Denise rushed home from Dog Heaven the next afternoon, anxious to get ready for the double date with Brutus’s partner. She hadn’t seen her sister since she came in last night with a man in tow. She’d hoped he’d left while she and Brutus were at Billie’s, but when she’d gotten up in the early hours to pee, she found the toilet seat up. She wanted to tell her sister firmly that no men were allowed overnight. That would be hypocritical, though, since she’d had Brutus over, and if Stella hadn’t come in they might have gone a lot further than a little petting in the chair.

Stella was there waiting for her. The kitchen table was clear except for a bunch of bottles of hair products, curling irons, a blow dryer, and an open case showing rows of various types of makeup. “Oh, good,” she said as Denise came in. “Hurry and take your shower. Come out in your robe. We’re running a little behind, so please hurry.”

Denise glanced at the clock. “Brutus won’t be here until six thirty. We have an hour and a half.”

“I know.” Stella sounded agonized. “But we can do it if you hurry.”

Denise hurried, although she’d never taken an hour and a half to get ready for anything in her life. How could it possibly take more than fifteen minutes to dry her hair and put on a little lipstick? Okay, maybe twenty to get dressed.

As soon as she came out of the bathroom in her robe, Stella took charge. Feeling embarrassingly cowed, Denise sat down and let her sister do what she wanted.

“First, hair,” Stella decreed, pulling a basket of brushes and the hair dryer to her. She went through the cans of hair product on the table, muttering about volume and hold. Denise sat like a rabbit afraid to move for fear of the hunter. She inhaled the scent of coconut and pineapple when her sister worked some foam through her damp hair. Over the sound of the blow dryer Stella complimented her hair.

“It’s not too thick,” she said cheerfully, “but it’s in great condition. You should have some highlights put in. Some blond streaks would give it nice depth.”

Stella parted it in different places, wrapped it around a curling iron, tugged it, and jammed pins in it for another twenty minutes, then sprayed enough hair spray on it to supply an eighties hair band for a month. Then she started on makeup. Denise looked up, looked down, parted her lips, and opened her eyes wide on command.  An hour and fifteen minutes after she’d gotten out of the shower, Denise’s hair and makeup were done and she was allowed to stand up. Stella had the dress ready.

When the dress was zipped and Denise had stepped into the gold shoes, Stella stood back with her hands clasped below her chin. “Oh, you look wonderful.”

Denise smiled to hide her trepidation. “Wonderful?”

“Absolutely. Come on.” Stella grabbed her arm and towed her to the mirror on her bedroom door. “See?”

Denise looked at the mirror. Stared. Leaned a little closer. The woman in the mirror looked strong and elegant. Her hair was pulled loosely back and was twisted into a low bun just above her neck. Her eyes were a pop of blue between thick lashes. Denise’s complexion was not that smooth and even, but she didn’t even look like she was wearing makeup. Even her lips looked mostly natural, just a hint of pink shine. The dress gave her the illusion of a waist, even though she was built on slightly pudgy lines with a small chest and narrow hips.

“I’m pretty,” she said in surprise.

“No.” Stella’s voice was decisive. “I’m pretty. You’re beautiful.”

Denise turned to look at her sister. “You’re the beautiful one.”

“No, I’m pretty, and wearing the right clothes and makeup help, but my kind of looks fade with age. You have good bones. You will still be beautiful when you’re eighty.”

The matter-of-fact tone surprised Denise. Uncomfortable, she shifted her weight in her high heeled shoes. “Thank you, Stel. I couldn’t have done this myself. I wouldn’t have even known where to start. Seriously. Thank you.”

Stella beamed. “You’re welcome. This was fun. The only thing you still need is some jewelry.”

“Got that covered.”

Denise went to her sock drawer and pulled out a flat velvet case. She opened it to show her grandmother’s gold locket.  Beside it was a pair of earrings made in the shape of a prairie rose and a matching bracelet made of the same roses. Each petal was made of mother of pearl outlined in gold.

Stella squealed. “Oh, those are perfect! You are going to look like Princess Kate.”

“I think I’m fatter and shorter than her.”

The buzzer rang.

“I’ll go let him in,” Stella volunteered, “while you put your jewelry on.”

She heard Stella greet Brutus and introduce herself.  The deep rumble of Brutus’s voice responding sent a shiver sliding down Denise’s back. Just the sound of his voice woke a thread of lust in her. She looked into the mirror one last time, adjusted the locket so it hung just right in the deep V of the neckline of her dress, and stepped out into the short hall that led to the living room.

She stopped dead, transfixed by Brutus in a dark suit. The crisp white shirt showed off his dark tan. The coat fit him smoothly, showing how lean his waist was compared to the breadth of his shoulders. He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. He looked great in jeans and a T-shirt, but in a suit he was devastating. She was struck by an overpowering urge to take his coat off and peel him out of his shirt. Down, girl, she told herself.

He smiled at her sister, nodding politely at something Stella had said, and glanced over Stella’s shoulder. His mouth fell open. From the corner of her eye, Denise saw Stella turn toward her with a smugly satisfied smile. She gave them a minute to gape at each other before moving to her bedroom.

“I’ll get that purse for you, Sissy.” She returned in only a moment, holding a small, cream colored evening bag with a thin gold chair for a handle. “I’ll put in the lipstick so you can touch up as necessary. You want your wallet and phone, right?” She opened the pocket of Denise’s backpack and pulled out her battered wallet and her phone. She handed the now bulging handbag to Denise. “There you go.”

Denise took it. “Thanks.”

Stella’s smile was warm. “Wait, let me get a pic. You both look perfect.”

Brutus looked uncomfortable, but he put an arm around her and smiled as her sister ordered.

“Perfect,” Stella said. “Now, y’all have a nice time. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

Denise looked at Brutus. Was tonight the night she would peel him out of his clothes and find out exactly what he looked like in his birthday suit? “Sure, I’ll tell you every detail,” she lied.

Brutus stepped back to allow her to precede him down the hall and stairs, but hurried forward to open the door of the apartment building for her. He cleared his throat. “I brought my truck. Um…Not very fancy.”

She tilted her head back to give him a smile. “I love your truck.”

She went quickly down the sidewalk to the truck at the burb. Her shoes were already pinching her toes. By the end of the night she’d be whimpering in pain. Maybe he could give her a foot massage. Among other things, she thought with a suppressed giggle. She stepped forward and opened the passenger door, preparing to catch the top of the cab and swing up into the seat as usual.

“Hold on!”

Brutus put his big, strong hands around her waist and lifted her up to the seat. His strength was such a turn-on that she wanted to kiss him right there. That would mess up her lipstick though. Instead she laid her hand over his freshly shaved cheek.

“You look amazing in that suit.”

A flush flowed up his face until even the tips of his ears were pink. “Me?” He snorted. “I look at you, and I forget how to breathe.”

She blinked rapidly, feeling the hot press of tears behind her eyes. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Brutus put his big hand over hers where it lay on his cheek. “You look like a million bucks.” He moved her hand to kiss her palm. “You always do. The first time I saw you in Billie’s was the first time I forgot how to breathe. Haven’t quite gotten the hang of it again since.”

Denise pulled her hand free to grasp his. She lightly bit down on the tip of his forefinger. “Maybe I could show you how later, after supper.”

His eyes darkened. “We could skip supper,” he suggested. “Maybe throw a couple of steaks on the grill at my place. After we, uh, work up an appetite.”

She swallowed. “Tempting. But Stella went to a lot of trouble to fix my hair and all. How about we go to supper, and then head over to your place for dessert?”

“That’s a plan.”

He closed her door and hustled around to get into the driver’s seat. As he drove to the restaurant, she forced herself to make casual conversation, but anticipation bubbled at the back of her mind all the way. Every now and then he shot her a glance so full of heat that she knew he must be thinking about dessert too.

The restaurant was the kind that pretended to be rustic, in the most elegant way. The decorating scheme centered around grapes and wine. Denise saw several old fashioned grape presses scattered around the cobblestone floor. Each table was lit by a low hanging fixture made to look like a wine cask cut in half. Bunches of grapes dangled artfully off the top. The tablecloths were dark reddish purple, with snowy white napkins. French music played at a discreet murmur.

The maître d in his dapper dark suit greeted them. A few words from Brutus concerning meeting Dusty and his girlfriend had the man smiling and leading them through the restaurant and up a short flight of steps to a table on the upper level near a window.  A couple already sat there. As they approached, the man rose to his feet with a smile. Denise recognized him from the night at Billie’s when she’d first seen Brutus.

Brutus shook hands with his friend and hooked his free arm around her.  “Wolfe, this is Denise Friedlander. Dee, this is my partner, Dustin Wolfe.”

“Dusty,” he corrected with a smile, reaching a hand to Denise to shake. “It’s great to meet you, Denise.”

Wow. He sure was a pretty boy. His teeth were dazzlingly white in his dark Native American face. His dark eyes were heavily lashed, his black hair cut neatly at the nape, thick and glossy. Pretty, but maybe not so boyish, Denise decided, seeing the strength in the line of his jaw.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” she murmured.

He turned to the woman sitting at the table. “This is Cherilyn Hughes. Cherilyn, you know my partner. This is his girlfriend, Denise Friedlander.”

Dusty was warm and friendly. Cherilyn was neither. Denise took one look, and pegged her as a spoiled, rich, ice queen. Her long, blond hair was perfectly styled in waves down her back. Her makeup was flawless. Her dress was an icy blue color that matched her eyes. She wasn’t pretty. She was beautiful, like a marble sculpture was beautiful.

“Hi, Cherilyn,” she said politely.

Cherilyn flicked a glance up and down her, and nodded coolly. She barely glanced at Brutus. Denise wasn’t sure what to make of that. She didn’t rub elbows with glamour girls like Cherilyn, and she’d never wanted to.  Brutus held the chair opposite Dusty and seated her as smoothly as if he were some rich guy used to mingling with high society. It was a relief to get off her feet. She was never wearing these shoes again.

Her feet weren’t the only part of her uncomfortable, thanks to Cherilyn. While Dusty asked friendly questions to get to know her, Cherilyn looked bored.  She picked at the appetizer platter without much interest. Dusty was easy to talk to. He was as handsome as his girlfriend was beautiful, but he was warm and friendly. It turned out that Dusty had been a medic in Iraq, and had been stationed at the same base she had spent several months at, though at different times.

“Did you have Thursday Steak Night?” he asked.

“Oh, sure,” she said, remembering the highlight of her week at that camp with a grin. “I think it was actual beef.  Sometimes, at least. And a couple of times we had real baked potatoes.”

“No way!” Dusty gave her a grimace. “We had mashed potatoes, the kind that come from a box.”

“Faked potatoes,” Brutus chimed in. “Man, they never got the amount of water right. Either they were runny or dry as the sand.”

Their meals came and Denise was anxious to see what she’d ordered. The French name on the menu had looked good, but without pictures she had only guessed at what it was. The waiter placed a plate in front of her that smelled divine. Chicken breasts in some kind of creamy mushroom sauce, and a spinach salad with dried cherries and almonds on the side.

Dusty flashed a white grin at her. “Better than Thursday Steak Night?”

She inhaled with closed eyes and a wide smile. “Definitely.”

She opened her eyes to catch a disgusted look on Cherilyn’s face just before she wiped it away.  They might have been a little rude, talking about their military experiences. Cherilyn probably didn’t have much to add to that. Leaning a little toward the other woman, she smiled. “What do you do, Cherilyn?”

Cherilyn angled her head, showing off a long, elegant throat, and raised her hand to cover a yawn.  “I’m an actress and model.”

“Oh.” Denise tried to imagine that job. “That sounds exciting.”

“Not especially.”

Cherilyn looked at Denise with a smile. Maybe she was trying to be friendly? Denise didn’t think so. The smile was too close to a sneer.

“It’s a lot of work,” Cherilyn went on. “Hours of standing around followed by a few minutes of posing and trying to make the clothes look good. But Daddy says I have to have a job. No freeloaders in our family, even though the trust fund my grandfather set up would support me.”

“Oh,” said Denise again. She cast about for another polite question. “How did you and Dusty meet?”

Cherilyn took a sip of her wine. “At the charity gala to benefit the Dallas Fire and Rescue teams.” She cast a glance at Dusty. “I was on the organizing committee. Dusty was the handsomest man there.”

Cherilyn fell silent, almost studiously ignoring them. Denise decided she had tried hard enough to be friendly, and leaned to Brutus. “What did you order?”

“Filet de Boeuf Sauce au Poivre.” His accent was terrible. He knew it; his grin said so. “Steak with black pepper, I think. It’s got a little bite.

“Looks good.”

He cut a little piece and held it out to her. “Try it.”

“Ooh, tender. As tender as my uncles’ beef brisket. Every summer we have a couple of barbeques. That is the only way to cook brisket. We can smell that meat slow roasting all day. By suppertime we all can’t wait to dig in.”

The conversation was warm and casual between three of them. Cherilyn simply ate in silence, occasionally smiling at them. She seemed to have two kinds of smiles: forced and condescending. Denise had been raised to be polite, and polite meant including everyone in a conversation, so she asked a few more questions. Cherilyn’s grandfather had been in the oil industry, and her father was in state politics. That information was delivered with the condescending smile. Denise gave up again.

When Brutus’s plate was clean he put down his fork. “That was good. Hey, Dee, let’s go to the wishing well and make a wish. Wolfe, if the waiter comes while we’re gone, order us a chocolate mousse to share, okay?”

They got up and left the upper level to go to the wishing well, an extra-large winepress near the front. A discreet sign informed them the coins would be donated to a local children’s charity. She held his hand as they looked into the water at the scattered silver and copper coins at the bottom.

“Dessert?” she asked. “I thought we already had plans for dessert.”

“You bet we do.” He leaned down so his lips brushed her ear. “Sweet, sweet dessert, made just for two.”

She fanned her face and decided to turn the topic of conversation. “I don’t think your partner’s girlfriend likes me.”

He snorted. “I know she doesn’t like me. Cold, stuck-up bitch.” At her gasp, he reddened. “Sorry.”

“No, I think you’re right. What does Dusty see in her?”

“Besides a knockout face and a killer body? No clue. But that’s Wolfe for you. He never doesn’t have a girlfriend, and every one of them has been fake.”

“That’s too bad. He seems like a good man.”

“He is.” Brutus shook his head. “He deserves someone who cares more about him than she does about her hair. Someone who is pretty inside as much as outside.” He looked down at her. “Someone like you.”

There were people all around them. That was the only reason she didn’t throw herself on him and kiss him senseless. “You are so sweet.”

“Sweet!” He rolled his eyes, the tips of his ears glowing red. He dug in his pocket and handed her a quarter. “Here. Make a wish.”

A wish popped into her head. It was ridiculous. But as she tossed the quarter into the water she wished she could be with this man for the rest of her life.

“What was your wish?” he asked.

“Can’t tell you. Wishes are secret.”

He curled his hand around hers. “Okay.” He smiled down at her. “I know what mine would be.”

“Don’t tell,” she scolded him, “or it won’t come true.”

“I’m counting on making it come true tonight.” He smiled again and led her back toward the steps leading to the upper level. Cherilyn brushed by them. She didn’t speak, or smile, or even nod. In fact, she acted like she didn’t even see them. Her stiletto heels clicked over the cobblestone floor all the way to the door. They both stared after her, before glancing at each other. Brutus shrugged and they continued to their table.

Dusty sat with his forehead in one palm. Dusty must have heard them, because he straightened quickly with a forced smile. Denise stared at him, not sure what to say. Brutus didn’t seem to have the same trouble.

“Hey,” he began, but Brutus cut him off.

“We saw Cherilyn leave,” he said mildly. “What the hell, man?”

Denise sat down. “Was she feeling sick? She was sure quiet.”

Dusty’s face was oddly blank. “No,” he said quietly. “She dumped me.”

Discomfort fled, leaving Denise with a dropped jaw. In public? In the middle of a double date? That’s what she wanted to say, but she didn’t. “Her loss,” she said. “You’d think someone like her would have more class.”

Brutus muttered something that sounded a lot like “cold bitch” as he jerked his chair out to sit.

Dusty waved a hand with a crooked smile. “I’ve known it was coming. We just didn’t have that much in common. Can you imagine Cherilyn living in a five-room house on the Rez?”

Brutus grunted. “You told her about your plans?”

“Last week.”

Brutus folded his arms. “Well, you’re better off without her.”

Denise gave Brutus a frown before turning to Dusty. She saw the bleak hurt he couldn’t entirely hide. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

His smile was still a little lopsided, but it looked genuine. “Yeah. At least, I will be.”

“Better off,” Brutus repeated callously. “You don’t need her.”

Denise kicked him under the table.

“Ow!” he said.

Dusty croaked out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Denise. Me and that pile of muscles next to you understand each other pretty well.” He glanced down at his fist and seemed to force himself to relax. His long fingers uncurled and he laid his hand flat on the table. “I ordered our desserts, but do you mind if I skip out early?”

“No, of course not,” Denise said.

“No problem,” Brutus said. “We have plans after supper anyway.”

Denise felt her face get red. Dusty was either too focused on his hand or too polite to notice. He flagged down their waiter and asked for his check and to have his dessert boxed to go. Brutus echoed him. After the waiter left, Brutus leaned close to Denise.

“You don’t mind if we take the mousse home, do you? We can have the mousse after our, er, dessert.”

“That’s fine.” Denise was surprised her voice sounded so casual.

Heat coiled in her belly. She folded her hands in her lap to keep her fingers from stroking him. All those thick, beautiful muscles would be bare for her soon. Her breathing sped up when she imagined peeling his coat off his shoulders and unbuttoning his white shirt. She tried to think of some small talk while they waited for their desserts and checks, but nothing came to mind, so she just looked down at her hands in her lap.

Luckily the wait wasn’t long. The three of them walked out together, not speaking until they reached the parking lot. Dusty smiled at Denise.

“I’m glad I got to meet you, Denise. We’ll need to get together again sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

Brutus gave Dusty’s shoulder a little shake. “See you tomorrow at work.”

Dusty nodded. “Later.”

Denise watched Dusty walk away, holding the small cardboard box of his dessert in one hand. His back was straight, his long-legged stride even, but she felt like maybe he was internally hunched over to protect a wound. Brutus slipped an arm around her waist and guided her to his truck.  She was grateful for the support. Her pretty shoes were rapidly turning into the implements of torture she remembered from the wedding. He opened the passenger door and boosted her up. She set their mousse on the center console and fastened her seat belt while he went around and climbed in. He started the truck and paused. With one arm over the wheel, he turned to her with a half-smile.

“My place?” he asked.

The gravel in his voice made her shiver. She kept her gaze on his. “Yes.”

He took off. After a block, his speed lessened and he drove sedately.

“Not in a hurry anymore?” she asked.

“Honey, if I drove as fast as I wanted we’d either be home in ten minutes, or arrested. I’m not spending my dessert time in jail.”

“Dessert time?” she gurgled.

He hunched over the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, and cleared his throat. “Dessert time,” he affirmed.

Boy, she couldn’t wait to hear him use that low, intimate growl in her ear when she was under him. If she didn’t direct her attention somewhere else, she was going to jump him right here on the road. She took a deep breath and eased an inch away, casting about for something else to talk about.

“I feel bad for Dusty. Were he and Cherilyn together long?”

Brutus shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe four months?”

Denise wasn’t sure if that was a long time or not. “It’s too bad.”

Brutus snorted. “No, it’s not. He deserves better. And he was right: she never would have stood living on the reservation.”

“What reservation? Where is Dusty from?”

“Originally, he’s from South Dakota, but he grew up in Minneapolis.” He shuddered. “Too damn cold for me.” He waved a hand. “Do you remember at supper when I asked if Wolfe had told Cherilyn about his plans?”

“Vaguely.”

“His plan is to go back to the reservation in South Dakota and start up an ambulance service there. The reservation is big, like thirty-five hundred square miles, and there’s not a lot of healthcare facilities in local neighborhoods. Wolfe thinks another ambulance service would save lives. The people there are poor. No money, no jobs to earn any, and the houses are substandard. Like not everyone has indoor plumbing. It’s like a third world from what Wolfe says.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “Can you imagine someone like Cherilyn living in a place like that?”

She couldn’t. “I guess you’re right. If Dusty is going to do that, he needs a strong woman who loves him and cares about what’s important to him.”

“Damn straight.”

He cranked the wheel to turn onto a residential street, and even though he was in a suit coat, she could see the bulge of muscle in his upper arm press against the fabric. Anticipation, hot and heavy, shuddered through her.

A few minutes later the truck came to a stop in front of a small, single level house. A streetlight showed that it was painted pale gray with black shutters on the two windows to either side of the front door. The grass had been recently mowed; she could see the stripes in the grass left by the mower. It looked like a plain, well cared for home.

Brutus turned off the truck and looked at her. “Home sweet home,” he said, before getting out and coming around to her door to help her down.

Something in his face made her think he felt the same anticipation she did. Or maybe it was the way he hurried her up the walk to the door. He unlocked the door but paused.

“I better go in first,” he said. “Rowdy doesn’t like strangers in his house, and he might not remember you.”

For a moment Denise couldn’t think who Rowdy could be, but the rapid click of nails on linoleum followed by the full-throated barking of a big dog reminded her that Brutus had adopted Diesel from the place where she worked. Brutus opened the door, dropping into a slight crouch so the dog couldn’t get past him, and pushed into the dark door. Denise waited until lights flipped on inside, then stepped up into house. The dog’s barking went from joyous welcome to frenzied warning.

“Down, boy,” Brutus yelled. “This is Dee. She’s our friend.”

Denise stood perfectly still, allowing the dog to calm. In only a minute his growls faded and the broad black nose sniffed her offered hand. The dog she remembered as Diesel was just as ugly as he had been in the shelter, but his weight had grown to a healthy range, his short coat gleamed, and his eyes were bright. Brutus had treated him right. Denise found that so sexy she had to fan herself.

“I’ll put him out,” Brutus said. “Be right back.”

Alone, Denise looked around. The living room was simply furnished. The couch was long and deep, the brown leather worn and scarred by dog claws. A recliner, a sedate brown microfiber, was positioned for the best view of the big flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Brutus must be a meticulous housekeeper. There wasn’t any evidence of dust on the end table or crumbs on the beige carpet. She kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief. She was never wearing those again.

Brutus came back in and stopped, staring at her feet. “Oh,” he said with obvious disappointment.

“What?”

“I was looking forward to seeing you wear those.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Sexy shoes,” he explained, rather obscurely. Apparently seeing his explanation didn’t clear things up, he went on. “You. In those shoes. Nothing but the shoes.”

Comprehension dawned. “Oh! Right.” She glanced around the living room, faintly embarrassed. “Maybe later.”

His ears turned pink. “Would you like a tour of the place?”

Embarrassment faded. She went to him and stood on tiptoe to lace her hands behind his neck. “Later. For now, just show me the bedroom.”