My Unexpected Hero (Cowboys of Sunnydale)

Prologue Thursday, March 31st Kurt“You should go.” “What?” I turned my gaze from the Dallas skyline to Dane, my business partner and friend. He shrugged as he swirled the amber-colored liquid in his glass before taking a sip. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the leather chair on the other side of my desk and propped his Italian loafer clad feet on the edge, crossing them at the ankles. “It will be good for you to take a vacation.” He took another sip. “You have the best stock of scotch.” “You would know, as you are always in here drinking it.” I looked out through the floor-length window. The streetlights and office lights of others working late punctured the night sky. Headlights of cars crawled along the freeways and streets like busy ants. The envelope felt heavy in my hand. The heavy cream paper was solid within and held words giving hope to one of my childhood dreams. “Just saying. You haven’t taken a vacation since we started our law practice, and this is the perfect excuse to get away.” He nodded his head to the open newspaper on the desk. “Get out of the city, go home, and do whatever country folks do.” The Sunnydale Times sprawled across the desk was opened to the obituary section. It came along with the heavy envelope. I picked it up and read the one obituary that meant anything to me. Clarence Wilson passed away. A pang struck my heart and I swallowed back the tears that threatened to weaken my tough lawyer exterior. “I won’t make it for the funeral,” I said softly. It was tomorrow and I didn’t know if I was strong enough to bury the man that had been a second father to me. “But go anyway.” Dane set down his glass. “Meet with his lawyer and see your family... Flirt with a girl or two.” “Just because you’re happily married, doesn’t mean that I need to be.” I narrowed my eyes at him, and he answered with a wink and a broad smile. A knock sounded and Mrs. Wittman stood in the doorway. Her fingers toyed with the string of pearls around her neck as she stepped into the room. “Perfect, Mrs. Wittman.” Dane turned his gaze to the older woman. “You agree that Kurt needs to take a vacation?” She met his eyes and pulled at the edge of her cardigan. She smoothed a non-existent flyaway gray hair from her face. “Yes, sir. He works very hard, sometimes too hard.” I rolled my eyes at him, and his smile widened more. “Mrs. Wittman, do you have something for me?” “Yes, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.” She handed me the notebook in her hand. I glanced at her writing and frowned. Disgust rose in my throat as I reread the words. “Is this an April Fool’s joke?” “I’m afraid not.” She shook her head. The pearls bounced on her chest. Dane got up from his chair and read the note over my shoulder, swearing under his breath. He took the notebook from me and turned to Mrs. Wittman. “When did Cortez call?” “About forty-five minutes ago. I started a file and did the preliminary steps.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What did the kid do now?” “According to the papers, a drunk and disorderly with some destruction of property,” she recited. “That’s tame for him.” Dane snorted. “Kurt, I’ll take care of them. Lydia is ready to start taking cases. This will be a good one to start her on.” “You know how difficult Cortez is.” I narrowed my gaze and pointed my finger at him. “You will help her. She just started and has potential. We don’t need to scare her away.” “I’ll handle it, don’t worry. Take two weeks off. Go home and don’t think about it. Mrs. Wittman, Kurt is going to be off for the next two weeks. Can you reschedule any appointments he has? If they can’t reschedule, I will personally see them.” “Yes, sir.” She saluted him and turned on her heels to leave. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” I folded the newspaper and stacked the envelope on top of it. “No, you don’t.” He gave a large toothy smile. “I’m going to enjoy running the show and drinking all of your scotch while you are gone.” He raised his glass and drained it. ##### A couple of hours later, I found myself behind the wheel of my Porsche on the freeway out of Dallas. The glow of the interior lights kept me company as the miles swept by. The engine purred like a kitten as the road stretched out black and lonely in front of me. A few cars and semi-trucks traveled in my direction. The funeral was tomorrow. Glancing at the clock, it shone 2:00 AM. Correction, the funeral was in eight hours. I could make it in time to pay my respects. The letter sat on the passenger seat. The envelope visible in the darkness. Did I want to go to the funeral? Did Clarence Wilson’s sister-in-law and niece know about the letter? I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off the on-coming headache. If they did know, I wouldn’t be welcome at the funeral. If they didn’t know, my presence wouldn’t cause a stir until the will was read. What a mess! The headlights flashed on a sign saying 120 miles to San Antonio. I had a while to decide what I was going to do when I got there, where am I going to stay, and what would I say to the sister-in-law and niece that I hadn’t seen in years. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. The niece, Lindsay. The last time I saw her she was a spunky, curvy girl of twenty. My thoughts drifted to high school and all the pranks her cousin, Larry, and I played on her and my adolescent feelings of attraction toward her. My car jumped forward as I pressed down on the gas pedal. It was going to be a long drive.