Her Perfect Hero
Opening the tearoom was a much better idea. She could sell everything—and there were some collectibles tucked in and around Brady’s, like the cigar-store Indian and the vintage pinball machines and neon signs. With the proceeds and her own little nest egg, she could transform this place into a posh yet cozy oasis that would provide her and her family with income for years to come.
Eventually, she would have to pay off Brady’s creditors. Fortunately, however, they’d been willing to work out terms when she’d explained she wanted to get the place back in business.
Julie had done the math. She really could manage this.
“You can’t do this,” Tony said. “Please, Julie, I’m begging you. You’ll be destroying a piece of Oak Cliff history.”
Julie stopped counting beer mugs. She kept losing track, and who could blame her when this gorgeous man was distracting her? She wondered exactly what he’d be willing to do to get her to change her mind, then immediately banished the thought. She’d broken her engagement less than a month ago. She was still reeling over her fiancé’s betrayal and the astounding realization that he and his whole family had expected her to brush his indiscretion under the rug. She had no business letting sexy Tony Veracruz heat up her blood.
“Mr. Veracruz, look around you.”
He did. “Yeah?”
“This place is a dump. It’s a dive, a blight on a neighborhood that’s trying to come back. I’m going to improve it, beautify it, make it a showplace Oak Cliff can be proud of.”
“Well, I’ll admit Brady’s could use a good scrubbing.”
“What it could use is a nuclear explosion. That’s what it would take to get the dirt off these floors. Everything reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke.”
“You could clean the place up,” Tony tried again. “We’d help you.”
“I’m sorry, Tony.” And truly she was. Brady’s had probably been the sort of place where some people felt they belonged. Like Cheers, only grittier. Finding a place to fit in, to belong, was important, and she should know. She’d been trying to figure out where she fit her whole life.
Not in Pleasant Grove, the blue-collar suburb where she’d grown up in a housing project. She’d always known there was something better for her out in the world and she’d thought she’d found her place working at Bailey-Davidson’s. She’d devoted nine years of her life to it—watching, studying, improving herself, moving up the department-store career ladder, slowly accumulating college credits so that she would eventually qualify for higher management positions.
She loved that store. She loved being around the beautiful clothes, the delicate bone china, the designer bed linens—oh, how she loved the linens department.
Most of all, she’d loved being around all those well-educated, refined, soft-spoken people. And when Trey Davidson had noticed her, accepted her, when his friends had welcomed her into their circle—even though she couldn’t claim an Ivy League affiliation or a single drop of blue blood—she’d thought she’d found her place. Up-and-coming Bailey-Davidson’s executive and wife to the store’s heir apparent.
A dream come true.
Except the dream had turned into the proverbial nightmare, and Julie had once again found herself afloat in a strange sea in which she didn’t belong, wondering what she would do with her life.
Belinda’s could be her place. Her creation, her universe. She could surround herself with beautiful things, fine foods and people who appreciated the same things she did.
Tony Veracruz, she guessed, would not be one of those people. Which was a pity. Let Marcel at the Bailey-Davidson’s salon cut Tony’s hair, then put him in an Armani suit, and he’d fit right in at any office in any glass high-rise in the city. But Julie suspected that sort of life didn’t appeal to him. She could tell he liked himself the way he was and liked where he was in life.
Which was fine. That was part of his appeal, actually—the fact that he was obviously so comfortable in his skin.
His gorgeous skin.
“How ’bout I take you out to dinner tomorrow?” Tony asked. “We could get some burgers. You could tell me more about this tearoom idea of yours.”
Oh, she was tempted. For one thing, she hadn’t been out to eat at a real restaurant in weeks because she’d been hoarding her pennies.
But she had an idea that if she let Tony take her out, even for an innocent hamburger, before long he would be telling her more about what a great place Brady’s was and how wrong she was to change it to a tearoom, and she would start to doubt herself.
She didn’t need that. She’d doubted her judgment enough after finding out the man she loved had been lying to her for months—maybe longer. She needed to surround herself with people who would encourage her and support her and help her make Belinda’s a resounding success.
Julie wouldn’t have cared so much about this venture if it was just about herself, but she would do whatever it took for Belinda. Her sweet, brilliant baby sister was going to have the chance to make something fantastic of herself, and nothing was going to prevent it. Not the miserable, self-serving Davidsons, not her parents’ apathy and certainly not a fireman who was sentimental about a run-down eyesore of a neighborhood bar. Even if he was sexy as hell.
“I’m sorry, Tony. I appreciate the invitation, but I have so much to do,” she said coolly. Which was true enough.
“Another time, then. I better get back to work.” He flashed her a dazzling grin, turned with a jaunty wave and exited out the squeaky front door.
She hoped he wasn’t serious about asking her out again. She might not have the strength to turn down his next invitation.
Chapter Two
“I never met Uncle Brady, did I?” Belinda asked as she and Julie climbed the stairs to the apartment above the bar where Brady had lived.
“No, I don’t think you ever met him.” She only had a vague memory herself of a big bear of a man who showed up at Thanksgiving with a fruitcake, drank too much wine and was asked to leave. “He sent Mom a little check every once in a while—her part of the ‘profits’ from the bar. But he and Mom hardly ever talked. Mom sent him a Christmas card every year, but he never reciprocated.”
“Tony said he was a great guy.”
“Brady probably gave Tony free beer.” But Tony had painted an image of Brady that Julie couldn’t get out of her mind. A soft touch. Generous and kind. Sure didn’t sound like the mooch her mother had described.
“How much do you think we’ll get for all that stuff downstairs?” Belinda asked.
“I’ll have to do some research, but I bet those vintage signs will fetch a good price.”
“What about those green glass lampshades? Trey has some of those, doesn’t he?”
Julie gave an unladylike snort. “Trey’s are reproductions. Ours are the real thing. In fact, maybe I’ll keep those. They’ll look pretty in the tearoom, don’t you think?”
Belinda shrugged. “Will you keep the jukebox?”
“No, that I’m going to sell. It’s an old Wurlitzer, and the vinyl records alone are worth a fortune.”
Rather than sounding excited about the prospect, Belinda gave a sad little huff.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s just a bit tragic thinking about tearing the place up.”
“Belinda, you must be joking. It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, but that guy Tony was right. If you scrubbed it up, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not running a bar.” Even if she had the experience or knowledge, she preferred the idea of improving the neighborhood. Brady’s had been an eyesore, no doubt drawing unsavory characters. Belinda’s was going to be beautiful. Maybe the firefighters were unhappy about her planned changes, but she bet most of the residents around here would be delighted.
“I know, I know,” Belinda said. “I’m just saying it’s a little sad, that’s all.”
Julie tried several keys from the big key ring the lawyer had given her mother, finally locating the right one. She’d been avoiding the place where her uncle had died, but she knew she had to check it out. She was planning to live here while she oversaw the renovations—and maybe afterward, too. It would save her a long commute to work, plus she would have her privacy back. Living in her parents’ tiny house, where they were all on top of each other and getting on each other’s nerves, wasn’t going to work for much longer.
This apartment would do until she could afford something better. Someday, she’d like to have her own house. It didn’t have to be anything as grand as Trey’s Highland Park house, where she would be living now if she hadn’t canceled the wedding. But she wanted a front porch. And flower boxes in the windows. And a real backyard, maybe with a deck where she could sit outside on a Sunday morning and read the paper, a golden retriever by her side.
Still, a one-bedroom apartment rent-free wasn’t bad. She held her breath and pushed open the door.
Brady’s living space was surprisingly neat, clean and spartan, given the excessive grime and clutter of the bar. Julie had always heard Brady described as a man who couldn’t be trusted. Lazy, slovenly, a freeloader—those were words her mother commonly used to describe Brady. Yet that image didn’t match his digs.
Julie poked around to see if there might be any valuables, but aside from a couple of old paintings and some vintage Fiesta dishes, nothing jumped out as a real treasure.
The bedroom was empty except for a dresser. Someone had removed the bed in which Brady had expired, which was a huge relief. No way would Julie have been able to sleep there.
She returned to the living room and sank onto a worn sofa. It was pretty soft—she could sleep on this. And Belinda would be happy to get her own room back at their parents’ house. The sisters had been sharing a room and a bed, just like old times, for the past couple of weeks.
“So what do you think?” Belinda asked. “Can you live here?”
“Sure. I’ve lived in worse places.” Her first apartment—when she’d gotten her first real job as a stock girl at Bailey-Davidson’s—had been one ratty room in the attic of an old East Dallas house. She’d done her cooking on a hot plate.
Brady’s living quarters were a palace compared to that but something of a comedown from her last place—a classy Park Cities town house she’d rented from the Davidsons. Still, she had a little money to live on, the proceeds from returning all the wedding presents—the ones her friends and family had refused to take back. And Trey’s parents had given her a handsome “severance check” in return for her silence about his little secret, which she’d been happy to accept—not that she ever would have gone blabbing about the illegitimate child he’d conceived with his mistress even as he’d been planning a lavish wedding to Julie. Gossip like that would only make her look dumb. Her stash was enough to keep her going until the tearoom opened.
“The view is certainly nice,” Belinda said dreamily.
Julie glanced out the window to see what her sister was talking about. All she could see was the fire station, a hundred-year-old brick monstrosity in need of a good sandblasting.
Then she looked closer and realized the blinds to the second-floor window were open; inside a man was pulling off his T-shirt. “Belinda!”
“What? I can look, can’t I?”
Julie joined her sister at the window. The man picked up a barbell and started doing some curls. It was none other than her firefighting Adonis. “He’s doing that on purpose.”
“Oh, like he knew we’d be up here, staring out the window? Get a grip, Jules. You’re paranoid.”
Maybe she was. But her reaction to Tony Veracruz had unnerved her.
She’d once felt that way about Trey. He’d flirted with her shamelessly, focused all his attention on her, swept her off her feet. She’d fallen in love, hard, with a man she thought she knew. Handsome, smart, ambitious, funny, generous…
Unfaithful.
Feeling all gooey inside over a man, getting caught up in flirtation and charm—none of those offered any guarantee of that man’s deep-down character. Julie would do well to remember that and to focus on building a secure future for herself without relying on anyone else.
Tony looked out the window, saw them staring and flashed that cocky smile.
Julie abruptly closed the blinds.
“Hey!” Belinda objected.
“He’s too old for you.”
“But not for you. Earlier, he was checking out your butt.”
“Really?” Despite herself, Julie felt a little thrill. “He probably checks out every girl’s butt.”
“He didn’t look at mine. Besides, he’s going to be your neighbor. You have to be friendly.”
“No, I don’t.” Tony Veracruz was trouble with a capital T, and she certainly didn’t need any more of that.
“SO ARE YOU GOING TO tell us what happened?” Priscilla asked. As busy as their shift had been earlier, activity had died down completely. Pris was killing time in Station 59’s exercise room, running on the treadmill.
Priscilla was a maniac when it came to fitness and she’d guilted almost every firefighter on their shift into working out more. It was humiliating when a wisp of a woman like Pris could lift more weight than you.
Tony had found it difficult to admit to his coworkers the horrible news about what was happening to Brady’s Tavern. They’d given him a task: convince the bar’s new owner to reopen Brady’s just as it was. And though he knew he had nothing to do with Julie’s decision to turn Brady’s into a tea-room, he still felt as if he’d let down his comrades.
Mission failed.
Not only that, but beautiful Julie Polk had said no when he’d asked her out. Oh, she was interested. She’d acted a little fluttery when he’d told her she was pretty, and he’d felt some definite vibes flash through the air between them. But she’d been prickly, too. Her mind was so filled with plans for her tearoom that romance was way down on her priority list.
He knew darn well he shouldn’t be thinking about romance either. He was still smarting from Daralee’s sudden rejection. He’d thought their relationship was going somewhere. They’d been so crazy about each other. Now he knew he’d been nothing but a boy toy to her, someone to irk her exhusband. When that hadn’t worked, he’d become history.
But just looking at Julie sent his hormones into a frenzy. Could he help it if he liked having a girlfriend? Still, the next time he fell head over heels for someone, he wanted the same feelings in return. He didn’t want to be a low priority or an afterthought.
“Earth to Tony,” Priscilla said impatiently. “Did you hear me?”
Sooner or later everyone would find out about Julie’s plans. He might as well break the news. “I heard you. It’s just too horrible what she’s doing to Brady’s.”
Priscilla gasped. “Is she tearing down the building? Granted, it needs work, but isn’t it a historical landmark or something?”
“She’s doing worse than that. It’s sacrilege.”
Now he had Ethan’s and Otis’s attention, too. And Jim Peterson’s. “Would you just tell us instead of being a drama queen?” said Peterson, pedaling at a leisurely pace on the stationary bike.
“She’s turning Brady’s into a tearoom.”
Otis dropped his barbell with a clang. Ethan’s jaw sagged.
Priscilla, however, didn’t appear horrified. “A tearoom. Right here in our neighborhood.”
Ethan groaned. “Only you, Priscilla, would find this news welcome.”
“I would miss Brady’s, but a tearoom could be good. I could do lunch there.”
Otis threw his sweaty towel at her. “And where exactly are us men supposed to hang out?”
Priscilla turned off the treadmill and slowed to a stop. “At least maybe we could get some healthy food there. A salad or…” Loud groans cut her off. She shrugged. “I can’t help you if you won’t help yourselves.”
“Pris, maybe you should talk to her,” Tony said. “Woman to woman. Tell her how important Brady’s is to this neighborhood. It’s important for us and the cops to have a neutral place to meet and talk things over.”
Pris gave Tony an appraising look. “If you can’t convince her, I don’t have a chance. Is she married?”
“I don’t think so.” He hadn’t seen a ring, anyway.
“You’re just gonna have to try harder,” Ethan said.
“Seduce her,” Otis added. “Once she’s sleeping with you, she’ll have to listen to you. Chicks are like that.”
Priscilla threw the sweaty towel back at Otis. “Typical male logic. Men think with their gonads. Women think with their brains.”
“Just give it the old college try,” Ethan said. “Get to know her, let her get to know you and then convince her to reopen Brady’s. We’re sick of seeing you mope about Daralee. About time you found a new girlfriend.”
Tony couldn’t deny he wanted to give Julie another try—smart move or not. Since meeting her a few minutes earlier, he’d had a hard time remembering exactly why he’d thought he was in love with Daralee. But cold-blooded seduction wasn’t his game. He liked women. He didn’t like the idea of using them, even for a good cause. And then there was his own much-stomped-on heart to think of.
“I’d love to have a new girlfriend,” Tony said more candidly than he’d meant to. He focused on Ethan. “I want what you and Kat have. But I’m not sure Julie’s the one to provide it. She’s a tough cookie.”
Ethan shook his head as he wiped down the weight bench he’d been using. “If you go in with that attitude, expecting to strike out…”
“Look,” said Otis, “here’s what you do. You harden your heart. Every time you look at Julie, you think Daralee. You remember how bad she treated you. You remind yourself that women are evil incarnate.”
“Hey,” Priscilla objected.
“Present company excluded,” Otis said quickly. He’d been one of the ones to object the loudest when the fire station got invaded by a woman, but he and Priscilla had formed an unlikely friendship, surprising everyone. “If you feel yourself softening even a little bit toward this Julie person, you come talk to me and I’ll set you straight.”
Tony supposed Otis would be the one to do that. He had three ex-wives. “If you’re such an expert, why don’t you seduce her?”
“Me?” He gave a loud, hearty laugh and patted his gut. “That girl isn’t looking for a fat, old black man. She’s looking for a young stud like you. Besides, my Ruby would kill me if I went near that sweet young thing.”
The P.A. system crackled to life. “Dinner is now being served in the kitchen,” Lt. Murph McCrae’s gruff voice announced. “Come get it now or go hungry.”
The firefighters didn’t have to be asked twice. They tromped down the stairs in a hungry stampede. But before they could sit down, the alarm sounded. And before they’d even climbed into their turnout gear, a second alarm went out.
“Sounds big,” Tony said, pushing thoughts of Julie out of his mind for the moment. Another dose of adrenaline surged through his body. He was on the ladder truck today with Ethan, the captain and Jim Peterson. He hadn’t been to many big fires, and just the thought of descending on a big conflagration got him as excited as a young kid at an amusement park.
This one was big, too. It was at a run-down auto-body shop, which meant gasoline, oil—potential explosions.
“IC to Ladder 59,” came the incident commander’s voice over the radio. “Need y’all on the B side of the building on ventilation. Start getting those walls down, if you can.”
Captain Campeon, on the ladder truck, abruptly ordered a change of direction, and the truck turned down a side street, raced through an alley and parked in a vacant lot just behind the burning building. Tony chugged the remainder of a bottle of water. On a hot day like today, it paid to stay hydrated.
“Grab your tools, rookies,” Campeon ordered. Tony did as he was told, collecting an ax and a pike pole. Then he took up a position at veteran Jim Peterson’s elbow. That was his only assignment—stick to Peterson like bubblegum. The hot August sun would roast him alive inside his turnout gear if he stood out in it for long.
“Basque,” Campeon barked, “get a ladder up to that roof. Peterson, Veracruz, get the window.”
The window was barred, but it was easy enough to break the glass using their pikes. As soon as they did, smoke poured out and that was when they heard a dog howling inside.
Tony hated the thought of a helpless animal dying in a fire. Normally, firefighters would rescue pets if it was possible to do so without dramatically endangering themselves.
“Hell, let’s see if we can get to him,” Peterson said. The back door was solid-core steel, but the walls were thin corrugated tin. Tony whacked at the wall with his ax and then Peterson yanked at it until they had an opening.
“Ladder 59 to IC, there’s a dog inside. Request permission to enter and try to get him out. Not much fire back here.”
“Affirmative, Ladder 59.”
“I’ll go first,” Peterson said to Tony, pulling on his air mask as he set one leg through the jagged opening.
With his own breathing mask in place, Tony climbed in right after Peterson.
They’d no sooner gotten inside than a blur of brown fur rushed at them. It flew through the air and latched on to Jim Peterson’s arm, growling furiously. The dog, a pit bull mix, wasn’t huge, but it was determined.
Peterson fell back on his butt, cursing wildly. “Get this damn thing off me!”
Tony gave the dog a kick. And when that didn’t dislodge it, he prodded it firmly with the flat side of his ax. He didn’t want to kill the creature, but he didn’t want it to maim his superior, either.
The dog remained firmly attached.
“Ladder 59 to IC,” Tony said into his radio, trying not to sound panicked. “We need some water back here, fast!”
But the call for help was unnecessary; two men were already approaching with a hose. They saw the situation for what it was and blasted the dog with a hard stream of water.
The spray nearly drowned Peterson, but the dog let go. It leaped through the makeshift door and was gone. Tony had never seen a dog run that fast.
“You okay, Jim?” Tony asked, helping Peterson to his feet.
“No. Damn dog has sharp teeth and the jaws of death.”
Just as they were emerging through the opening in the wall, an air horn sounded, the signal to evacuate the building. It was too dangerous to remain. Tony was surprised: the building hadn’t looked all that bad inside.
An ambulance had already pulled around to the vacant lot in back as Peterson and Tony emerged. Peterson yanked off his mask, his face tightened in pain. Tony couldn’t see any blood—until Peterson took off his coat.
His arm was a mess.
Once the paramedics took over, Tony located Ethan and Captain Campeon. They were as baffled as he was about why they’d been told to clear the building. The fire seemed to be under control.
A few moments later, however, they found out why.
Two incendiary devices had been found at opposite ends of the structure and one on the roof. By now, everyone knew what to look for; this was unmistakably the work of their serial arsonist. Planting a vicious attack dog on the scene was his latest trick to inflict bodily damage on firefighters. Not as showy as the deadly warehouse fire, in which the roof had been rigged to collapse, but still clever and mean. And there was no guarantee he hadn’t planted other booby traps inside. At the previous fire he’d set a pipe bomb that fortunately hadn’t detonated.
A fire marshal’s Suburban showed up as Tony and Ethan cleaned and loaded their tools, talking in hushed voices about the arsonist. Captain Roark Epperson, lead investigator on the case, stepped out, his face grim.
Tony knew Epperson from the training academy; he’d been an instructor there. He also knew Epperson from hanging out at Brady’s Tavern. They’d crossed swords over the shuffleboard table a few times.
The ambulance took Peterson to the hospital for stitches and a shot of antibiotics, so Tony took the rare opportunity to sit beside the captain.