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.

“Hey, Chickie,” she called as Denise hooked the heels of her boots over the bottom rung of the stool. “What’ll it be?”

“Beer and a burger basket,” Denise replied. “You know how I like it.”

Billie hollered the order to the back where her husband, Big Joe, manned the grill. She grabbed a longneck out of the case and placed in on the bar in front of Denise. “We haven’t seen you in here for a couple of months. What have you been up to?”

“Just the usual. Work, school, and more work.” She downed a swallow and let it roll, fizzing, down her throat. “That’s good.”

Billie nodded. “Nothing like a cold beer on a hot day. So, what’s up with you and what’s-his-face? That sailor you were seeing last year.”

Denise drank some more. “That’s done. He wanted me to spend more time with him, but you know.” She shrugged wryly. “Work, school, and more work.”

Billie didn’t say any of the usual sympathetic words, just nodded. “When will you be done with school?”

“This is my last year. God willing and the crick don’t rise, I’ll graduate next spring.”

“You will.” Billie sounded sure. “You work harder than anyone. That’s just who you are.”

Another patron down the bar waved for Billie’s attention. Alone, Denise nursed her beer. The big, flat screen TV mounted in the corner showed a baseball game. The Rangers were down by one in the bottom of the eighth. She hadn’t been to a single game this summer. She loved baseball. Why hadn’t she made the time before school started?

“Hey, sweet cheeks.”

She turned to see Dale, one of the regulars, slide onto the stool beside hers. “Hey, Dale. You do know that anyone else who called me sweet cheeks would regret it, right?”

He laughed and raised a finger to catch Billie’s eye. Billie nodded and headed for the case. Dale turned to grin at Denise. “I know, but you like my wife too much to hurt me.”

That was true. Dale might act like a flirt, but he was a safe flirt. He was utterly devoted to Marilyn, and had been for the last twenty years. “You’re lucky to have her.”

The creases that age and sun had put on his face shifted in a small, soft smile. “Don’t I know it.” The smile grew. “I saw you here last night, with some high stepping looker.”

“My sister,” she confirmed. “She’s moving to Dallas from Mississippi. She’ll be staying with me for a little while until she finds a job.”

Billie joined them and gave Dale his beer. “Yeah, I heard you were here last night with a woman in a cocktail dress.” Billie shook her head. “A cocktail dress,” she repeated, in something between disgust and wonder.

“I know.” Denise winced. “My sister asked me to take her to my favorite place to hang and get a drink. I guess she meant a club.”

Dale hooted with laughter, and Billie chuckled.

“I don’t go to clubs.” Denise took another sip of her beer. “Last night was interesting. There was a fight back there.” She jerked her chin toward the back where the pool tables were. “The guy who was in it tripped over my sister on his way out.”

Billie muttered something that Denise didn’t catch. Trying to act casual, she asked, “I don’t think I’ve seen him around here before. Is he a regular?”

Billie’s expression was a mix of exasperation and fondness. “Gunnison. He’s trouble. No one you need to know.”

Denise’s mind went to armed robbery, drug dealing, and breaking kneecaps for a crime lord. “Trouble with the law?”

Billie shrugged and wiped her towel over the bar. “Not that kind of trouble. He fights. The man will fight at the drop of a hat. Hell, he’ll drop the hat himself.”

Denise remembered the smear of blood on his swollen lip. “Has he ever sent someone to the hospital? Killed anyone?”

“No.”

Big Joe dinged the bell in the kitchen, and Billie turned to get the burger basket he put on the shelf. She grabbed the basket and a little caddy with ketchup and salt, and set them down in front of Denise. “Bon appetite,” she said, with a terrible French accent.

“Gracias,” Denise replied and grabbed a ketchup bottle to drown her fries.

After Billie had gone down to the other end of the bar, Dale snitched a fry and popped it in his mouth. “Boy, I tell you what,” he said, savoring the fry with closed eyes and a smile. “That is a hell of a good potato.” He opened his eyes and became serious. “Gunnison isn’t a bad guy. He’s just like the rest of us who came home from Iraq. A little messed up and a lot angry, with nothing to do with it.”

She nodded, eating her hamburger. “Fighting is his outlet,” she guessed.

Dale grinned, saluting her with his beer. “You’re the shrink-in-training, sweet cheeks.” His gaze shifted over her shoulder. “Uh-oh. Speak of the devil.”

Denise glanced toward the door and saw the big man from her dream last night striding toward the bar. Their gazes met, and he froze for a split second. Denise swallowed and forced herself to look away, but she was somehow aware of every step he took until he stood beside her.

“Hi,” a deep, gravelly voice said.

She turned to him and looked up. Even when she was perched on a tall barstool, she had to look up. Way up. “Hi.”

He stuck out a paw. “Brutus Gunnison.”

Brutus? Was that a nickname? She took his hand and shook. His hand was twice the size of hers. All of him was pretty much twice the size of her. “Denise Friedlander.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Silence fell between them, a little awkward. He was staring at her so intently she felt a little intimidated. She didn’t do intimidated. She put her shoulders back and waved a hand at Dale. “Do you know Dale Greenway?”

The two men shook and said the usual things. Billie came over with a scowl. Before she could speak, Brutus ordered a cup of coffee. Billie blinked twice and went to get it.

When she set it down in front of him, he thanked her and turned his attention to Denise. “Come here often?”

He had a little smile that seemed to make fun of himself for using such a cliched line. The smile looked good on him. “I used to,” she replied. “Not so much lately. I’m pretty busy.”

Maybe he guessed that she didn’t like to crane her neck to look up at him, because he leaned an elbow on the bar and relaxed into a comfortable slump. “So, what do you do to keep pretty busy?”

“I’m a student at UT, and I work for Dog Heaven.” She was suddenly excruciatingly aware of the dried slobber on her jeans.

He straightened, great interest on his face. “Really? I got my dog there a year ago.”

A dog lover. That alone made her warm up to him. “That’s great. How is it going with him? Her?”

“Him. Real good. Rowdy is a great dog. I’m lucky to have him.”

It always made her happy to hear that one of the dogs had found a good home. “I wonder if I know him? What’s he look like?”

“Big and ugly.” Again, that little smile came out, almost shy. “Brown. He looks like he might be part Rottweiler, part German Shepherd, and part who knows what. When I adopted him, his name was Diesel.”

She remembered Diesel. One hundred pounds of mean and frightened dog was hard to forget. “He gets along with you?”

“We get along just fine.” He slouched again and took a sip of his coffee. “At first, he was sure skittish, but he came around. He just needed some extra love.” He frowned. “Not that you folks at the shelter don’t love the dogs there, but …”

“But there are a lot of dogs and only a few of us,” she finished for him. “I real glad Diesel found a good home. What do you do?”

“I’m with Dallas Fire and Rescue, Station Fifty-Eight.”

With his muscles, he could carry a buffalo out of a burning building. “A fireman?”

“A firefighter,” he corrected. “There are plenty of female firefighters who don’t appreciate the sexist label.” He looked almost adorably sheepish when he cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to lecture you. We just had our annual sexual harassment training, so it’s fresh in my mind.” He coughed. “But, no. I’m an EMS.”

Dale startled her by joining in the conversation. “A medic. That’s what you did overseas, right?”

Brutus —she was still having a hard time with that name— nodded. “Hospital corpsman attached to the Fifth Regiment, U.S. Marine Corps.”

She glanced automatically at the tattoo on his forearm. She remembered the bouncer calling him Doc, a common nickname for hospital corpsmen. A cheer distracted her and sent her gaze to the television in the corner in time to see a replay of a run batted in. The Rangers had tied the game and forced extra innings. “Way to go, Gallo,” she cheered.

Brutus looked at her with an approving smile that made her want to blush. “What?” she said, almost defensively.

“You like baseball?”

“Sure.”

“I have tickets for next Saturday’s game. Would you like to go?”

Denise looked at him, lingering on the swelling of his lower lip and the slight discoloration of a bruise on his jaw. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, no offence, but I don’t know you.”

“Sure, sure, I get that.” He looked crestfallen, but after an uncomfortable moment, he brightened. “How about if we meet at the stadium? We wouldn’t have to be alone. Just two baseball fans taking in the game. Do you have your own car?”

“Yeah.” She thought about it. Being alone in a car with him might make her uncomfortable, but if she drove herself she could leave any time. Here was her chance to get to know the guy with no pressure. If she decided she liked him after spending a few hours with him at the game, maybe they could see each other again. “Okay,” she said. “That sounds pretty good. Where should we meet? What time?”

His smile was sudden and turned his rough face startlingly attractive. “Great.” He named a spot at the stadium and suggested half past six. That would give them half an hour to meet and get settled before the game started.

“I’ll be there,” she promised.

He looked around. “Where’s your friend?” When she blinked, he clarified. “The blonde you were with last night.”

“That’s my sister, Stella. She’s home. Um. She moved here from Mississippi last week. She’s staying with me until she finds a job and can get on her feet.”

“The garage is looking for a parts runner,” Dale said helpfully.

Denise tried to imagine her sister delivering auto parts and failed. “Thanks, Dale, I’ll mention it to her.”

She turned back to find Brutus staring at her. A slight flush crept into his cheeks. He swallowed the last of his coffee and tossed a five on the bar. “I better get home to Rowdy. I’m sure glad I ran into you, Denise. See you Saturday.”

She watched him go. That T-shirt fit him perfectly, from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist. His worn jeans cupped his perfect ass in a way that made her want to give him a squeeze to see if his glutes were really as hard as they looked.

Dale coughed. “Boy, I tell you what. If he could see the look on your face right now, he’d either run for the hills or buy a jumbo box of condoms.”

“Dale!”

“Sorry, sweet cheeks.” Dale appeared to try to control himself, but his hooting laughter rang out. “This is gonna be fun.”