One Night in Texas. Linda Warren

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      “Yeah.”

      “What are you doing sitting on the bench in front of the courthouse?”

      “Hell, I don’t know.” He turned the bottle up again.

      “Are you drunk?”

      “Good guess. You’re not the sheriff for nothing.”

      Wyatt sat beside him. “Are you drinking that straight?”

      “Straight as an arrow to my gut, and I’m waiting for the numbness to knock me on my ass.”

      “What’s wrong with you? I know it’s been a rough day, but I’ve never seen you drink like this and I’ve known you all of my life.”

      “You know me pretty well, huh?”

      “Pretty good.” Wyatt nodded.

      “Do you know I have a kid?”

      “What?”

      “I have a kid, and I found out tonight.”

      “You’re talking out of your head.” Wyatt stood. “Let’s go over to the jail and I’ll make some coffee and you can sober up. Then you can tell me what’s going on.”

      “I’m telling you now. Damn it! Can’t you hear me?”

      “The whole town can hear you, and I don’t think you want them to see the D.A. drunk on his ass.”

      “Like I give a damn.” He tipped up the bottle again.

      Wyatt jerked it out of his hand. “You’ve had enough.”

      Hardy sat with his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. “I have a kid, Wyatt. A kid I know nothing about.”

      Wyatt sat down again. “Are you serious?”

      “As serious as I’ve ever been.”

      “How did you find this out?”

      Hardy ran his hands up his face, trying to wipe away her voice. But it was right there, taunting him. He exhaled deeply. “She told me.”

      “Who told you?”

      “You’d never guess in a million years.”

      Wyatt sighed. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

      “Angie.”

      Complete silence followed the word, and he could see his friend was flabbergasted.

      “Are you talking about Angie Wiznowski?”

      “Is there another Angie you know?”

      “You mean...?”

      The storm that had been brewing in him suddenly hit. He jumped to his feet, which was a trick because the world suddenly tipped. His stomach roiled and didn’t give him any time. He threw up everything he had in him, holding on to a tree. Sinking to his knees, he felt like the lowest scum who had ever walked on earth.

      Wyatt put an arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. They made their way to the sheriff’s office.

      Stuart, a deputy, opened the door, and Hardy headed for the bathroom. After rinsing out his mouth and washing his face, he took a moment to gather his composure. He walked into Wyatt’s office and sank into a chair. A cup of coffee was pushed into his hand, and he held it as if to steady the world around him. After downing two cups, his mind began to clear, but his head felt as big as the Alamo.

      Wyatt sat in his leather chair across from him. “Stuart, you can go home. I got it.”

      Stuart was thin and wiry and known to have the curiosity of a gossip columnist. “I can stay, Sheriff.”

      “Thanks, Stu, but Lamar will be in soon, so go home early.”

      “Okay.” Stu ambled slowly to the door, obviously hoping to hear a tidbit of gossip that would be all over Horseshoe in minutes.

      “How did you know I was at the courthouse?” Hardy asked. “It’s still dark.”

      “Stuart saw you drive up on the curb and watched you for a little bit, and then he called me. He was afraid to approach you. You know, being the D.A. and all, who is known as a respectable man around town.”

      Hardy winced. “Okay. Drive it in with a sledgehammer.”

      Wyatt got up and brought him another cup of coffee. “Talk, because you weren’t making much sense earlier.”

      He sipped the dark brew. “I’m Erin’s father. I wonder how long I’ll have to say that before I’ll really believe it.”

      Wyatt tapped a pencil on the desk. “You’ll have to tell me how that’s possible. Angie married some guy she met in Temple. He left her, and she brought the baby home to Horseshoe. How do you fit into this picture? You were in Houston, I believe.”

      “It happened before I went to Houston and before Dad and I took Rachel to Paris.”

      “And...” Wyatt prompted.

      “After our mother was killed, Rachel had a hard time. She was restless and very unhappy. Then she made friends with Angie, who was as calm as a summer’s day. She was a good influence for my sister. Dad threw Rachel a big going-away party and had all her friends over. Angie was there.” He stared down into the coffee cup, not really wanting to share this with his friend. But he had to tell someone. It didn’t take him long to tell about the summer with Angie and what he’d found at the party when he’d gotten home. He took a swallow of coffee to bolster his courage. “I let Angie sleep it off because I knew how her mother was. The next morning things happened that I wish had never happened. She was too young, and I should’ve known better, but I can’t go back and change it.”

      “You didn’t see her after that?”

      “I saw her in town a few days before we left for Europe. I told her how sorry I was and wished her all the best for the future.”

      “It never crossed your mind she could be pregnant?”

      “We used protection.”

      “Come on, Hardy.”

      He ran his hands up his face. “I’m so angry and I want to blame her, but—”

      “Did she give a reason for not telling you?”

      He set his cup on the desk. “Yeah. I was in Europe at first, but when she heard I was back, she approached my dad and he told her I was engaged. She didn’t want to ruin my life. That’s rich, huh?”

      “Sounds like Angie to me. She doesn’t like to hurt people.”

      Hardy stood and swiped a hand through his disheveled hair. “Well, she hurt me.”

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