Dallas Fire & Rescue: Brave Hearts (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  Text copyright ©2017 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

  Brave Hearts

  Maddy Barone

  Dedicated to my cousin Kris Karlson, proud member of the USMC. Once a Marine, always a Marine, right, Kris?

  And my grateful thanks to Linda Faneuff and Mary Ellen Faneuff, for allowing me to use their names in this story.

  Edited by Dayna Hart of Hart to Heart Editing

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Dusty set his phone on the table with a small frown. Brutus flicked a card his way. Automatically, Dusty picked up the card and added it to his hand. Nothing. Not even a pair. They’d been playing poker for the last two hours of their shift at the station house of Dallas Fire & Rescue, and the bowl of pretzels was overflowing. He wondered if he could bluff his way into winning the pot of pretzels.

  No, Brutus knew him too well for a bluff to work.

  Brutus jerked his chin toward the phone. “Wasn’t that the delicious Shawnda?”

  Dusty rearranged his cards, trying to keep his face impassive. “Yeah.”

  After a minute of expectant silence, Brutus slapped his cards face down on the table. “C’mon, Wolfe,” he said. “Spit it out. What did last year’s third runner up to Miss Texas want?”

  “Nothing. That’s the trouble,” he added in a mutter.” Dusty risked a quick glance around the station dayroom to see if any other EMS personnel or firefighters were listening. There were about a half-dozen other people in the big room, but no one seemed to be paying attention to their corner.

  Brutus leaned a beefy forearm on the table, which squeaked under the strain. The man was a wall of muscle. Dusty was an inch over six feet with a broad-shouldered body he kept toned by running and pumping iron at the station weight room, but Brutus was three inches taller and outweighed Dusty by sixty pounds, all of it solid muscle. Someone who judged him only by his craggy face and powerful build would think Brutus was a brute, but Dusty knew him to be a fiercely loyal friend with a tender heart. Not that Brutus would ever admit to the tender heart.

  “What do you mean? Talk to me, man.”

  Dusty scowled at his cards. Ace high. “Nothing. She called to cancel our date tonight.” He looked away from his cards to stare at his friend. “In fact, she won’t be seeing me again.”

  Brutus winced. “Bummer, man. I can see why you’re down.”

  Dusty looked down and rearranged his cards again. “I am bothered,” he admitted, not looking up. “But not because she cancelled.” He tried to sort his thoughts the way he was sorting his cards. “I’m bothered because it doesn’t bother me.”

  “What?” Brutus squawked. “It doesn’t bother you that the fourth hottest chick in the great state of Texas just dumped your ass?”

  Grinding his teeth, Dusty shot another glance around. The two firefighters at the nearby pool table quickly looked away, as if trying to pretend that they hadn’t heard Brutus. “No, it doesn’t. Actually, I’m relieved.”

  “Man, are you sick?”

  “No, I’m old.”

  “What?” This time Brutus kept his voice quiet. “You’re thirty-one. I don’t think we need to get you a walker just yet.”

  He tried to explain. “Shawnda is twenty-two. She’s sweet, and beautiful, and doesn’t have a clue of what life is really like.”

  “A bimbo?”

  “No. She’s intelligent enough, but she’s never seen anyone die while she was trying to save their life. She has no idea what it is like to get up at oh dark thirty and ride in a convoy that could be blown to kingdom come at any second. She’s never had everyone else depending on her to save them when their deuce rolls over an IED. When I was her age, I was on my second tour in Iraq.”

  Brutus sat back with a breath blown between his teeth. His face held unsmiling acknowledgement. Yeah, Dusty had known his buddy would understand. Brutus had done three tours in Iraq as a corpsman with the Marine Fifth Regiment. Dusty had served as a medic in the Army. Their shared experiences cemented their friendship. They also strengthened their partnership as Emergency Medical Responders with Dallas Fire and Rescue.

  “Okay,” Brutus said, serious now. “So, she hasn’t played in the Sandbox, but is that what you want in a woman? To be able to share war stories on a date?”

  “I don’t know.” He pushed his cards away and put his elbows on the table to lean his forehead on his fists. “I would like to have an intelligent conversation with a woman, instead of listening to her go on and on about her shoe shopping experience and how hard it is to choose the right color of nail polish for her outfit.”

  “Oh, hell, yes.” Brutus was back to laughing at him. “War stories are definitely more interesting.”

  “Well, at least I can contribute to that conversation,” Dusty shot back. “What do you say when she asks if you like Cherry Bomb Ombre or Painted Desert Shimmer better?”

  Brutus screwed up his face. “Does either of them involve alcohol?”

  Dusty chuckled. “You suck,” he said gratefully.

  “I do my best.” His friend glanced at the clock. “Shift’s over.”

  They put away the cards and headed out of the dayroom. When they got outside to their vehicles, Dusty spoke again. “Hey, you want a couple of tickets to the ballet tonight?”

  Brutus looked at him like he was out of his mind. “Are you nuts? Baseball, yeah. Basketball, sure. Football, absolutely. Ballet? No way in hell. Go find a new date. A pretty boy like you should be able to find a woman to take to the ballet.”

  “Maybe Denise would like to go.”

  “Ha!” Brutus’ grin was wide. “Dee would rather watch a Rangers game. In fact, we have seats for tomorrow’s match up with the Red Socks. So you just go find yourself a date and watch the pretty ladies twirl around on their toes.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  They bumped fists and got into their respective vehicles. Dusty left the parking lot and wasn’t sure what to do with his next forty-eight hours. Brutus had a fiancée to go home to. Denise and Brutus were in love, and Dusty was happy for his friend, but until now he’d never been envious of him. All Dusty had waiting at home for him was a mostly empty fridge and a herd of dust bunnies. Going home to a lonely apartment didn’t appeal to him right now.

  An hour later he was still driving aimlessly around Dallas. This was an area he wasn’t familiar with. Residential neighborhoods with small houses and minuscule well-kept yards were punctuated by blocks of small businesses. It reminded him of small towns back home in South Dakota. A stab of homesickness spiked through his chest. He should go home and see his mom and dad, meet the new crop of nieces and nephews his sisters and brothers had produced. Maybe that’s what he needed to get rid of this sense of dissatisfaction. Family connections. Yeah, he’d
talk to the captain about taking some time off this summer and head north to see his folks.

  But for now, he should go home to his apartment. Lonely or not, it was home. He should delete those ballet tickets from his phone, grab some food, and crash on the couch for a couple of hours of TV reruns before going to bed. When he spotted a takeout place between a bookstore and a coffee shop, he decided to stop.

  The nearest parking spot was a block away. He walked along the street, looking into the windows as he passed. The coffee shop was fronted by nothing but windows with tables lined up so the patrons could watch the traffic outside. At the first table in the window a young Hispanic couple ignored the view and their coffee to hold hands and smile at one another. Even their feet were touching. That was young love. Sweet, sappy, and — he reluctantly admitted – rather wonderful.

  The next table was empty, but the third table had a woman working on a laptop seated at it. Dusty slowed as he examined her. Was she familiar? She might have some Native American blood. Her hair was straight and shoulder length, the rich glossy brown of coffee, half hiding a face of strong lines. Her profile had a proud, hawkish nose. Probably not a pretty face, but a strong one. No, he decided, he didn’t know her. She certainly wasn’t a woman he had dated. She had to be in her mid-thirties at least, and the oldest woman he had dated had been Mandy. At twenty-eight, the TV news anchor had been his own age at the time. He came to a stop, staring at the woman in the window. There was something about her that he seemed to recognize.

  She glanced up through the window and he saw her face full on. No, not pretty, but distinctive with a certain harsh beauty. She held a piece of paper up, probably trying to catch the light, and studied it for a long minute before putting it down and picking up another. She stroked her fingers over it as if she were petting a cat. Her gaze passed from it to him, and back to it, without lingering on him. She added the paper to a stack on the table and tapped at the keyboard of her laptop. That niggling sense of recognition tugged at him. He knew her. He was sure of that. But where… His gaze fell on a wooden cane leaning against the table, and he looked quickly at the woman’s legs, revealed by the skirt she wore.

  Oh, God. Breath froze like ice in his lungs. He knew who she was. He stared blindly, seeing not a woman wearing a sleeveless red blouse in a homey coffee shop in Dallas, but a soldier wearing the red of her own blood in a crowded and dusty vehicle in Iraq.

  Without another thought, he went into the coffee shop.

  Chapter Two

  Isabel Ybarra selected another of the sample cards the yarn company had sent and scrutinized the yarn swatches glued there. So beautiful and soft. She could imagine what a gorgeous shawl the silk and cashmere blend yarn would make, but would the shop’s customer base buy it, or would the price keep the beautiful skeins sitting on the shelf?

  With a regretful sigh, she put the sample card aside and picked up another for sock yarn. Dos Hermanas Yarn Shop was small, and shelf space needed to go to yarns that were most likely to sell. She and her sister Inez were dedicated to making their small business work, and now, in their fourth year of business, they were making a tiny profit. With her military disability checks, Isabel was making ends meet. She didn’t have much left over at the end of the month, but at least she didn’t have to go to her brother begging for help. Eduardo would be happy to give her money, but his wife, Carmen, would begrudge every penny, even though Eddie made a very good living.

  Glancing at her watch, she knew it was time to get back to the shop so Inez could have supper before the knitting class began. Isabel picked up her plate and reached for her cane. A northern-accented voice spoke above her.

  “Excuse me,” the man’s voice said. “You may not remember me, but we met in Iraq.”

  Isabel tilted her head to look up. The man was quite tall. His raven black hair was short, his eyes darker than her own, large and heavy-lashed, and his mouth smiled at her with dazzlingly white teeth. His face was simply too good looking to be real, saved from boyish beauty by a sharply defined jaw and square chin. He wasn’t a boy, but a man of about her own age.

  And yes, she did remember him.

  “Specialist Wolfe,” she said composedly. She felt anything but composed, her throat dry and her heart thudding. “It’s been quite a while. Twelve years?”

  His gorgeous smile widened. “About that. You do remember me.”

  Isabel struggled to breathe normally. She remembered him. A lot of that day, when her right leg was torn off at the knee by an IED, was a blur in her mind, but she had near perfect recall of the face of the young medic who’d worked to save her.

  “Of course I do. We chatted for a few minutes in Bihil before the convoy left. And then … Well, when the …” She trailed off, feeling cold sweat bloom at her hairline.

  He nodded, his smile turning gentle and sympathetic. “Can I sit down?”

  Isabel decided she could keep Inez waiting a little while. Closing her laptop, she waved at the chair on the opposite side of the table. “I have a few minutes.”

  Once seated he indicated the sample cards. “What is this?”

  “Samples from yarn companies. I’m getting ready to put together our next order. My sister and I own a yarn shop here in Dallas. Knitting has made a huge comeback in popularity in the past two decades. You wouldn’t think wool would be so popular here in Dallas, where it’s warm and humid most of the year, but it is always a favorite with knitters because of the elasticity, and it dyes beautifully, so it comes in a zillion colors.” She was babbling. She shut her mouth with a weak smile.

  He stroked the silk cashmere sample and wonder broke over his face. “That is so soft. I thought wool was scratchy.”

  “Oh, no, it doesn’t have to be. That yarn you’re petting isn’t actually wool. It’s silk and cashmere.”

  “So you live here in Dallas and run a yarn store.” He drew his hand back and studied her with a serious expression. “You look good.”

  The cold sweat on her forehead warmed from her blush. “Thanks. Better than the last time you saw me, I’m sure.”

  “Much,” he agreed, still looking sober. “I’ve always wondered how you were. Once you passed out of my care, I never heard any more about you. I’m glad to know you made it.”

  She looked down at the top of her laptop. “Me too. There were times I wasn’t sure that I would. There were times I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” She looked back up at him and forced a smile. “Let’s not talk about that. What about you? Do you live in Dallas or are you vacationing here?”

  “I’ve lived here for about five years. I work here.”

  He tapped his breast, where his T-shirt showed a logo and text: Dallas Fire & Rescue, Station 58. Isabel couldn’t help but notice that his T-shirt fit very, very well. Not only was his face handsome, his body was perfect. She’d seen plenty of good looking men, but none quite as handsome as this. And she didn’t think she’d ever spoken to a man who looked like he could model underwear.

  “Oh, you’re a firefighter.” Pleased that she didn’t sound like an idiot, she took a sip of her cooling coffee. Her heart was still pounding, but when she focused on him, the choking memories of Iraq stayed down. The last thing she wanted to do was turn into a gibbering posterchild for PTSD, so she focused all her attention on him. “That must be an exciting job.”

  “Actually, I’m an EMS.” He leaned a brown, muscled forearm on the table. “Thank God it’s not all that exciting most of the time.”

  She swallowed, a phantom pain in her nonexistent shin threatening to drown her in an avalanche of memories. “Thank God,” she echoed.

  He smiled. “I hate to sound stupid, but I can’t remember your name.”

  If he could sell that boyishly endearing smile, he’d be a rich man. She extended a hand, grateful for the memories’ retreat. “Isabel Ybarra.”

  He shook it. “Dustin Wolfe. My friends call me Dusty.”

  “You’re not from around here,” she commented. “Not with that accent.”


  “Nope. I was born near a tiny little place called Porcupine, South Dakota, and my family moved to Minneapolis, Minnesota when I was twelve. By the time I got out of the Army, my folks had moved back to South Dakota.”

  “But you’re here now.”

  “Yeah, I love what I do. Helping people and saving lives is the best job in the world. When my buddy called to say they had openings here, I took a chance and applied.”

  “That’s great.” She suppressed the urge to twitch as horror inched up her back. Why, why was she reacting like this? “So, you’re still saving lives?”

  “I’ve never wanted to do anything else.” His handsome face was earnest. “It’s not always fun, and not every patient can be saved, but I can feel satisfaction knowing that I did my best. And sometimes, like seeing you here today, healthy and happy, I get a real good feeling, knowing I made a big difference for someone.”

  The memory of excruciating pain and crashing terror tried to choke her. “Yes,” she managed.

  He looked at his watch. “I happen to have tickets to the ballet tonight. I would love to take you. Are you free?”

  “No!”

  His gaze dropped to her left hand. “I’m sorry. Are you married? With someone?”

  “No.” She frantically shoved her laptop into its case, swept the sample cards into the side pocket any which way, and stood up. “I’m sorry, no, but I have to go. My sister is waiting for me.” She was breathing too quickly, spitting the words out in a rush, desperate to get away from the nightmares of the past. Grabbing her cane and slinging the laptop case over her shoulder at the same time, she stood up. Her prosthetic leg slipped painfully and she lurched ungracefully to the side before catching her balance. “It was nice to see you again.”

  He stood too, confusion written on his face. “Maybe another time? Can I have your number? I’ll text you.”

  She backed away. “I don’t think so. No, thank you.” She bumped into the burly man at the next table. She knew Jorge because his wife was Inez’s husband’s cousin. She knew most of the people in this neighborhood, and was related to many of them. She smiled apologetically at Jorge before she looked back at Dusty. “It was good to see you again. Good bye.”