by Maddy Barone
“Hey, Chickie,” she called as Denise hooked the heels of her boots over the bottom rung of the stool. “What’ll it be?”
“Beer and a burger basket,” Denise replied. “You know how I like it.”
Billie hollered the order to the back where her husband, Big Joe, manned the grill. She grabbed a longneck out of the case and placed in on the bar in front of Denise. “We haven’t seen you in here for a couple of months. What have you been up to?”
“Just the usual. Work, school, and more work.” She downed a swallow and let it roll, fizzing, down her throat. “That’s good.”
Billie nodded. “Nothing like a cold beer on a hot day. So, what’s up with you and what’s-his-face? That sailor you were seeing last year.”
Denise drank some more. “That’s done. He wanted me to spend more time with him, but you know.” She shrugged wryly. “Work, school, and more work.”
Billie didn’t say any of the usual sympathetic words, just nodded. “When will you be done with school?”
“This is my last year. God willing and the crick don’t rise, I’ll graduate next spring.”
“You will.” Billie sounded sure. “You work harder than anyone. That’s just who you are.”
Another patron down the bar waved for Billie’s attention. Alone, Denise nursed her beer. The big, flat screen TV mounted in the corner showed a baseball game. The Rangers were down by one in the bottom of the eighth. She hadn’t been to a single game this summer. She loved baseball. Why hadn’t she made the time before school started?
“Hey, sweet cheeks.”
She turned to see Dale, one of the regulars, slide onto the stool beside hers. “Hey, Dale. You do know that anyone else who called me sweet cheeks would regret it, right?”
He laughed and raised a finger to catch Billie’s eye. Billie nodded and headed for the case. Dale turned to grin at Denise. “I know, but you like my wife too much to hurt me.”
That was true. Dale might act like a flirt, but he was a safe flirt. He was utterly devoted to Marilyn, and had been for the last twenty years. “You’re lucky to have her.”
The creases that age and sun had put on his face shifted in a small, soft smile. “Don’t I know it.” The smile grew. “I saw you here last night, with some high stepping looker.”
“My sister,” she confirmed. “She’s moving to Dallas from Mississippi. She’ll be staying with me for a little while until she finds a job.”
Billie joined them and gave Dale his beer. “Yeah, I heard you were here last night with a woman in a cocktail dress.” Billie shook her head. “A cocktail dress,” she repeated, in something between disgust and wonder.
“I know.” Denise winced. “My sister asked me to take her to my favorite place to hang and get a drink. I guess she meant a club.”
Dale hooted with laughter, and Billie chuckled.
“I don’t go to clubs.” Denise took another sip of her beer. “Last night was interesting. There was a fight back there.” She jerked her chin toward the back where the pool tables were. “The guy who was in it tripped over my sister on his way out.”
Billie muttered something that Denise didn’t catch. Trying to act casual, she asked, “I don’t think I’ve seen him around here before. Is he a regular?”
Billie’s expression was a mix of exasperation and fondness. “Gunnison. He’s trouble. No one you need to know.”
Denise’s mind went to armed robbery, drug dealing, and breaking kneecaps for a crime lord. “Trouble with the law?”
Billie shrugged and wiped her towel over the bar. “Not that kind of trouble. He fights. The man will fight at the drop of a hat. Hell, he’ll drop the hat himself.”
Denise remembered the smear of blood on his swollen lip. “Has he ever sent someone to the hospital? Killed anyone?”
“No.”
Big Joe dinged the bell in the kitchen, and Billie turned to get the burger basket he put on the shelf. She grabbed the basket and a little caddy with ketchup and salt, and set them down in front of Denise. “Bon appetite,” she said, with a terrible French accent.
“Gracias,” Denise replied and grabbed a ketchup bottle to drown her fries.
After Billie had gone down to the other end of the bar, Dale snitched a fry and popped it in his mouth. “Boy, I tell you what,” he said, savoring the fry with closed eyes and a smile. “That is a hell of a good potato.” He opened his eyes and became serious. “Gunnison isn’t a bad guy. He’s just like the rest of us who came home from Iraq. A little messed up and a lot angry, with nothing to do with it.”
She nodded, eating her hamburger. “Fighting is his outlet,” she guessed.
Dale grinned, saluting her with his beer. “You’re the shrink-in-training, sweet cheeks.” His gaze shifted over her shoulder. “Uh-oh. Speak of the devil.”
Denise glanced toward the door and saw the big man from her dream last night striding toward the bar. Their gazes met, and he froze for a split second. Denise swallowed and forced herself to look away, but she was somehow aware of every step he took until he stood beside her.
“Hi,” a deep, gravelly voice said.
She turned to him and looked up. Even when she was perched on a tall barstool, she had to look up. Way up. “Hi.”
He stuck out a paw. “Brutus Gunnison.”
Brutus? Was that a nickname? She took his hand and shook. His hand was twice the size of hers. All of him was pretty much twice the size of her. “Denise Friedlander.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Silence fell between them, a little awkward. He was staring at her so intently she felt a little intimidated. She didn’t do intimidated. She put her shoulders back and waved a hand at Dale. “Do you know Dale Greenway?”
The two men shook and said the usual things. Billie came over with a scowl. Before she could speak, Brutus ordered a cup of coffee. Billie blinked twice and went to get it.
When she set it down in front of him, he thanked her and turned his attention to Denise. “Come here often?”
He had a little smile that seemed to make fun of himself for using such a cliched line. The smile looked good on him. “I used to,” she replied. “Not so much lately. I’m pretty busy.”
Maybe he guessed that she didn’t like to crane her neck to look up at him, because he leaned an elbow on the bar and relaxed into a comfortable slump. “So, what do you do to keep pretty busy?”
“I’m a student at UT, and I work for Dog Heaven.” She was suddenly excruciatingly aware of the dried slobber on her jeans.
He straightened, great interest on his face. “Really? I got my dog there a year ago.”
A dog lover. That alone made her warm up to him. “That’s great. How is it going with him? Her?”
“Him. Real good. Rowdy is a great dog. I’m lucky to have him.”
It always made her happy to hear that one of the dogs had found a good home. “I wonder if I know him? What’s he look like?”
“Big and ugly.” Again, that little smile came out, almost shy. “Brown. He looks like he might be part Rottweiler, part German Shepherd, and part who knows what. When I adopted him, his name was Diesel.”
She remembered Diesel. One hundred pounds of mean and frightened dog was hard to forget. “He gets along with you?”
“We get along just fine.” He slouched again and took a sip of his coffee. “At first, he was sure skittish, but he came around. He just needed some extra love.” He frowned. “Not that you folks at the shelter don’t love the dogs there, but …”
“But there are a lot of dogs and only a few of us,” she finished for him. “I real glad Diesel found a good home. What do you do?”
“I’m with Dallas Fire and Rescue, Station Fifty-Eight.”
With his muscles, he could carry a buffalo out of a burning building. “A fireman?”
“A firefighter,” he corrected. “There are plenty of female firefighters who don’t appreciate the sexist label.” He looked almost adorably sheepish when he cleared his t
hroat. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to lecture you. We just had our annual sexual harassment training, so it’s fresh in my mind.” He coughed. “But, no. I’m an EMS.”
Dale startled her by joining in the conversation. “A medic. That’s what you did overseas, right?”
Brutus —she was still having a hard time with that name— nodded. “Hospital corpsman attached to the Fifth Regiment, U.S. Marine Corps.”
She glanced automatically at the tattoo on his forearm. She remembered the bouncer calling him Doc, a common nickname for hospital corpsmen. A cheer distracted her and sent her gaze to the television in the corner in time to see a replay of a run batted in. The Rangers had tied the game and forced extra innings. “Way to go, Gallo,” she cheered.
Brutus looked at her with an approving smile that made her want to blush. “What?” she said, almost defensively.
“You like baseball?”
“Sure.”
“I have tickets for next Saturday’s game. Would you like to go?”
Denise looked at him, lingering on the swelling of his lower lip and the slight discoloration of a bruise on his jaw. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, no offence, but I don’t know you.”
“Sure, sure, I get that.” He looked crestfallen, but after an uncomfortable moment, he brightened. “How about if we meet at the stadium? We wouldn’t have to be alone. Just two baseball fans taking in the game. Do you have your own car?”
“Yeah.” She thought about it. Being alone in a car with him might make her uncomfortable, but if she drove herself she could leave any time. Here was her chance to get to know the guy with no pressure. If she decided she liked him after spending a few hours with him at the game, maybe they could see each other again. “Okay,” she said. “That sounds pretty good. Where should we meet? What time?”
His smile was sudden and turned his rough face startlingly attractive. “Great.” He named a spot at the stadium and suggested half past six. That would give them half an hour to meet and get settled before the game started.
“I’ll be there,” she promised.
He looked around. “Where’s your friend?” When she blinked, he clarified. “The blonde you were with last night.”
“That’s my sister, Stella. She’s home. Um. She moved here from Mississippi last week. She’s staying with me until she finds a job and can get on her feet.”
“The garage is looking for a parts runner,” Dale said helpfully.
Denise tried to imagine her sister delivering auto parts and failed. “Thanks, Dale, I’ll mention it to her.”
She turned back to find Brutus staring at her. A slight flush crept into his cheeks. He swallowed the last of his coffee and tossed a five on the bar. “I better get home to Rowdy. I’m sure glad I ran into you, Denise. See you Saturday.”
She watched him go. That T-shirt fit him perfectly, from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist. His worn jeans cupped his perfect ass in a way that made her want to give him a squeeze to see if his glutes were really as hard as they looked.
Dale coughed. “Boy, I tell you what. If he could see the look on your face right now, he’d either run for the hills or buy a jumbo box of condoms.”
“Dale!”
“Sorry, sweet cheeks.” Dale appeared to try to control himself, but his hooting laughter rang out. “This is gonna be fun.”
Chapter Three
“Hey, Wolfe, it’s me.” Brutus squeezed the phone between his ear and shoulder while he dumped a scoop of dry food in Rowdy’s bowl. The dog looked at him like he was only minutes away from starvation. “There ya go. Good boy.”
“What?” said Wolfe.
“Not you. I was talking to the dog.” He dropped the plastic scoop into the trashcan he used to store Rowdy’s food and flipped the lid shut. “Hey, look, I was in Billie’s tonight and—”
Wolfe cut him off with a groan. “You got drunk and had another fight?”
“Oh, for ... No! All I had was a cup of coffee, and I was there for only thirty minutes.”
He should have stayed longer, taken the opportunity to talk some more with Denise, but he had been so elated when she agreed to meet him at the game he hadn’t trusted himself to make sense during a conversation. Which reminded him of why he’d called his buddy.
“Look, I ran into that girl. Her name is Denise. The game was on at Billie’s, and it turns out she’s a big Rangers fan. So I asked her out to the game on Saturday.”
There was a moment of silence on the phone. “The game we’re going to on Saturday?”
“Uh, yeah. Could I buy your ticket from you?”
“I don’t know. I was looking forward to seeing the game.”
Brutus’s heart fell. “Aw, c’mon, Wolfe. The season is almost over, and there’s no way the Rangers can pull up enough to make the playoffs. Culver is pitching. It’s not like you’d be missing anything.”
A sigh came over the phone and Wolfe’s voice turned dreamy. “Except some quality time with my best bud.”
Brutus took the phone from his ear and stared at it. “The fuck?”
Wolfe’s snicker grew to a howl. “Gotcha.”
Brutus huffed a weak chuckle. “You suck.”
“Yeah, but you can have my ticket anyway. Hope you and Denise have a good time at the game.”
Denise left the National Guard Armory at half past four on Saturday. She had only two hours to get home, bolt down supper, change out of her uniform, shower, dress, and drive to Arlington to meet Brutus at the ballpark. She was met at the door by an eager Stella.
“I’ve got an interview right away Monday morning,” she reported.
“That’s great.” Denise tossed the words over her shoulder as she headed to her bedroom. Her uniform came off quickly, but she took the time to neatly hang it to wear again tomorrow.
Stella leaned on the doorjamb. “Would you like me to make you a sandwich?”
“I would love that. Thank you.”
She took the quickest shower of her life, blasted her hair with the blow dryer for two minutes, and put it up in its usual ponytail. She grabbed clean jeans and her Texas Rangers jersey and pulled them on. She snagged her Rangers ballcap, threading her ponytail through the gap in the back. When she went out to the kitchen, Stella stared at her.
“Is that what you’re wearing on your date?”
Her sister sounded horrified. Denise looked down at herself to be sure the jersey didn’t have a stain. “Yeah. Why?”
“No makeup?”
“I hardly ever wear makeup. Thanks for the sandwich.”
Stella poured some chips on the side on the paper plate. “You’re welcome. Are you sure about the makeup? I could do your eyes for you. Your eyes are real pretty. All you need is a bit of liner and mascara to bring them out.”
Oddly touched, Denise smiled. “Thanks, Stella. Maybe next time. We’re just going to the ballgame, and I’m running a little late.” She bit into her sandwich, surprised and pleased that the amount of mustard was just right. “Good sandwich.”
Denise’s phone rang. She looked at the screen. It was her mom. “Hi, mom, what’s up?”
“Denise, I haven’t talked to you in an age.”
“It’s a been a while.” Denise agreed. “I’m sort of busy right now.”
Stella opened the fridge. “Did you want a pickle?”
Her mom said, “Who was that?”
Denise jumped up. “No one.” She shook her head at Stella and edged out of the kitchen, pausing in the short hall.
“I heard a voice,” her mom said.
“It was the TV. Hey, I’m heading out to the Ranger’s game in a few minutes. Can’t talk now.”
“Well, alright. You give me a call sometime this week. We haven’t talked in too long.”
Denise agreed and hung up. Thank God she dodged that bullet. What her mom would say about Stella staying with her made Denise shudder. She went back to her sandwich and her sister.
There was a wrinkle between Stella’s pale brows. �
�Was that your mom? I heard her ask about me. Why did you call me no one?”
Darn it, she needed to turn down the volume on her phone. “I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You oughtn’t lie to your mama.”
Denise took a large bite of sandwich and attempted diplomacy. “Well, the thing is, mom would be unhappy if she knew you were here, and there’s no reason to cause her grief. She’s sort of crazy when it comes to the assh… er, your dad.”
Stella tilted her head to the side. “Daddy said she wouldn’t like it at all.”
Denise shoved a handful of chips into her mouth to prevent a sarcastic comment about the sperm donor. “Tell me about your job interview.”
Stella brightened. “Oh, I think it’s the perfect place for me. The hours are good, and the pay is reasonable. Not great, you know? But the tips ought to be real good. It’s at The Pink Pussycat Lounge.”
Denise swallowed with effort. “That’s a, uh …” She stalled, not sure what to say.
“It’s a gentlemen’s club. From what I’ve read, it’s a nice place. It’s in an old, historic part of town. Lots of rich tourists.” She must have seen the horror Denise tried to hide, because she giggled. “The position is for a waitress, not a topless dancer. It’s work I’ve done before. I’m good at it, too.”
That was work that Denise wouldn’t do in a million years. But Stella would never want to clean the kennels at the dog shelter. “Well, that’s great. I hope you get it.” Denise stood up and grabbed her keys. “Gotta go. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Have fun.”
The drive to Arlington took way too long. When she finally got to the stadium, the parking lot was filling up fast. She glanced at the clock on the dash. Twenty-five after six. She beat a pickup truck to a sliver of a spot. The truck never would have fit. Then she locked her car and bolted to the area Brutus said he would meet her.
