let his comment pass without remarking on it.

“Eli ought to be in on this conversation,” he said.

“Yeah,” Cord agreed.

“How about getting together for breakfast tomorrow, at Brynne’s? The three of us. We can hammer out a plan.”

“Can’t,” Cord said in all honesty. “I have to work.”

Until Tina had reminded him an hour ago, the obligation had slipped his mind completely. A new client, Ms. S. Fletcher, was due to arrive by 6 a.m. at the latest, and the way his luck had been running, she’d actually show up.