Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (3 page)

So when longtime friend Richard suggested a
partnership in a boutique firm, she’d jumped at the chance. Two
heads were better than one. Richard had an eye for risky
investments that paid off, which perfectly complemented her
superior organizational skills and attention to detail. Her
ramped-up caution kept a client’s financial investments safe from
Richard’s somewhat reckless risk-taking. Between the two of them,
Tyler’s investment portfolio climbed through the roof, and they’d
become so popular they found themselves turning away clients.

The teammate she’d met yesterday wasn’t one
of their clients. She almost wished he was. Brett Gunnels intrigued
her on several levels, from the obvious care he took of his
feathered friend to the sadness lurking behind the smile. His
sorrow reached out to her, made her want to rescue him, just like
she’d rescued countless animals over the years.

Only Brett wasn’t a homeless animal, he was
a fine-tuned athlete in his prime, and whatever dark places lived
in his head, she’d be smart to keep her distance. Dark places were
messy and couldn’t be controlled. Estie was all about neat,
orderly, and controlled. She’d been to those dark places a time or
two in her thirty years and didn’t plan on buying a ticket to go
back, round-trip or not. Richard didn’t have any dark places. He
was shallow and controllable, and she liked it that way. Or so
she’d convinced herself.

Estie’s stomach growled so loudly a
blue-haired lady turned in her chair to stare at her. Estie smiled
in apology and stared at her seafood lunch, the food perfectly
presented and almost too pretty to eat, but not appealing. She
missed the down-home meals she’d had in her childhood on a small
cattle ranch in North Central Washington. Estie was a woman who
loved her beef. Not to mention, she could rope and ride with the
best of them, just like her brother and sister—a little known fact
they’d just as soon she kept to herself.

She signaled the waitress for more coffee
before she fell asleep. She lifted her gaze to her fiancé, but
Richard didn’t even notice; he and his father were so busy
discussing whether or not a high-tech billionaire with humble roots
was a viable candidate for membership in the country club.

Lord, was she the only person ever annoyed
by their snobbish attitude?

Estie’s mind drifted to pale blue eyes, the
same color as summer Seattle sky. Brett Gunnels had a nice smile,
even though it seemed somewhat rusty from disuse. Aware of his
military background and time spent in the Middle East, she wondered
if he’d seen too much of what the world had to offer and didn’t
necessarily believe in the good in it anymore.

Brett wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous like Estie’s
brother, Tyler. He didn’t wear his alpha trappings like a Superman
costume for all to see. Instead, his quiet demeanor gave off a
sense of strength—laced with insecurity, at least around her—that
she found dangerously alluring. She suspected he was a guy you
could depend on in a crunch even if he didn’t believe it
himself.

And he loved animals.

She turned to her fiancé, a man who
pretended he liked her animals but wasn’t the least bit comfortable
around them. Richard didn’t get her attachment to her furry family,
though he swore once they got married, and he lived with her
babies, he’d grow to love them. She was skeptical. Why would
marriage make a difference in his feelings?

“Estelle, have you set a date yet?”

Estie snapped herself out of her daydreams
and faked a smile at Eunice, who’d returned to their table.

“July tenth at Harris Mansion in the San
Juans.”

She had Richard’s full attention now, along
with his father’s.

Eunice pursed her lips in disapproval, as if
Estie were a small child who didn’t understand the lay of the land.
“The country club is perfect for a wedding, and everything can be
catered here.”

“I made all the arrangements around getting
married at The Mansion. The place is important to my family and to
me. The San Juans are beautiful, and the view from the mansion is
unequalled. I have it all planned.”

“Of course you do,” Richard smiled
indulgently at her. “Mother, I’m sure Estie will enlist your
help.”

“Right now I don’t know what that would be,”
Estie said.

Eunice huffed, arms crossed over her skinny
chest and gave Estie one of those
I’m not done with this subject
yet
glares. Estie knew that look all too well. Nothing she did
pleased Eunice, but this wasn’t Eunice’s wedding, and Estie had it
planned to the
n
th degree, just like she planned everything
else in her life.

They ate their lunch in tension-laced
silence, and Estie breathed a sigh of relief when Eunice and Gary
excused themselves so Gary could make his tee time. Richard gazed
after them longingly, obviously wishing he could join them instead
of going back to the office. Typical Richard.

“My mother doesn’t have any daughters. It’d
be nice if you’d let her help you.” Richard almost pouted.

Estie glanced up at the man she’d
decided—after much cajoling on his part—to marry. He fit in her
carefully orchestrated life. He never asked for much in the way of
an emotional commitment from her any more than she did from him.
This would be a practical marriage of two parties. They’d been
friends for years, since college, business partners for a couple
years, and engaged for three months. It seemed like the natural
progression of things. Estie knew chances were slim she would have
the devoted, lifelong passion her parents had had, so why not have
a mutual partnership with a good friend? There were no surprises
with Richard. She knew exactly what she was getting, good and bad,
and when it came to the bad, it wasn’t anything she couldn’t
handle.

Even if he didn’t make her feel with one
look—the way Brett made her feel. She rubbed her eyes and sighed
wearily, finally answering Richard. “She’ll take over.” Frowning,
she sipped her water. She never drank during business hours. It
dulled her thinking.

“Let her help, Estie. Please.” Richard said,
tapping his right index finger on the table, a mannerism which
annoyed the hell out of her.

“I’ve worked out all the details. I don’t
know what would be left for her to do.” How do you tell your fiancé
that you didn’t want to spend one extra minute with his overbearing
mother?

“How about flowers? She could help with
flowers.”

Over Estie’s dead or dying body. She shook
her head.

“Do we really need to get married in the San
Juans?” Richard’s voice started to take on that annoying whine that
set her teeth on edge.

“It’s all planned.” She called forth her
Harris stubborn streak, refusing to back down.

“Our guests don’t want to travel to the San
Juan Islands and watch us get married in a ratty old mansion.”

Okay, now
that
pissed her off. “That
mansion is
not
ratty. We’re remodeling it as money allows.
It was built by my great-great-grandfather in the early 1900s. You
know that.”

“It looks like it was built in the Middle
Ages.” Richard liked things nice and new, with hard angles and
stark whites and blacks. Somewhat like he way he thought in blacks
and whites.

“We need to get back to work.”

Richard sighed his usual martyr sigh. “It’s
a great day for golf.”

“We have clients counting on us.” Sometimes
she questioned Richard’s work ethic, but she never questioned his
brilliance when it came to sniffing out lucrative financial
investments.

Estie stood and motioned to Richard, who
stayed in his chair like a petulant child. “Let’s go. We have work
to do.” She headed for the door, glancing back to see Richard
dutifully following behind.

And that irritated her more than if he’d
defied her for once and done his own thing.

Chapter 3

Brett waited three days—three long days—then
he decided to call Estie. After all, she was Harris’s sister, and
he was a concerned teammate. Even worse, he could not get her out
of his head with that sweet yet sexy smile with those perfect white
teeth and hair like polished mahogany.

He should’ve been too busy to think of her,
and he was until he flopped onto his lonely bed about midnight,
exhausted and ready to fall into a deep sleep. A few seconds later,
his eyes snapped open, and there she’d be, challenging whether or
not football should be the most important thing in his life. Her
deep blue eyes were etched onto the back of his eyelids and her
smile engrained in his heart, and every time he shut his eyes she
floated into his mind and wouldn’t leave.

She made him ape-shit crazy in more ways
than one. He had a game to get ready for, and she was engaged,
bound to someone else, and that someone would never be a guy like
him who fought in the trenches rather than stood on the hill and
shouted orders. Yeah, in his lovesick mind, Estie Harris was
destined for greatness, and he was destined for—? He’d be damned if
he’d go down in flames as the guy who ruined the Lumberjacks latest
chance at a Super Bowl, not to mention their future Hall-of-Fame
linebacker’s last hope for a ring.

Zach never said as much, but everyone knew
it was the linebacker’s last year in the NFL. The defense looked at
their captain with a mixture of respect and pity. No one who gave
his heart and soul to football like Zach Murphy should retire
without a ring. Even worse, Brett had two and had never played a
down in either championship game or the playoffs for that
matter.

Fucking hell.

That was about to change, or he’d die
trying.

How did Harris deal with the pressure? The
guy seemed to suck it up, take it in, wallow in it, and convert it
to constructive energy, while the pressure all but smothered Brett
as he struggled with self-doubt. Inside his head, those old,
familiar voices mingled with new ones and repeated too-often heard
criticisms: too old, too short, not talented enough, and his
personal favorite—doesn’t have
it
—that elusive quality that
separated the great ones from the rest. Brett was definitely tagged
as one of
the rest
.

He needed a healthy dose of confidence
because this was his team for the remainder of the year. Not that
the guys would ever know he harbored doubt. On the surface he was
the model of a self-assured quarterback. He had to be. Football was
the one thing that kept him sane in an insane world.

He watched game film until his eyes wouldn’t
stay open. He slipped out of the film room about dinnertime and
walked outside into the crisp, cold Seattle evening. Stars shone in
the midnight blue sky, and the sliver of a moon didn’t do much to
illuminate the surrounding parking lot, slick and shiny from an
earlier burst of rain. Walking far enough to be out of earshot of
any nosy teammates, Brett dialed Estie’s number, which he’d entered
into his phone within minutes of her writing it on his palm.

A grin spread across his face as he recalled
her soft touch, her sassy smile. He held his breath and waited for
her to answer.

He’d almost given up when he heard her
voice, femininely husky and breathless. Oh, God, probably just how
she sounded in bed. He gripped his phone tighter and swallowed
hard, sweat pooling between his shoulder blades.

Had he interrupted—

“Hello? Hello?”

“Uh, hi, it’s Brett.”

He couldn’t hear her answer over barking
dogs in the background. She yelled at the pups, and they quieted
after much whining.

“Brett? Right? This is Brett?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice lowered an octave
of its own accord, as if it slipped into seduction mode without his
permission.

“Hi, what’s up?”

“I wanted to know how Tyler was doing.”

She snorted. “Cranky as hell. Surgery went
well. He’s home, but he keeps Lavender on her toes. I think she’s
about to run away from home.”

Brett laughed. “I’m glad it’s her and not
me.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” Estie’s throaty
laugh weakened his wobbly knees even more. “He’s already talking
about how he’s going to spend his time at Jacks HQ tutoring you as
soon as he’s on crutches.”

Brett jerked his thoughts back to football,
hard as it was. “How soon will that be?” Part of Brett wanted to
lean on Harris’s uncanny ability to dissect defenses with a quick
glance, part of him would be packing his bag with Lavender.

Estie laughed again, a teasing wicked-witch
laugh. “What? Tell you and ruin the surprise?”

Brett groaned.

“I should be going.” She hesitated and his
foolish heart jumped on her hesitation as if it meant something,
like maybe she didn’t want to end the call any more than he
did.

“Okay, uh, hey, one more thing, can you keep
Bongo in two weekends? We have a home game this weekend, but the
following one is away.” Brett waited, praying she’d say yes and
give him another chance to see her again.

“Sure, I’d love to. It’s the least I can do
after Ty screwed the poor baby’s daycare chances.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’d be glad to
compensate you.”

A long silence had him pacing up and down on
the sidewalk.

“Well, there is something you could do. I’m
working on an animal rescue fundraiser, called
Yappy Hour.
It’ll be at the Maple Valley Grange. We’ll serve doggie appetizers
and human alcohol, along with speed-dating for adoption.”

He blew out a sigh of relief. “I’d love to.”
Anything to be with her, and especially for an animal charity.

“I’ll need to fill you in on everything, but
I have to run. I know Tuesdays are the NFL’s day off. How about you
come to my house next Tuesday night for pizza?”

“Sounds great.” Brett wiped his hand on his
sweats, then transferred his phone to the other hand, and wiped
that hand, too.