Strong Hearts

by Maddy Barone

  The struggle on her face gave him hope.

  “I’ll meet you at Rick’s,” he offered. “It’s a little diner with great burgers. Like I said, we don’t need to stay for hours. You could leave whenever you want.”

  She swayed with the music, brow furrowed. “I think I could do supper. Maybe an hour and a half? That would give us some time and I could still be home early enough to finish my homework. And if you picked me up, we could talk in the car.”

  Victory was sweet. What flooded his chest now was better than winning any of the fights he’d been in. “That sounds great. I’ll pick you up at five.”

  Was this a date? Or just friends going out for supper? Denise leaned close to the mirror as she brushed her hair. Ponytail or leave it down? She dithered over it for five full minutes and finally put it up with a sigh of exasperation. Good lord, this was stupid. He seemed to like her just fine the way she was. She didn’t need to dress up or curl her hair for him. It wasn’t a dinner date. Just burgers at a little diner.

  Her sister was in the pink chair in living room, painting her nails in the light streaming through the window. “He just pulled up,” she called. “That’s one big truck he has.”

  Denise sat down in the living room. Stella stared. “Aren’t you going down to meet him?”

  “He’ll buzz the door.”

  “Ah.” Stella nodded. “Make him come to you. You must be sure of him.”

  Denise sighed. Her sister had some pretty crazy ideas about men. The door buzzer sounded and she got up to flip on the intercom. “Who is it?”

  “Gunnison.”

  She pressed the door release. “Come on up.”

  Stella sat up with a squawk. “He’s coming in here? My hair is a mess. My face isn’t fixed.”

  Her sister was wearing more makeup than Denise ever had. “Go into your bedroom,” Denise suggested. “He’ll only be here a few minutes.”

  Stella fled just as a knock sounded on the door. Denise smothered a grin as she went to open it.

  Man, oh, man. Brutus looked hotter every time she saw him. Tonight, he was in jeans and a navy blue T-shirt with the Dallas Fire and Rescue Station 58 logo over the breast. This T-shirt looked new and almost crisp, but it still clung lovingly to every hard hill and valley of his torso. She wanted to run her hands over those hills and valleys. She cleared her throat and held the door wide instead.

  “Come in for a second while I get my boots.”

  He came in and looked around with obvious interest. The kitchen was cleaner than it had ever been before Stella came to stay, but he didn’t linger there. His gaze went to the living room and he nodded as if he approved the ugly couch, but when he got to the recliner, he froze, eyes wide.

  “Have a seat,” she invited, waving at the pink chair.

  He didn’t move. “That chair is the pinkest chair I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  Denise swooped to pick up her boots and carried them to the couch where she sat to put them on. “It’s pink,” she agreed. “But it’s the most comfortable chair you’ll ever sit in.”

  “But it’s pink.”

  She looked up at him, hiding a smile. “It could have lacy ruffles all over, but you will still be a man if you sit in it. I promise.”

  He walked over and sat gingerly. He shifted his weight a few times, laid his forearms over the over-stuffed arms of the chair and leaned his head back. After a few seconds, he kicked his legs out and crossed one over the other at the ankle. His whole body relaxed into the pink cushions with a sigh. He tilted his head to look at her.

  “I hate to admit it, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.”

  She refrained from telling him I told you so. Seeing him sprawled out in her chair gave her the crazy desire to straddle him and graze those abdominal ridges with her fingernails. Or teeth. She gave herself a mental shake, shoved her foot into her boot, and gave it a little stamp to be sure it was in. “Glad you like it.”

  He wasn’t done. “Maybe you could have it re-upholstered. I suggest a good, manly color. Navy blue, maybe. Or dark gray.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What?” When she saw his grin, she shook her fist at him. “Maybe red, so the bloodstains won’t show when I punch you in the nose.”

  His laugh was hearty. “Is there a stepstool handy? You’ll need it to reach my nose.”

  “I’ll put it on my shopping list.”

  He laughed again as he stood and gave her his hand to pull her up. “Let’s go eat, Denise.”

  Rick’s was an old-fashioned diner that could be called retro, except the fixtures, booths, and even the flooring were original. The sign above the door said Rick’s had opened in 1962, and Denise was sure nothing had been replaced in its history. The bench seat in their booth sagged and was held together with duct tape.

  Their waitress, a silver-haired matron in a pink uniform, recorded their orders on a little white pad. “Two specials,” she said, collecting their menus. “Those will be right up for you and your lady friend, Brutie.”

  After she was gone, Denise arched her brows. “Brutie?”

  He hid his face behind a hand. “I’ve known Mrs. Lawson since first grade. She worked in the school cafeteria back home. My mom called me Brutie when I was little, and of course everyone from Kerrville calls me that still. If it were a man, I could make him stop. But the cafeteria lady? I can’t punch the cafeteria lady.”

  She tried not to laugh. Failed. “Oh, my. No, I suppose not.” She managed to get herself under control. “Your name is unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else named Brutus. Is it a family name?”

  Brutus didn’t answer until the waitress came back with their sweet teas. He thanked her and waited until she was gone. “No. My mom teaches English Literature in the high school. She loves Shakespeare, especially his Roman plays. That’s why she has three sons named Brutus, Cassius, and Augustus.”

  She digested that a minute. “I guess it could have been worse. You could have been named Julius or Octavian.”

  He gave a roar of laughter. “My middle name is Norman.” His tone said Norman was much, much worse than Octavian or Julius. “My younger brother was called Auggie for years. He hated it. When he grew big enough to enforce it, he changed it to Gus. Anyone who called him Auggie after that got taught a lesson.”

  “Except the cafeteria lady?”

  He nodded and drank his tea. In only a few minutes, Mrs. Lawson deposited their burger baskets on the table with a cheery smile. As they ate and talked baseball, Denise looked around the crowded diner. The place might look rundown, but the burgers were great, the service was friendly, and the prices on the menu were low. Not as low as they would have been in 1962, but a lot less than another sit down restaurant would charge. No wonder the place was packed on a Sunday night.

  They talked and laughed for two hours straight. He was so easy to talk to that she almost forgot she had homework waiting. She wished she could spend more hours with him. But an hour after they’d finished their burgers and the mountain of fries that came with them, Rick, the owner, stopped by the table and, in the friendliest way possible, suggested that other patrons were waiting to be seated.

  Driving home in Brutus’s truck, she turned her head to examine the outline of his profile illuminated by the streetlights. Handsome? No, not exactly handsome. But attractive? Oh, yeah. He was hands down the most attractive man she’d ever seen. He must have noticed her staring.

  He swiped a hand over his mouth. “Do I have ketchup on my lip?” he asked, sounding gruffly self-conscious.

  No. Too bad. She could have kissed it off. “I like you,” she said simply.

  A smile creased his lean cheek. “I like you too. A lot. I’d like to see you again.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he echoed, sounding surprised. He flicked a quick glance at her, appearing eager. “When? I know you’re busy, and my work schedule is staggered. I work forty-eight hours, then I’m off for thr
ee days. Name a day.”

  She thought, calculating which days she had to work, and which were likely to have the least homework. “Thursday night? Let’s not go anywhere. You could come over and watch the game on television.”

  He pulled up in front of her apartment building and turned off his truck. “Thursday night works for me.”

  He got out and hurried around to open her door and lift her down. She let her hands linger on his upper arms, privately reveling in the hard muscle there. “Come over any time after six.”

  “I’ll bring pizza,” he offered.

  “Great! I’ll get some beer. I’m looking forward to it.” And she’d find a way to make sure Stella was out. “Good night.” She turned to walk to the building.

  “Wait! My mom might have given me a dorky name, but she taught me to be a gentleman. I’m walking you to your door.”

  Drop dead attractive, funny, and a gentleman. She could honestly fall for this man. He walked her all the way to her door. She paused there, not wanting to say goodnight. If Stella weren’t there, she would invite him in and forget about the homework.

  She hooked her finger in the neck of his T-shirt to pull him down to her level. She kissed him quickly. “Good night, Brutie. See you Thursday.”

  Chapter Five

  The next morning Brutus strode into the locker room at Station Fifty-Eight. His cheery whistle died when he saw Wolfe planted in his path, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

  “Hey,” he said cautiously, sidling past his partner to his locker.

  Wolfe watched silently as Brutus stripped and put on a pair of gray shorts and a T-shirt. Brutus looked at him. “I’m going to lift for a while before shifts starts. You want to spot me?”

  “What makes you think I won’t let the weights drop and crush your chest?”

  “We’ve been friends since Iraq.”

  Finally, Wolfe unfolded his arms. “The twenty-fourth perfect game in baseball history.”

  “I know.” Brutus looked down at the lifting gloves he was twisting in his hands. “I’m sorry you didn’t see it.”

  Wolfe shook his head and led the way out of the locker room to the weight room. Brutus raised a hand to a couple of other guys working out. He and Wolfe were silent while they stretched and warmed up. It wasn’t like his buddy to be bad-tempered. Of course, he’d never missed seeing a historic baseball game by giving away his ticket. Would offering again to pay for it be an insult?

  Brutus sighed. He loaded weights on the barbell, lay down on the bench, and lifted the bar. Wolfe braced to spot him.

  “Look,” Brutus grunted, raising the barbell. “I sure am sorry you missed the game.” Another grunt as he raised it again.

  Wolfe counted the reps, saying nothing else until Brutus set the barbell back in the holder. “You had a good time.”

  Brutus wasn’t sure if it was a question or not. “Yeah, I did. Even if the Rangers had lost by twenty runs I would have had a good time.”

  Wolfe grunted. “I could tell you were having fun by the way you kissed her.”

  Was he supposed to feel guilty? “Look, everyone was revved up at the game, okay? I probably would have kissed you if you’d been there.”

  A reluctant smile curved Wolfe’s lips. “For the first time, I’m glad I wasn’t there.”

  Tension seeped out of Brutus. He and Wolfe were okay. His buddy prepared to spot as Brutus began his second set. Wolfe’s face wasn’t quite so stony now. “You really like this woman?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I like her a lot.” Brutus blinked sweat away as he raised the barbell. “She’s great.”

  Wolfe tossed Brutus a towel when he finished his second set. “Are you going to see her again?”

  “Yeah.” Brutus sat up and wiped his face. “We’re going to watch the game at her place Thursday.”

  Wolfe nodded, seeming to be in deep thought. “I think she’s good for you. You haven’t been in a fight since you met her.”

  Brutus popped him with the towel. “I’m not in that many fights.”

  “Only one a week or so.” Wolfe rubbed the red spot on his thigh from the towel. “Watch it with that thing. Now I’ll have to explain that to Cherilyn.”

  “Tell her you were wounded rescuing a kitty from a tree.”

  “Right.” He frowned down at the red spot, but he seemed unfocused, like he was thinking about something else. “I’d like to meet her.”

  Brutus made a face of exaggerated surprise. “I’m pretty sure you know Cherilyn in every sense of the word.”

  Wolfe snatched the towel from him. “I meant your new girlfriend. The little brunette.”

  “Denise.” Remembering her quick kiss last night and the way she called him Brutie, Brutus grinned. “She’s not little; she’s just the right size.”

  “I’d like to meet her. Me and Cherilyn were supposed to go out for supper with her sister and brother-in-law, but it turns out her sister has to be out of town. Our reservation is for four people. We’ve had it for over a month. You and Denise can come instead.”

  His buddy liked to take his ladies to ritzier places than Brutus went to, the kind where you wore a tie, not a T-shirt. “When? Where?”

  “This Friday night. The reservation is for eight o-clock at L’Ancien Vignoble.”

  That didn’t sound Spanish, German, or Arabic, the only languages besides English that Brutus was familiar with. Anything he couldn’t pronounce wasn’t a place he’d enjoy. But it sounded fancy. Maybe Denise would like to go. “I don’t know. Denise is always busy. She’s a full-time student, and she works, and she’s in the National Guard. She might not be free.”

  “Will you ask her?”

  “Sure. I can send her a text, if you’ll tell me how to spell that place.”

  Denise didn’t even look at her phone until she was through with classes and in her car ready to drive to the shelter. Seeing a text from Brutus made her smile. The smile faded while she read. A double date with his partner from work? At L’Ancien Vignoble? Holy crap, that place was expensive. She’d never been anywhere like that in her life. Even if she’d had the money, she preferred places like Rick’s. But he must want to go or he wouldn’t have invited her. She chewed her lip, calculating. Thursday night was already cutting into her study time, but what the heck. She texted him.

  Love to.

  He responded immediately.

  Great. See you Thrs. Talk then.

  Five hours later, Denise dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment. She had been peed on, puked on, and bitten. She wanted a hot shower, some supper, and a couple of hours of quiet to read her textbook. Stella met her at the door with a blinding smile.

  “Guess what, Sissy?” She noticed Denise’s scowl, and her smile faded a bit. “I mean, Denise. I have good news. The Pink Pussycat Club hired me on the spot. I start tomorrow night.”

  Denise tried to dredge up some enthusiasm. “That’s great.” It was. It meant that Stella was a little closer to moving out. A little closer to Denise having her place to herself again. “It really is. Congrats. That’s over in the West End, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Her sister’s smile came back, bigger than ever. “I’ll be in training all this week, and part of next week. Then I start fulltime.”

  “Great. Hey, let me take a shower, and then you can tell me everything while I eat.”

  Stella took in the stains on Denise’s jeans with a wrinkled nose. “Alright. I made spaghetti and meatballs. I’ll heat that up and fix a salad while you shower.”

  Stella could sure cook, Denise reflected, twirling spaghetti around her fork thirty minutes later. Normally after a long, crappy day like this, she would have had a bowl of cereal or a sandwich., and eaten with her text book open beside her. Now Stella sat across from her, chattering happily about the interview. She stopped suddenly, and looked at Denise with a serious expression.

  “I won’t be able to move out right away. I mean, it will take me a couple of months, depending on tips, before I can save enough
for deposits and rent for my own place. I hate to impose on you.”

  Guilt poked Denise. She waved her fork at the spaghetti. “It’s okay. You are pulling your weight around here. My place has never been so clean, and you cook almost every day.”

  “I like to cook.”

  “Well, you are a champion cook, Stel, and I appreciate all the work you do around here.”

  Stella’s blue eyes welled with tears. “You called me Stel.”

  “Sorry!”

  “No, I like it. That’s what Daddy calls me.”

  Denise’s back went straight. “Oh.” She tried to look relaxed, but she was sure she didn’t succeed.

  “Sorry.” Stella wiped her eyes. “He’s your daddy too.”

  “Biologically, he’s my father.” That sounded cold even to Denise. She cast around for a new topic. “Brutus is coming over on Thursday night to watch the game on TV.”

  “Oh. That will be nice. I work on Thursday from three thirty to midnight.”

  Perfect, Denise thought. Me and Brutus will have the place to ourselves. “And on Friday, he’s taking me out to supper at a fancy place called L’Ancien Vignoble.”

  “Oh.” Excitement lifted Stella’s voice. She picked up her phone and keyed and scrolled for a minute. Her eyes grew wide at what she read. “Oh,” she said again, with respect in her voice. “That’s a nice place. What are you going to wear?”

  “Good question.” Denise considered. “I have a couple of dresses.”

  “Let’s go look at your closet.”

  Denise was dragged off, protesting ineffectually, to her bedroom. Stella examined her three dresses with a critical eye.

  “None of these will do,” she pronounced. “What else do you have?”

  “Jeans.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Denise pulled out her only pair of pants that weren’t denim. “These khakis.”

  Stella shook her head decisively. “No. Let’s look at my stuff.”

  Denise mentally measured he sister’s generous bust, narrow waist, and wide hips. “We’re not the same size.” And, she added to herself, we have very different tastes in wardrobe. As in, I like to keep my boobs inside my clothes, not popping out over the top.