Strong Hearts

by Maddy Barone

  There he was.

  His short brown hair was hidden under a Texas Rangers ballcap, but he was a head taller than most of the other people here. He stood against a wall, arms folded over his massive chest, like a colossus standing guard. She stood on tiptoe and waved to get his attention. She knew the exact moment he saw her. His face relaxed from a cold, granite mask to a warm smile. In that moment, even with his blunt, heavy features, he was almost unbearably handsome. In only a moment he’d plowed through the people jammed between them and came to her side.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly.

  He glanced at his wrist. “Only by two minutes.”

  “Oh, good. Traffic was murder. I’m glad you’re so tall. I don’t know how I would have found you otherwise.”

  His cheeks flared with color. “I’m a pretty big guy,” he said, looking away.

  “Good thing, too,” she said brightly. “In a crowd like this I tend to get lost, so I’ll just stick to you like a leech, and you can get us where we need to go.”

  His gaze flashed back to her face and a slow smile curved his lips. “Sounds good to me. Hang on.”

  He grabbed her hand and towed her through the crowd. Most people got out of his way before he got to them. Denise laughed with delight as she watched people melt away from their path. People never did that for her, she always had to squirm and nudge people to get through a crowd. They got to the turnstiles and Brutus handed over their tickets, then led the way up the stairs to their section. His long legs made climbing the extra wide, extra tall steps look easy. Denise had to stretch her legs to make the climb. She was panting a little when they got to their row.

  They settled into their seats and then neither of them seemed to know what to do or say next. They spent several minutes looking at the people marching up and down the steps like armies of ants, and down at the field where some of the players were warming up. Finally, he cleared his throat.

  “Are you from Dallas?” he asked.

  Relief that he had spoken first eased the strain. “No, I grew up near Fredericksburg. My family ranches about three miles northwest of it.”

  His head jerked around. “Fredericksburg? I’m from Kerrville.”

  Denise stared. Kerrville was only a thirty-minute drive from Fredericksburg. “Small world,” she commented. “You must have gone to Tivy High?”

  “Yeah, my mom taught English there.”

  They exchanged stories of their high school years. He graduated two years before she had and joined the Navy immediately afterward. After her graduation, she had tried tech school for a year.

  “But I didn’t do very well,” she confessed, “so I joined the Army. I did one tour in Iraq, and when my ETS came up, I decided to go into the Guard and go back to school.”

  She glanced up and caught his gaze. He had the most beautiful eyes, especially when he smiled at her. “What’s your MOS?”

  When she told him, he thought a minute. “They keep changing the designations. Motor pool?”

  She nodded. “Mechanic. Wheeled vehicles. Although in Iraq, I did plenty of work on track vehicles too. Nothing like sand to gunk equipment up.”

  He laughed shortly. “Tell me about it. A mechanic, huh? Have you always been into that?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. Growing up on the ranch, I learned a lot about all kinds of stuff, from fixing equipment to grinding feed to herding cows. I was the only girl, so my uncles and cousins treated me just like a boy.”

  “What about your sister?”

  Denise stilled. “She grew up in Mississippi.”

  “Oh, your parents divorced? That’s tough. You must have been pretty young.”

  May as well get it out and over with. “They were never married. My mom thought they would be. When she found out she was pregnant with me, she told him. She thought they’d get married then. But it turns out he was already married, and his wife was expecting, too. Stella is five months older than me. I never even met her until two weeks ago.”

  His mouth hung open for a split second. His voice when flat. “Your father is an ass. People don’t sleep around when they’re married. Period.”

  Now her mouth hung open. He might have misunderstood her reaction, because he hurried to apologize.

  “Sorry,” he said. “He’s your dad. I shouldn’t put him down.”

  “Oh, no, please do.” Her chuckle was brittle. “I’ve never met him, and I have no plans to. I don’t call him dad, because he’s not. I suppose he’s my father, but only in the biological sense of the word. I have my uncle Rob and my uncle Steve, and that’s good enough for me.” She swallowed, anxious to turn the conversation. “How about you? Sisters? Brothers?”

  “Two brothers, one older and one younger. Cash helps manage the ranch and vineyards. Gus bums around. He works the rodeo circuit, mostly bull riding, and works on the ranch in the offseason.”

  The game started. The Rangers’ pitcher, Culver, retired the first three batters, all on strikeouts.

  “Good start,” Brutus said. “Culver’s earned run average isn’t that great this season, but he’s looking good today.”

  Denise agreed. She accepted the hotdog and beer Brutus ordered, and settled in the enjoy the game. He wasn’t the fidgety sort. He followed the game with keen interest, but he didn’t scream or shout when the Rangers got a hit. When the Rangers scored a run in the second inning, he only smiled and sucked down more beer. He did lean forward to watch Culver face his twelfth batter and retire him.

  “It’s the bottom of the fourth,” he murmured, “and so far, Culver hasn’t given up a hit or a walk.”

  He didn’t need to tell her that as of now, Culver was pitching a perfect game. “It’s only the fourth inning,” she cautioned. “Too early to get too excited.”

  He nodded. “True. Plenty of games start out good but …” He trailed off, apparently unwilling to jinx it.

  The fifth inning came to a close without a hit or a walk. During the sixth inning, everyone in the ballpark seemed to be aware that they could be seeing history. A perfect game came around only once in a blue moon. In the entire history of baseball, a period of nearly one hundred and fifty years, less than two dozen perfect games had ever been pitched. Most pitchers never pitched a game where they didn’t give up a hit or a walk. No one had ever done it twice. Denise reached up to tighten her ponytail even though it didn’t need it.

  The air during the seventh inning stretch seemed electrified. Half the stadium sang Take Me Out To the Ball Game with manic energy, and the other half just stood silently. She was on the manic side. Brutus stood quietly beside her.

  Culver started the eighth inning with his eleventh strikeout. Not a single person in the stands cheered. No one wanted to breathe any harder than they had to for fear of distracting Culver.

  “How many pitches has he thrown?” Denise muttered. “If they take him out—”

  “They won’t take him out. He has a solid shot at a perf …” Brutus swallowed. “You know.”

  The next batter sent an easy pop fly to right field. The third batter of the inning went down swinging. Denise looked up at Brutus and saw the same wonder and anticipation there that she felt herself. One more inning. Could Culver keep this up for three more batters?

  As the top of the ninth Denise sat on her hands to keep them from trembling. The first batter struck out. The stadium was dead silent. Even the announcer said nothing. The players in the dugout lined the fence, faces intent. The second batter swung at the first pitch and missed. A sigh went around the stadium. People rose to their feet, still silent, straining to see everything. Denise and Brutus stood too. The second pitch was a ball. The third pitch was a ball. Denise wished she had more beer to wet her dry throat. The fourth pitch was a strike. The fifth was a ball. It was a full count. The next pitch could be the one that ended Culver’s perfect game. Brutus took her hand. She clenched his fingers in an agony of nerves. Together they watched the next pitch. Foul ball.

  Br
utus lifted his cap enough to swipe the back of his hand over the sweat on his forehead. Denise watched Culver wind up and closed her eyes. She opened them in time to see the batter swing and miss.

  Strike three. Her knees threatened to collapse. She gripped Brutus’s big hand harder. He looked down at her and smiled. It was a tight smile, probably intended to be reassuring, but he looked as tense as she felt. Only one more batter. If Culver got this guy out, he would make baseball history.

  The third and last batter of the ninth inning stepped into the batter’s box. The glare on his face said he intended to put an end to this perfect game.

  Denise’s heart stopped at the crack of the bat hitting the ball. The ball soared three hundred and seventy feet to center right. Denise quit breathing while she watched the outfielder sprint desperately to catch the ball. When he did, the smack of the ball in the mitt could be heard clear to Dallas. Utter silence reigned for five more seconds. Then the stadium broke out in hysteria. The announcer shouted that they had just witnessed the twenty-fourth perfect game in major league baseball history. The wave of cheering was like a wall of sound crashing into her. Denise’s legs turned into cotton candy, and the only reason she didn’t fall down was Brutus’s big hands on her waist. He had a curiously blank look on his face.

  “Wolfe is going to kill me,” he said.

  “Oh, my God,” she screamed up at him. “He did it! Culver pitched a perfect game! And we got to see it!”

  “I know,” he said, quite calmly, picked her up, and kissed her.

  Surprise held Denise still for a split second. She decided it must be one of those quick, carried-away-by-the-moment kisses, fast, hard, and full of jubilation. But it wasn’t. His face was hard and blunt, but his lips were indescribably soft. His kiss was gentle. Exploratory. Hot. She forgot her feet were inches off the concrete. She forgot she’d just witnessed baseball history. The people jumping up and down and screaming madly only inches from her ceased to exist when his tongue brushed over her lips, asking to come in. Her arms reached up and around his neck and she kissed him back with everything in her.

  It was a long moment before she came up for breath. She blinked at the hot way he looked at her. “Come home with me,” he growled.

  Her girl parts screamed yes. The rest of her said no. She braced her hands against his chest. His pectorals were bunched and hard from holding her one hundred and thirty pounds up. It was hard, but she shook her head. “Too soon.” Those two were the only words she could find for a minute. “But this deserves a celebration. How about a beer and some dancing at Billie’s?”

  He didn’t answer for a long minute. “Good enough,” he finally agreed.

  But he didn’t release her. “Hey? Could you put me down?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Well, it will be hard for me to drive to Billie’s this way.”

  He roared a laugh. Such a happy, joyous sound made her giggle too. “Okay, okay.” He settled her gently on her feet. “Let’s get out of here, but hang on to me. This crowd will trample both of us if we’re not careful.”

  She’d like to see anyone try to trample him. “I’ll stick to you like glue,” she promised. “Lead the way, big guy.”

  Chapter Four

  Brutus was glad to see that very few people were leaving the ballpark. Almost everyone wanted to stay and celebrate. That meant he and Denise could avoid the massive traffic jam that would result when people finally left. A tiny part of him wanted to stay and party too, but the feel of Denise’s hand in his trumped everything else. She didn’t want to come home with him —and he could not believe he had even suggested it. He couldn’t believe he had kissed her. He would remember that kiss for the rest of his life. It would have served him right if she’d slapped his face when he’d mauled her—but she was willing to spend a little more time with him.

  He pushed and shoved a path for them through the celebrating crowd. Compared to his big paw, her hand was dainty, but he could feel the callouses on her palm. What a woman.

  When they finally made it outside, she laughed and took her hand out of his to adjust her Rangers cap. He missed the warmth of it. “Whew!” she said. “What a rush. Meet you at Billie’s?”

  “It’s dark,” he pointed out. “I’ll walk you to your car. Where did you park?”

  She told him and they walked to the lot she’d parked in. As they walked, they reviewed various pitches and batters. Brutus didn’t know he was staring at her until she hunched her shoulders and demanded, “What?”

  “Nothing. I’ve never met a woman who can talk baseball like you do.”

  She waved a hand. “You haven’t met enough women. Look, my car is right there. Where did you park?”

  “In the lot two blocks down.”

  “Okay, why don’t I give you a ride to your car, and then you can follow me to Billie’s?”

  “Great.”

  In a few minutes he was following the taillights of her little car out of Arlington and as soon as he hit I-30, his phone rang. A quick glance at the readout made him wince. “Yeah?”

  His partner’s voice was low and succinct. “You suck.”

  Before Brutus could respond, Wolfe hung up. Aw, crap. Wolfe gave up his ticket and missed the most historic game ever played in Arlington. The phone rang again. “Yeah?”

  “Congrats on the kiss,” Wolfe said, and hung up.

  What the hell? How did Wolfe know about the kiss?

  Traffic was surprisingly light for I-30 between Dallas and Arlington on a Saturday night, so they pulled into Billie’s parking lot well before ten o’clock. The place looked packed. Brutus hurried to park and rushed over to help Denise out of her car.

  “I can’t stay too long,” she said. “I have drill in the morning.”

  He wondered if his kiss had scared her off. He made himself smile. “Sure. Let’s just have a beer and celebrate for an hour.”

  “Sounds good.” She gave him a brilliant smile and waved her hand to show he should lead the way.

  “Ladies first,” he countered.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” She stuck out her hand. “We can walk together.”

  He took her hand, her small, perfect hand, and walked with her to the door. For those few minutes he felt like a king escorting a queen. When they went in to Billie’s, the first thing he noticed was that the majority of the people in the bar were gathered under the big screen TV mounted in the corner above the bar. The sports commentators were still re-hashing the game they had just left. They were televising a replay of that last out. He nudged Denise to show her. The screen changed to show the victorious Rangers pouring out of the dugout onto the field, jumping up and down and hugging each other like they had just won the World Series. The camera rose to pan over the exultant fans in the stands. It paused on a tall man holding a small woman. The bills of their Ranger caps collided as they joined in a passionate kiss. Damn, that was hot. That was … He stopped in his tracks, gaping at the TV.

  “That’s us!” he blurted.

  That’s how Wolfe had known about the kiss. This was probably not the first time that footage had been shown. At the same moment he was making that connection, one of the people in the knot below the TV shouted, “Look! There are the lovebirds!”

  Denise looked confused. She must not have seen the clip, or if she had, she hadn’t recognized them. They were inundated by people anxious to hear every detail of the game. They were herded over to a table and someone bought them beers. Brutus sat in the too-small chair at the table across from Denise, with a dozen people crowded around them talking a mile a minute, and wished they were alone. He glanced at the TV from time to time, and decided it must be on a loop, because he saw them kiss onscreen three more times. He wanted to kiss her again.

  The questions kept coming from the envious fans who had only caught the game on television. He was too busy staring at her to answer, but Denise tried. People pressed closer, shouting over each other. She glanced at him, a clear appeal for help, just
when a man jostled her chair so hard her head bobbed.

  Brutus rose to his feet with a growl, ready to pulverize the asshole. “Watch what you’re doing,” he snapped. If that guy so much as twitched the wrong way Brutus would happily rearrange his face.

  But the guy had a drunken look of surprise on his face. He looked down at Denise and the surprise turned to concern. “Real sorry about that. You okay?”

  Denise gave him an easy smile. “Yeah, fine.” She stood up and waved her arms as if shooing flies away. “But the Q and A is over. Me and Brutus want some time to ourselves.”

  Brutus’s chest swelled when she reached for his hand. “Let’s dance, big guy.”

  The dance floor at Billie’s was a ten foot square of tile by the jukebox. Denise pulled him over there, dug a quarter out of her jeans pocket and dropped it in. She made a selection, then turned to him with a smile. A slow country song came on. “Do you like to dance?”

  “With you? Yeah.”

  He curled an arm around her waist and held her close. They swayed together to the music.

  “I figured we’d just have a beer and a little time to unwind after the game,” she murmured. “I didn’t expect the third degree. Maybe we should have gone to your place after all.”

  “The invitation is still open,” he said hopefully.

  She chuckled. “Tempting. But I do need to get home.”

  With Denise’s cheek resting over his heart, he felt perfectly happy and relaxed. Being pushy might drive her away, but he couldn’t bear to have this end.

  “How about supper tomorrow night?” he suggested.

  She hesitated. “I have some reading to do for school,” she said.

  “Just a quick, casual supper. Nothing fancy. We don’t need to stay late.” He turned them in a lazy circle, trying to play it cool. Then again, what would that gain him? Honesty was best. “I’ve had a great time with you today. I hate to see it end.” He gently tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to get in the way of school or anything else that is important to you. But I think you’re special. I want to get to know you better.”