Dallas Fire & Rescue: Strong Hearts (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Maddy Barone

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Paige Tyler. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Dallas Fire & Rescue remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Paige Tyler, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Strong Hearts

  By

  Maddy Barone

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About The Author

  Other Books By Maddy Barone

  Chapter One

  Brutus would have pounded that asshole into a pancake if the bouncers hadn’t stopped him. It took two of them to drag him off. Bad enough the little moron had disrespected the United States Marine Corps, but making rude remarks about Brutus’s mother crossed the line. The blood dripping from the little shit’s nose made him want to smile. Smiling hurt his split lip, though, so he settled for a sneer.

  “That’s what you get,” he said, allowing the bouncer to pull him a little further away. He knew the bouncer, Matt Martinez, was a Marine himself. “Did you hear what that little rat said?”

  “No, and it doesn’t matter.” Martinez sighed. “Come on, Doc, you know what Billie said last time you got into a fight here.”

  “That was three months ago!”

  Brutus shot the rat one last dirty look and followed Martinez to a stool at the end of the bar. Along the way, they passed several patrons at the bar who seemed to be pretending to be deaf and blind. One caught his eye—a platinum blonde who had to have had breast implants. The Dolly Parton wannabe didn’t impress him. He plopped himself down on the barstool Martinez pointed him to and waved for Jerry, the bartender.

  Before he could order a beer, Martinez spoke. “Coffee or a Coke, Doc. When your buddy gets here, you let him take you home.”

  “You’re cutting me off? It’s only ten o’clock!”

  Martinez thumped a fist on his shoulder. “That’s Billie’s rule. If you fight, you leave. And you’ve had too much to drink to drive home yourself, so you just sit here and wait for your ride.”

  Brutus slumped on the bar. “Who’dja you call?”

  “Wolfe. Who else? You gonna cause any more trouble?”

  “No.” He’d drink his coffee like a good boy and let his friend take him home. Brutus rested his forehead on a fist and stared morosely into the black coffee Jerry brought him. He heard the jukebox switch to a different song, something slow and melancholy.

  He tried a sip of coffee. It hurt his split lip. With careful fingers, he gingerly explored the injury. Damn. The swelling had better go down before his next shift. Three days. It should be gone by then. If not … Hopefully, Captain Stewart wouldn’t be around to notice. Brutus didn’t need another lecture from his boss. He reached for the bowl of pretzels on the bar and had to hide a wince. His ribs were sore from a right hook. That kid had some good moves, at the pool table and away from it. Brutus was going to feel this tomorrow. It was a lot like that fight he’d had back in Camp Fallujah. Or was he thinking about that fight in Camp Dreamland?

  “Gunnison.”

  Brutus jerked his head up. His partner stood there, looking down at him with a frown. “Hey, Wolfe. You got here fast.”

  “I was already out.”

  That’s right, Wolfe was taking his latest piece of arm candy to a movie or something. “Damn, did this mess up your date?”

  “No, Cherilyn wanted an early night. I just dropped her off.”

  “Aw, too bad. So, you hafta sleep alone tonight?” Brutus looked his partner up and down. Wolfe was everything Brutus was not: handsome, light on his feet, tall and muscular without being a hulk, and charming. “Well, it has to happen to everyone sometime, right?”

  Wolfe blew out a breath and shook his head with a half-disgusted, half-affectionate smile. “Shut up. Ready to go?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Brutus pushed the still full coffee cup away and lurched to his feet. He had to catch himself on the bar. Maybe he’d had more than he’d realized. He straightened and tested his walking ability. Wolfe watched him without offering to help. Yeah, his buddy understood a man’s pride. “Lead the way.”

  He did okay until he tripped over the pointy toe of a sparkly high-heeled shoe and landed nose-first in bountiful cleavage. Brutus might not have the polished manners of some men, but his mama had whupped common decency into him. He jerked upright and staggered a step back.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he blurted. “Are you hurt?”

  The platinum blonde gave a throaty laugh and made minute adjustments to neckline of her low-cut dress. “Why, I just don’t believe I know.”

  Her accept was deep south, not Texas, and her sex kitten purr was directed at Wolfe, not him. Brutus took one long look and decided his buddy was welcome to her. She was beautiful but fake. Too much makeup, and too much of her body on display. Billie’s Bar & Grill was one step above a dive, and that short, sequined dress should be worn in a place where fancy cocktails were served.

  He glanced at his friend to see his reaction. Wolfe, as usual, showed little. He liked living up to his Native American ancestors’ reputation for stoicism, but Brutus had known him since the old days in Iraq. Behind that coolly polite façade, his buddy was laughing his ass off.

  The blonde flicked her foot. The sparkly shoe landed at Wolfe’s feet. “Why, look at that,” she cooed. “My shoe just plumb fell off.”

  There was a pause in the noise as the jukebox switched songs. From the other side of the blonde came a sigh. Brutus stepped a little to the right to see who was sitting there. For a full five seconds, his lungs forgot how to work.

  This was how a woman ought to look. Brown hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail. Blue jeans neither too baggy nor too tight, and a plaid shirt worn open over a white T-shirt. Her cleavage wasn’t as impressive as the blonde’s, but it had a perfect curve. He followed the long line of her leg and saw she was wearing cowboy boots. Worn out cowboy boots, not the pretty, shiny kind city cowgirls wore for show. If she was wearing makeup, Brutus couldn’t tell. Her face was pretty. Not Miss America beautiful, but pretty.

  Damn. She was Brutus’s prefect woman.

  Right now, she looked annoyed. Even that looked good on her.

  “Stella, for crying out loud.” She turned on the barstool to Wolfe. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Brutus sighed. Now that she’d gotten a look at his buddy, she wouldn’t have the time of day for him.

  But she remined slightly apologetic, not even blinking at Wolfe. No gasp. No staring worshipfully, no blush or smile. She took the shoe Wolfe held out to her. “Thanks,” she said briefly, and thrust it at the blonde. “Put your shoe on, Stella,” she said in a furious whisper.

  “Relax, Sissy.” The blonde pouted and turned slipping her shoe on into a languorous tease. If she wasn’t careful, those tits were going to pop right out of her dress. The pouty smiles and bedroom eyes were directed at Wolfe. The ponytail girl sighed again. Wolfe didn’t respond except to punch a light fist into Brutus’s bicep. “Ready to go?” he asked.

  Brutus couldn’t resist one la
st look at the pretty brown-haired girl. Her eyes, large and blue, looked at him with a hint of disapproval. His back went up.

  “What are you looking at?” he demanded.

  Her cool blue eyes ran up him, and then down him. “Nothing much,” she said, turning back to the bar.

  “Ouch,” murmured Wolfe, hidden laughter in his voice. Probably no one else heard it, but Brutus did. “Come on, buddy.”

  Outside, the air was hot and laden with humidity. Normal for Dallas on the first day of September, even at ten at night. Brutus took a lungful of the thick air in before climbing in Wolfe’s pickup.

  “Man, did you see her?” Brutus sighed happily. “If I dream about her tonight I’ll be a happy man.”

  Wolfe drove out of the parking lot. He stopped at a red light and raised a dubious eyebrow. “I didn’t think she was your type.”

  “What? You kidding?” Brutus closed his eyes and remembered the sweet curve of breasts against a white T-shirt half covered by a western style shirt. “She’s exactly my type. Such perfect tits.”

  The light turned green and Wolfe stepped on the gas. “Yeah, I guess they were pretty spectacular. Big enough to fill even your hands.”

  Brutus’s eyes popped open. “I’m not talking about the blonde!”

  “Oh?”

  “No. The little brunette gal sitting next to her. The cute one who looked like an actual person.”

  “Oh,” Wolfe said with a note of comprehension. “Sure, she was pretty. Looked nice, too. Someone you could really talk to.”

  The truth of that hit Brutus’s drunken mind like a sledgehammer. The blonde looked like a man-hunter, the kind you took to bed and that was all. The brunette looked like the kind you took home to meet mom. A girl like that wouldn’t want anything to do with a big brute like him.

  Wolfe must have misunderstood his silence, because he went hastily on. “I don’t know that blonde lady. For all I know, she’d be great to talk to. We shouldn’t judge someone by the way they dress.”

  Brutus snorted. “Right. We should judge by the way they act. The blonde’s shoe fell off right in front of you, and that didn’t happen on its own.”

  “Thank God your little brunette saved me from having to put it back on the blonde’s foot.”

  His little brunette. Brutus reveled in the sound of that. “Yeah. Lucky you.”

  Wolfe pulled his pickup into the short driveway in front of Brutus’s house. “Look, give me a call in the morning and I’ll give you a ride back to your truck.” He turned to study him, eyebrows pulling low. “You’ve been partying a lot lately, even when we have back-to-back shifts. You okay?”

  That Indian had always been a little too perceptive. “Geez, Wolfe, you want to talk about our feelings now?”

  His buddy snorted. “Get out of here. See you tomorrow.”

  Brutus unlocked the front door and tossed his keys on the table in the front hall in time to catch his dog, Rowdy. The brown mutt was big and mean-looking, but loyal and even loving with the right person. Just like him.

  “We’re a lot alike, boy,” he whispered, scratching behind the floppy ears. “One thing is different, though. You had your balls cut off, but the lady dogs still like you. I still have mine, but the ladies don’t like me.”

  With that happy thought, he went to bed.

  Denise watched the two men walk away. Two men who were so hot in such different ways didn’t cross her path often, and she wanted to watch them for as long as possible.

  “That right there,” drawled her sister beside her, “is one fine Mr. Hottie McHotPants.”

  Denise turned to Stella with an arched brow. “Which one?”

  “Which one?” Stella’s blue eyes opened wide. “The handsome one, of course. Not the oaf who fell on top of me.”

  “The one who fell on you wasn’t as handsome as the other man,” Denise conceded, “but he had a great physique.”

  Her sister shuddered delicately. “Oh, sure, if you like men who look like wrestling stars.”

  “I do.” She remembered the way the big man’s arms stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt. The shirt was the kind that had been washed so much the blue had faded to gray, and the thin fabric clung to every taut curve and valley of his sculpted torso. “I really, really do.”

  “Oh, Sissy, you’re simply hopeless.”

  Maybe I am, she thought. Twenty-nine and not a single serious relationship to show for it. Denise tipped her longneck to her lips for the last swallow. “Ready to go?”

  “It’s only ten!”

  “I work at six,” she reminded Stella.

  Stella looked around, maybe hoping for someone else to trip. After a minute, she sighed. “Alright. Let’s go back to that dump you call home.”

  Denise set the bottle on the bar very carefully. “Since I’m letting you stay there rent free until you find a job, you shouldn’t complain.”

  “Oh.” Stella covered her painted mouth with delicate fingers. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that. You’ve been better to me than I deserve. I’m sorry.”

  Denise nodded. Her sister always apologized when she said something mean. It was as if Stella was simply unaware of how her comments sounded, but Denise didn’t buy it. Stella was twenty-nine, a little old for the innocent act. In Denise’s opinion, Stella had plenty of smarts, but she was stupid when it came to men. Stella probably thought the opposite. Denise shook her head. Her sister had left Mississippi dead broke and desperate after her fiance kicked her out of their apartment. Denise would never, ever put herself in a position where she depended on a man for everything. Nope, as sure as God made Texas, she would never be under a man’s control.

  But it didn’t do any good to try to convince Stella that she could be self-sufficient. The main reason Stella had wanted to go out tonight was to meet some men. Billie’s Bar & Grill was a place where Denise and her last boyfriend had gone to unwind. She should have known it wasn’t Stella’s kind of place as soon as she came out of her room in that tiny silver dress.

  With a sigh, Denise pushed off the bar stool. “Let’s go.”

  In the car, Stella twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Did you truly like that big guy?”

  “Yeah.” He hadn’t been handsome. His face was too hard and blunt for that, but every muscle defined by his tight T-shirt oozed masculinity. Just remembering the ridges and valleys of his torso made her girl parts remember what they were for. Denise cleared her throat. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Well … The bouncer called him Doc. Do you think he’s a doctor? A doctor would make a great boyfriend.”

  Denise recalled the tattoo on the guy’s arm. It was a military unit’s emblem. He might have been a medic, but a doctor? “I doubt it.”

  “I suppose not. He didn’t look like a doctor,” her sister agreed regretfully. “If you had a rich boyfriend you wouldn’t have to live in such a dump. I mean,” she quickly corrected herself, “such a small place.”

  It’s not that small, Denise wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut. She parked her car on the street and led the way up the steps to her admittedly crappy, but fairly roomy, two-bedroom apartment. She tried to see her place through the eyes of a stranger. The entryway was tiny, so she moved into the kitchen so Stella could come in. Yeah, maybe it was a dump. The couch in the living room was upholstered in gold and green plaid that matched the avocado green shag carpet that may have been new in the 1970s. The stains and worn spots testified to its age. The jumbo-sized recliner, bought at a secondhand store for next to nothing, was neon pink. It might be an eyesore, but it was comfortable.

  Denise hung her keys up with a shrug. It was home. The neighborhood was decent, and the rent was low enough that even a full-time student at UT Dallas, who served in the Texas National Guard, and worked twenty hours a week at an animal shelter could afford it. The carpet was clean, if stained, and it didn’t matter if the appliances gave out now and then, because she knew how to get them working without pestering the landlord.

>   In her glittery cocktail dress, Stella looked as out of place as a hothouse flower in a tin can stuffed with daisies. She headed off to the second bedroom, which until a week ago, had been Denise’s office. “Good night, Sissy. See you in the morning.” She paused to flash a cheeky grin. “Dream of your muscle man. Maybe that will put you in a better mood.”

  Denise rolled her eyes and went to her room to get ready for bed.

  She did dream of the muscle man.

  She woke, sweaty and heart pounding a hundred miles an hour, shuddering with the strength of her orgasm. Wow, she thought, wiping the sweat from her upper lip, if that’s what a dream of him does to me, imagine what it would be like with the man himself!

  But in her busy life, where would she find time for a boyfriend?

  She kicked the tangled sheet off and stretched out on her back. Tomorrow was her busy day. Work at Dog Heaven for three hours, attend three classes, and then another two hours at the shelter. Maybe she could swing by Billie’s for a beer tomorrow after work and ask around about her dream lover? She flung her pillow over her head and told herself to not be an idiot.

  But after work, she swung into Billie’s. What could it hurt, right?

  Chapter Two

  The great thing about Billie’s was that no one ever dressed up. Denise, wearing jeans covered with dog hair and slobber embedded in the denim, pushed opened the door, and stepped to one side. She paused there for a moment to let her eyes adjust. After the bright sun, she was nearly blind in the lower light in the bar. The delicious smell of greasy burgers hit her nose and woke a growl in her stomach. The clack of pool balls and the whoop of men told her at least one game was in progress. She might head back that way later, but for now she wanted a beer, a burger, and some information. All of those could be found at the bar. She made her way through a scatter of tables and parked her butt on a tall stool.

  Billie herself was working the bar, and she greeted Denise with a nod and something close to a smile. For Billie, that was a warm welcome. The bar owner was a trim fifty-something with short salt-and-pepper hair and a brisk, no nonsense manner. Even if Denise hadn’t known it, she would have guessed Billie was retired military. Billie had put in her twenty-five in the Marine Corps, and was now enjoying retirement as the owner of a neighborhood bar. Military and ex-military were always welcome here.