One week later, Denise had her laptop open on the kitchen table, taking notes for her research paper, when Stella came in. Denise glanced at the wall clock. Only nine. Stella’s shift didn’t end until after midnight. “You’re home early,” she said.

“I know.” Stella took off her coat, unwound her scarf from her neck, and hung them on the hook. “It was real slow tonight, so the boss told me I could take off. Lots of holiday parties around this time, so fewer people have time to go out to a club.” She went to the fridge. “Part of me didn’t want to, but with it being so slow I wouldn’t get much in the way of tips anyway. You want to share the last of this pie?”

“Sure.”

Stella brought two plates over and put one in front of Denise before sitting. “I made three pies for Thanksgiving. A pumpkin and two pecan. I took the pumpkin and one pecan to Jesse’s family for Thanksgiving, and I meant for you to bring the other pecan pie home to your folks. But you left earlier than I expected you to.”

There wasn’t any censure in her voice, but Denise hid a cringe anyway. “I know. Sorry about that. I did send you a text to let you know.”

“I know you did.” Stella waved a fork at her. “I’m only sorry you couldn’t bring this pie home.”

“I’m not.” Denise savored the gooey rich sweetness of the pecan filling. “This is much too good to waste on my cousins. This is the best pecan pie I’ve ever had.”

“Why, thank you.”

“I’m serious, Stel, you sure know how to cook.”

Stella put her folk down. “It’s funny you should say that. You know, we haven’t talked, you and me, for a while.”

No, they hadn’t. Denise had done her best to stay out of her sister’s way. She didn’t want to hear anything about the sperm donor. “Guess I’ve been busy with the end of the semester coming.”

“Well, Jesse and I have been making plans.” She looked over at Denise with wariness in her blue eyes. “Daddy said he likes Jesse, and he likes his family too.”

Denise tried hard to sound noncondemning. “That’s nice.”

Apparently encouraged by the lack of explosion, Stella smiled. “Jesse says I can do better than being a cocktail waitress. I sent in an application to The Culinary Institute in San Antonio yesterday.”

Denise stopped chasing the last crumb of crust around her plate to look up at her sister. “Go to school to be a chef? That’s great! You are a fantastic cook.” Stella might not be an intellectual giant, but she was more than just a dumb blonde, and she really did make delicious food. “When would you start?”

Stella’s cheeks pinkened. “If I’m accepted, I’ll start next August. Jesse says he’ll support me while I go, but I’ll need to save up for tuition and stuff, so I can’t start right away.”

Denise’s phone rang. She knew who it was without looking at it. Stella might not be an intellectual giant, but Denise was a knucklehead. She should have blocked him a week ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Stella gestured with her fork. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“Nope.”

The call went to voicemail. Brutus’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Dee? Dee, pick up. Please. Look, I know I fucked up. Can’t we at least talk about it? Dee?”

Denise hardened her heart and let the call end. This was call number fifteen since the day she’d walked out of the hospital. Her voicemail storage was running out of room, but she hadn’t deleted a single one. It hurt to hear his voice, but she kept her phone on speaker just to feel the hurt. She missed Brutus desperately.

Stella reached to touch her arm. “What was that about it? Are you and Brutus…”

“We’re done.” Denise picked up her plate and took it to the sink. “You heard him. He fucked up.”

When she turned back, Stella had her hand to her mouth, blue eyes round with shock. “I never would have expected that from Brutus,” she said sorrowfully. “I mean, the man practically worshipped you. Who did he mess around with?”

“Nobody. It wasn’t like that.” Denise’s brows pulled together. Oddly, she had never once doubted Brutus’s fidelity. He had lied, but he would never cheat. “What he did was unforgiveable.”

Stella was looking hesitant. “He hit you?”

“No.”

“Then it can’t be unforgiveable.” Stella sounded very sure. “Cheating is one thing. Beating you up? That would be another thing. But other than that, anything can be worked out if two people are willing to talk.”

Good lord, Stella sounded like a therapist. A good therapist. Denise forced a smile. “Thanks for the pie. I better get to work on this paper.”

“Well, okay. If you ever want to talk, I can listen.”

“Thanks.”

The last thing Denise wanted to do was talk to anyone. When she was home for Thanksgiving, her mom could tell something was wrong. She had told her that she and Brutus had broken up. She hadn’t mentioned the lying, or why it bothered her so much, because then she would have to bring the sperm donor into it, and there was no way in hell she was mentioning that the asshole was in town.

Denise spent the last two weeks of the semester doggedly focused on schoolwork and the shelter. Brutus continued to call daily. She continued to let him leave messages. Sometimes he was pleading. Sometimes he was angry. In one message, left at two am on December 6th, he flat out called her a hypocrite for not being willing to talk to the asshole.

“You wanted me to see a therapist?” he growled. “Well, I am. I’ve been talking to Colonel Flowers since the Monday after Thanksgiving. Seems to me you should talk to someone too, unless you like being a hypocrite. This thing you’ve got against your father isn’t healthy, Dee. Talk to someone.”

He called the asshole her father. She almost deleted that message.

The Saturday before Christmas was the Annual Holiday Adopt a Dog Open House at the shelter. Large posters were tacked on the wall of the main room, depicting happy puppies with large red bows around their necks posed under a Christmas tree. Give love this Christmas was the slogan. Beside those posters were the more realistic ones, of those same puppies a few months older, looking sad and forlorn chained in an empty yard. Those posters read Why don’t you love me anymore? Denise made a sour face as she hung up her coat in the tiny breakroom. Lots of people bought puppies for their kids for Christmas and far too many of those puppies ended up in the shelter a few months later, once the family realized how much commitment a pet demanded. A few smarter people came looking for an older dog to adopt from the shelter. That’s what this open house was for. Denise headed for the main room, where the scent of cider and coffee almost covered the smell of dog, to greet guests and help them find the right dog for their family and circumstances.

It was nearly the end of the afternoon when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“I love big dogs, but I live in an apartment, so I think a small dog would be best for me.”

She turned to see Dusty Wolfe with Jenna, one of the volunteers. A quick glance around didn’t reveal Brutus. Denise let out a breath. A relieved breath, of course, not disappointed.

“My friend got his dog here,” Dusty went on with a charming smile at Jenna. “In fact, I think it was Denise who helped him.” He directed that smile at her, almost too handsome to be real. Jenna was visibly disappointed as Dusty moved away. “Hello, Denise.”

She nodded curtly. “Hi, Dusty. You’re looking for a dog?”

He glanced around the big room. A few people clustered around the table with the cookie trays and hot drinks. Others, moms, dads, and kids who had come to see the dogs, played with the hopeful adoptees while volunteers led other dogs on leashes around the room to show them off to prospective families. His gaze returned to her with another smile, this one still charming but a little crooked.

“Actually, no. I would love to have a dog someday, but I’m not home enough to give a dog the attention he would need right now. I came to see you.”

Denise wondered if she could flee to the kennels in back. Don’t be a coward. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He looked around again, maybe not as comfortable as he seemed. “Let’s get something to drink.”

She almost protested that she was working, but the guests had thinned and there wasn’t anything for her to do at the moment. It wasn’t that she wanted to hear what he had to say. No, not at all. It was just that the sooner he said it, the sooner he would leave. That was the only reason she followed him to the refreshments and let him get her a Styrofoam cup of cider. She took her cider and cookie a few yards away where they could be more a little private.

“How have you been?” Dusty asked conversationally.

“Good.” The reply was automatic. “How about you?”

“Good.” He bit into a sugar cookie and took a sip of coffee. By the expression on his face, he wasn’t sure where to start. It made his movie star good looks even more adorable. “Brutus is doing pretty good. He’s back at work.”

She wondered what disciplinary action Captain Stewart had taken about the fighting, but didn’t ask. “That’s good.”

“He misses you.”

Now she took her time biting into her cookie and drinking cider. “Does he?” she murmured noncommittally.

Dusty lowered his cup and looked at her with heavy-lashed eyes so dark they were nearly black. “He does. We talked a while back. Me and Gunnison, I mean. About women. He said he wouldn’t trade you for Miss Texas.”

Denise waited, unimpressed.

“Look, you’re his one. The right one. Oh, hell.” Dusty looked disgusted, mostly likely with himself. He crumpled his cup and tossed it in the can behind them. “Believe it or not, I’m usually able to articulate my thoughts pretty well, but I’m messing this up. Denise, he loves you.” In spite of herself, her stomach fluttered. “He told me he’s been calling you. Why don’t you talk to him?”

“Because he lied to me.”

Dusty shook his head. “That’s harsh. He screwed up. He made a stupid mistake. He’s sorry. Haven’t you ever made a mistake and been sorry for it?”

Denise took a long breath, looking down at the small remaining bit of cookie in her hand. “If he lied about this, what else has he lied about? What else will he lie about?” She looked up at him. “Without trust there can’t be love.”

“Aren’t you even willing to talk to him? He has appointments once or twice a week with Colonel Flowers. He’s doing what you wanted.”

“That’s great, but he shouldn’t be doing it just to please me. He has to learn to handle his aggression for his own sake. This last fight could have killed him.”

Dusty shoved a hand through his thick black hair. “He tried hard to avoid the fight. He was keeping his promise. That guy said rotten things about you. No man could listen to that and not respond, but Brutus was leaving when he was attacked.”

Warmth crept over her, nearly bringing tears to her eyes. She stared at the cement floor.

He shifted his weight. “He’s been my friend for nearly fifteen years. I can tell you honestly that he’s not a liar. I’ve never seen him miserable like this. You’re killing him.”

Denise turned mechanically to the garbage can to toss her cup away. “Tell him to quit calling me. It’s better for us to move on.”

He caught her elbow as she turned to leave him. “Denise, don’t throw Brutus away. No one will ever love you more than he does.”

She tugged free. “Good bye, Dusty.”

 

The semester ended. Brutus stopped calling. Christmas came with a half inch of snow. It was the second white Christmas she’d ever seen. The snow kept her at the ranch an extra day. She tried hard to join in the festive fun, but there was a hole in her heart that made everything seem flat. Her mother cornered her.

“Denise, come into the kitchen and have some coffee with me. It’s a cold one today.”

Denise did, getting a cup and sitting at the table. “It is, but I bet it warms up by tomorrow. I should be able to drive back then.”

“It’s too bad you have to work. It’s so nice having you home.” Her mom brought out a tin of homemade gingerbread men and offered it to Denise before taking one for herself. She held it up to show off the weirdly flat head and the very crooked piped buttons down its front. “I think Caleb made this one. I recall making these with you when you were his age. Remember?”

Denise had to laugh, remembering her own deformed gingerbread men. “Yeah, I sure do. They tasted good though.”

“They did, and they do.” She bit off the mangled head before setting the rest of the cookie on the napkin in front of her, a serious expression on her face.  “Honey, what’s got you down?”

She focused on picking a candy button off her cookie. “Nothing,” she said lamely.

“Oh, no,” her mom said softly. “Don’t you lie to me. Tell me straight out what’s bothering you.”

“Lying,” Denise burst out. “That’s the whole problem.”

Her mom took a sip of coffee. “Does this have to do with your young man?”

“He’s not mine. I told you that when I came for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh-huh, you did. What you didn’t say was why. Come on, now, Denise, tell me all about it. You’ll feel better.”

Words flooded out of Denise. She told her mom how much she had liked Brutus. How he made her laugh about her pink chair and how feminine and pretty he made her feel, and that first hard, exultant kiss at the stadium when they watched the Rangers win a perfect game. She described the ritzy dinner at the French restaurant and how neither of them liked that kind of place. Somehow, Denise dropped Stella’s name when talking about the dress she wore. She hurried past that so her mom wouldn’t focus on it, rushing to talk about Brutus’s habit of fighting and his promise to stop. Finally, she told how he lied to her about getting help. “He didn’t say he was seeing anyone, but he let me believe it,” she finished.

“Who’s Stella?” her mom asked, ignoring the important stuff.

Denise mentally kicked herself. “She’s my roommate. She’s moving in with her boyfriend soon.” She toyed with her gingerbread man.

“You didn’t mention her at Thanksgiving. Is she a friend from school?”

Crap. Denise kept her eyes on the cookie crumbs in her napkin. “Actually, she’s, uh, my sister.”

“Your sister,” she bit out. “Yes, I recall that the asshole’s other daughter is named Stella.” Sarcasm edged the loathing in her voice. “What an old-fashioned name. How on earth did she come to live with you?”

Denise stared at her mom, recognizing the tone she reserved for the asshole. It didn’t feel like the right tone to use for Stella. “She contacted me at the end of August. We’re sort of, kind of friends on social media. Her fiancé had thrown her out of their apartment and she wanted to get away from that area and start new somewhere else. She came as soon as I gave her my address. How did you know her name?”

Her mom ignored the question. “You shouldn’t have her staying with you. You should have nothing to do with any of those people.”

It struck Denise that three months ago she would have vehemently agreed with her mom. “When she first came, I didn’t like her. I was planning to not like her,” she added with painful honesty.

Her mom sent her a brittle smile, reaching for another cookie. “You like her better now?”

“Yeah. She is one of those women who always has to have makeup on and her hair fixed up. Not like me, you know? But she’s not lazy like I thought. She cleans and cooks most every day. Once she got her job she started paying a little rent too.”

Her mom made a sound of disgust. “I hope she’s moving out real quick.”

Denise almost said that Stella wasn’t like her father, but cut it off before she spoke. Mentioning the asshole wouldn’t calm her mom down. “But that’s not what’s bothering me, mom. It’s Brutus. He didn’t tell me the truth.”

Her mom got up to get the coffeepot and warm up their cups. “You didn’t tell me the asshole’s daughter was staying with you.”

Denise hid a wince.

“You lied to protect me.”

“I didn’t lie,” Denise said quickly. “I just didn’t mention it, because I knew this is how you would react.”

“You kept the truth from me, Denise Anne. Sounds like you and Brutus aren’t so different.”

“What?” Denise protested. “It’s not the same thing that Brutus did. I asked him if he was going to get help, and he implied that he was. You never asked me about Stella.”

Her mom clenched her fists on the table and took a deep breath. “Never mind that. Have you talked to Brutus about his lying?”

Denise shifted her weight in her chair, looking down at her coffee. “No.”

“Why not?”

“There’s no excuse for what he did. He lied. I can’t trust a liar.”

Her mom put her cup down. “Since I met Will, I’ve learned that there are plenty of good men out there. I haven’t met Brutus, but I’d bet the ranch that he deserves to be heard. Whether you forgive him is up to you, but if you’re so unhappy without him, isn’t it worthwhile to talk to him?”

Denise hated to cry, but she was blubbering now like a baby. “I miss him so much,” she wailed. “I thought we’d get married. We didn’t talk about it, but I figured that was where we were headed.”

“Aw, honey.” Her mom got up and hugged her. “If you feel that way, you can’t let him go without talking to him first. Just give it some thought, okay?”