Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (2 page)

Brett nodded tersely. “Harris is out for the
season?” As if he hadn’t already figured that one out.

“At the least.”

Solemn, Brett stared at his hands. “That
sucks.” He never wanted to get a starting job through injury but it
was what it was, and he’d make the best of the opportunity.

“Sure does. We’re going into the final four
games of the year, tied for the division. San Francisco has the
tiebreaker.” Leave it to HughJack to point out the obvious and not
sugarcoat it.

“I’ll do everything I can.”

“I know you will. A lack of work ethic has
never been your problem.” HughJack paused to look around the plane
at the various men collapsed in their seats. “This is your time to
shine. Your time to prove wrong every idiot armchair critic who
ever said you were too old, too short, not athletic enough. Your
time to earn a big new contract as a starting quarterback at the
end of the season. If contracts were awarded on effort alone, you’d
have one, but it’s all about winning. I believe in you. So do your
guys.”

Brett nodded and waited for HughJack to
continue. Yeah, he’d heard all the negative stuff his entire life,
and he’d fought tooth and nail to overcome it. He couldn’t do a
thing about his five-foot-ten-and-a-half height, which in a world
of six-four quarterbacks was considered small. But he could be
quicker on his feet, more accurate, and smarter than anyone else to
make up for it. As for his age, he’d just turned thirty, but he had
low miles on the field, that should count for something.

“You’re more than capable of taking this
team to the playoffs. I believe that. This team believes that. The
question is do you believe that?”

Brett nodded and swallowed.

HughJack leaned forward. His intense blue
eyes drilled into Brett’s. “You haven’t worked with the first
string all season, and you don’t have your timing down with your
center or your receivers. There’ll be some tough times while you
work all that out. Don’t get discouraged.”

“I’m committed to making this work.”

HughJack almost smiled. “What can I do to
help you?”

“I need time with the guys, time to click
with them, time for us to get used to each other, for them to learn
my cadence and for me to learn their quirks, capitalize on our
strengths and minimize our weaknesses.”

“You’ll have all the time in the world,
son—until the next game.” HughJack clapped him on the shoulder.
“You can do this. Harris left us in a decent position. We’ve got
some leeway while you’re figuring this out. I have utmost faith in
you.”

“Yes, Coach. I know.”

HughJack studied him a little longer, as if
assessing his character right through his skin. Then he patted
Brett on the arm and moved back to the coaches’ area of the plane,
already game-planning for next week.

The opportunity of a lifetime had just
fallen into Brett’s lap. He’d be damned if he’d fumble it into
early retirement. No way in hell. He’d take that damn ball and run
with it. The guys were counting on him. This was his time and his
team.

Today was the day Mr. Irrelevant ceased to
exist.

Chapter 2

The woman of Brett’s dreams stood in the open
doorway wearing a black sweater covered in dog hair.

Forget that she was as tall—or taller—than
him. Forget that her brother happened to be a premier asshole and
the Seattle Lumberjacks’ starting quarterback, well, at least until
he’d torn his ACL yesterday.

Forget that she wore a diamond on her ring
finger that would have choked Hoss Price, the team’s mammoth
starting center.

Forget all that. Standing there on the
porch, Brett Gunnels fell in love at first sight—or definitely in
lust. He didn’t know if it was her brilliant sky-blue eyes, her
beautiful face, the dog hair, or a combination of all three. He
only knew that he was hooked with just one glance.

“Come on in.” Estelle Harris smiled at him,
a kind, warm smile, a smile that cast light into all those dark
corners he swore would never see the light of day again. His heart
kicked into overdrive and slammed against his rib cage, while his
lungs forgot breathing was their purpose.

She turned and ushered him into her house.
Brett stared after her, his body motionless and temporarily
rendered out of service like a city bus at the end of its nightly
run.

She glanced over her shoulder, and her
curious expression rebooted his brain.

He lurched forward and stumbled on the
threshold but recovered nicely and stepped into the modest
entryway, his pride in tatters. Her amused grin spread heat through
his body faster than a California wildfire in high winds.

God, she was stunning, and way out of his
league in so many ways.

“I hope you’re Brett, and I didn’t just let
a Ted Bundy copycat into my house.” Her sweet laughter wrapped
around him like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.

Brett shook his head, appalled she might be
serious. “Yes, I’m Brett. And you are Tyler’s sister Estelle?” He
cringed at the stiff formality in his voice. Again that smile, like
Mona Lisa. Only Mona Lisa had nothing over this woman.

“Everyone calls me Estie.”

“Estie then.” His own smile rushed to his
lips and refused to cease and desist. He probably looked like a
half-witted, grinning fool. He held out his hand. She took his in
her soft one with a firm grip of long, sexy fingers. He stared at
their joined hands, hers with the cotton candy pink fingernails and
his with its bumps and scars. Her hand was so soft, so feminine, so
perfect.

Estie cleared her throat. Finally, she slid
her hand from his grasp, giving him an odd look. He’d been hanging
on too tight and too long. The heat rose to his cheeks and ears to
rival the heat in the rest of his body.
Way to go, Gun. Make an
idiot of yourself with the first woman who’s interested you in
eons.

Estie walked across the room like an angel
gliding through clouds and stopped in front of a bird cage. She
pointed at the large parrot inside who had cocked his head and was
watching them both. “And the name of your foul-mouthed friend here?
Lavender was in such a hurry to fly to San Fran to be with Tyler,
she never told me this guy’s name.”

Estie laughed again, and her voice took on
this breathless quality as if he affected her as much as she
affected him. Her deep blue eyes—so much like her brother’s, but he
wouldn’t hold that against her—mesmerized him. All that romantic
shit he’d heard over the years from his sisters hit him like a
speeding car on the freeway. His brain did a free-fall into a
self-induced coma, his feet became one with the floor, and his
heart pounded louder than a series of bombs dropping on an enemy
target.

“The parrot? What is his name?” Estie
frowned as she repeated her question and her neatly plucked brow
furrowed. Brett blinked several times in an attempt to signal his
brain to snap out of it.

Obviously tired of waiting for his dumbshit
owner to get a grip, the African Gray took matters into his own
wings, “Bongo, pretty lady. Bongo. Bongo wants to see you
naked.”

Her eyes grew big, and she stared at the
parrot with her gorgeously sinful mouth hanging open. To her
credit, she recovered quickly and peered inside the cage, a smile
once again tugging the corners of those pink lips. “You’re a little
devil, Bongo. I’ve been asking you your name all evening.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” Bongo rang a
little bell attached to his perch for emphasis.

This time Estie laughed, an amused tinkling
sound. “Did you say you left him with my brother?”

Brett nodded. “You can tell, huh?” Tyler
Harris was known for his fondness of the F-word, a bad habit he’d
passed on to the bird, or more likely trained into the bird.

“Absolutely.” Again the Mona Lisa smile.
Damn, he was going to have to get a print of that painting and hang
it in his bedroom, but then he’d never get any sleep.

“I can’t leave him alone, especially not for
a few days; he gets lonely and destructive. I used to put him in
animal daycare, but they kicked him out for bad behavior and worse
language. Then I left him with a neighbor kid to babysit. His
mother had a fit when Bongo told her husband that she was messing
around with the college student next door.”

“Was she?”

“I have no idea,” he chuckled.

“So you put it back on my brother to provide
babysitting since he taught the little guy some naughty words.”

“Something like that. Lavender loves
animals, and she didn’t mind. I really appreciate you stepping in
to help me out.”

“It’s all for the animals.” She walked into
the living room, tastefully furnished with overstuffed furniture
covered with neatly folded blankets, most likely for her furry
children. Oh, lord, a woman after his own heart, with the comfort
of her animals coming first. Despite the animal comforts, nothing
was out of place, nothing like his messy house, nor did it smell
like animals lived there. In fact, it smelled wonderful, like a
combination of spring blossoms and a mountain meadow. The hardwood
floors gleamed, not one fluffy cloud of dust and cat hair anywhere,
and he was pretty sure she had a cat based on the pictures on her
mantle.

Brett followed her, his eyes dropping to her
blue-jeans-clad ass, a really, really nice ass, and those long
take-me-to-heaven legs. Any guy in his right mind would fantasize
about those legs.

Brett tugged on his collar and wiped his
brow. He cleared his throat and swallowed. He was hooked, but
judging by that impressive diamond ring, so was she. Leave it to
him to fall for an unattainable woman—wouldn’t be the first time.
As the Jacks’ backup quarterback, women looked right past him to
the starters. It was the story of his life, and he was used to it.
Not that he’d grown complacent, but being pissed about the hand
life dealt you wasn’t his way. He was first and foremost a
fighter.

Brett rushed to help her as she lifted the
cage and handed it to him. Their fingers touched again, sending a
Taser shock through him. She steadied the cage when he almost
dropped it.

Bongo glared at him. “You fucking asshole.
Fuck you. Fuck you. Dumbshit.”

Brett sighed, feeling like a parent with a
delinquent child.

Estie wasn’t smiling now. “African Grays are
high strung and neurotic.”

“Tell me about it.” Brett set the cage on an
end table, reluctant to leave.

“Are you experienced with handling these
birds?”

By the frown on her face, she thought he was
a total moron, and he had to tell the truth. “No, not at all. He
was brought into an animal rescue group I work with. No one else
would take him, so I fostered him. That was six months ago. I still
haven’t been able to find a suitable home for him.”

“Do you realize these birds have the
intelligence of a four- or five-year-old?” Estie studied Bongo for
a moment, who preened under her watchful eye. She turned back to
Brett, no longer frowning. Her eyes sparkled like the lights of New
York City on a clear night when she talked about animals.

Brett was one hundred percent enamored.
Stupid of him? Yeah. Especially for a practical guy like him, but
sometimes practical guys rocked the crazy, just like he had in the
Middle East. But then in his former Army career, you had to be a
little crazy to survive.

But he digressed.

Estie was a model-perfect woman who
currently didn’t give a shit that blond dog hair clung to her
sweater or dog slobber was smeared on her sleeve, which seemed in
opposition to her spotless house. Her blue eyes were soft and warm,
like a beach on a sunny day. Like her brother, she had thick, dark
hair, only hers fell in waves around her shoulders despite her
messy ponytail.

“I enjoyed having him here. Let me know if
you need a bird sitter again.” She started to walk toward the door,
his cue to leave.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. If you mean
that, I’ll need someone for the next away game.” With a sigh, Brett
picked up the cage and followed with heavy feet.

She waited next to the door for him. “Let me
see your hand.”

Puzzled, he held out his hand. She turned
his palm up and scribbled her number on it with a black Sharpie she
pulled from her pocket.

“Thanks,” Brett turned and ran into the
door, which brought about a litany of profanity from Bongo.

“Clumsy idiot. Clumsy idiot. Clumsy fucking
idiot.”

Before the obscenity-obsessed parrot
unleashed more abuse, Brett opened the door and escaped, Bongo
still berating him.

Estie’s soft giggle faded with the click of
the door as she closed it behind him.

“Lovesick fool. Lovesick fool.”

When did the damn bird learn to read
minds?

* * * * *

Estie Harris stifled a yawn, as her fiancé,
Richard Michaels, and his father, Gary, droned on and on about the
country club’s newest applicants for membership, Seattle’s premier
golf courses, and God knew what else. Those two could put a
hummingbird to sleep.

Meanwhile, Richard’s mother, Eunice, flitted
around table to table in the upscale country club restaurant
chatting up her friends.

But like a dutiful fiancé, Estie pasted an
interested smile on her face and pretended to give a shit, but she
didn’t, not about that crap. She loved football, family, and
animals. She loved making her brother money and making up for the
financial crash she hadn’t anticipated that almost ruined him a few
years ago when the market dived along with his portfolio.

She secretly called that time in her life
the
Shadow Period
, not as dark as when her father died
suddenly, but still in the shadows. That was when doubt had started
to creep in. She should’ve seen the financial crash coming,
should’ve protected Tyler like any good financial advisor would
have. Through it all, Tyler still placed his trust in her, and
she’d vowed she’d never again betray that trust.