Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (8 page)

A tall, thin man wearing a huge frown on his
face slipped inside and stopped. He stared at the two of them,
suspicion narrowing his eyes. He swung his gaze to Estie, a gaze
full of disappointment and recrimination. “Estie, what’s going on
here?”

Estie swallowed, her face bright red with
remorse written all over it. “Richard, this is Brett Gunnels.
Brett, Richard, my fiancé.” She went to the unhappy man and
clutched his arm. “Brett’s helping me with Yappy Hour, like I told
you.”

Richard didn’t look one damn bit convinced.
His gaze swung around the room and settled on the three dogs. “Did
you get more animals?” He looked horrified.

“Risky belongs to Brett.” Estie released
Richard’s arms and he backed up a few steps, all bristly like a
porcupine. Estie glanced at Brett, her eyes pleading. “Brett, I’ll
call you. Okay?”

His first instinct was to stay and to hell
with Richard, but something in her expression stopped him cold. He
knew when it was time to retreat gracefully. Brett coaxed Risky out
from behind the couch and half dragged, half carried him to the
door. He stopped, unable to resist a final jab at her fiancé. “Bye,
Estie, I’ll call you about the details.”

She managed a sad smile, as if she regretted
that he was leaving. “Bye.”

Brett left, holding his head high, yet
feeling guilt. He’d come a fraction of an inch from kissing a woman
he had no business kissing and almost been caught in the act by her
fiancé.

He opened the back car door for Risky, who
couldn’t wait to get inside, and spent a few minutes calming the
shaking dog. He felt a bit like a mutt with his tail between his
legs himself. Leaving Estie to fend for herself with her angry
fiancé went against Brett’s protective instincts, but what else
could he do? She’d clearly wanted him out of there, even though
he’d caught a glimmer of regret in her blue eyes.

With a sigh, he put his car in gear and
drove onto the country road. Several minutes later, he walked into
his own house. Bongo shouted out a “fuck you” greeting and
Blackjack, his ancient black cat, lay claim to his lap as soon as
Brett sat his ass in the chair.

He’d just missed valuable film-room time and
for what? To fall deeper for a woman who would never be his? To
spend too much of his spare time obsessing over what he couldn’t
have instead of finding a way to achieve his lifelong dream?

Brett certainly had had his moments of
idiocy over the years, but this might be his shining moment. He
flipped on his stereo, finding a country station, while Risky lay
with his head on Brett’s thigh. Blackjack purred on his lap. In the
background, Bongo sang along to the songs, making up his own
lyrics, most of them obscene.

He could always count on his animals to love
him.

Chapter 5

The next evening, Brett ran the film again,
studying every aspect of the game in slow motion. Estie’s words
came back to him; how he’d reacted to the play, how he’d tipped off
the defensive backs by zeroing in on a receiver, and how they’d
nailed Ramsey as he tried to haul in the ball. Everything she said
was spot on and in full HD living color in front of his face.

He was trying too hard and forcing the ball,
instead of keeping calm and poised in the pocket, while relaxing
and letting the game flow around him. He looked like a deer in the
headlights, and he imagined his panicked expression didn’t exactly
instill confidence in his teammates. Even so, they had had his
back, each and every one of them.

He wanted to deserve their unwavering
loyalty.

Brett rubbed the back of his neck, but
nothing relieved the tension or the pounding headache behind his
eyeballs.

The door to the film room opened, and he
glanced toward it.

Oh, hell no.
This
had
to be
his penance for a crappy game.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times.
He must have fallen asleep and was having a bad dream because he
swore Harris was hobbling toward him on crutches. Only it wasn’t a
bad dream, even though Harris in the flesh pretty much did qualify
as one. The bastard was grinning this evil grin, like a hyena
bearing down on a wounded zebra.

“It’s me, Gun—your worst nightmare.” Tyler
Harris leaned on his crutches, his smirk spread from ear to ear,
while those blue eyes glowed with a maniacal intensity directed
squarely at his prey.

“Tell me about it.” Shit, he’d always known
the jerk could read minds.

Harris lowered himself into the seat next to
Brett, laying his crutches across the chair in front of them. “You
and I are gonna be doing some studying. I’m making you into a
premier quarterback.” He jabbed at his chest to emphasize the
I.

Bruiser, sitting to the left of Brett,
chuckled and elbowed him, while Brett made a mental note to beat
the shit out of his buddy later.

Brett opened his mouth to turn down the
asshole’s offer then snapped it shut. Harris might be a lot of
things—good and bad—but the man knew football, was a Zen master at
reading defenses, and had eyes in the back of his head when it came
to would-be sackers on his blind side. As much as Brett hated to
admit it, he needed Harris’s knowledge and experience. Could learn
from it. Now was
not
the time to give into stubborn
pride.

Harris rubbed a hand across his face,
drawing Brett’s attention. He looked tired, worn out, and if those
tension lines around his eyes and furrows in his forehead were any
indication, in pain.

Harris sighed a deep sigh of frustration. “I
want to be out there so fucking bad. I can taste the blood in my
mouth, hear the pads smacking together over the roar of the crowd,
smell the freshly mown grass. Oh, yeah, I want that. But right now,
the team doesn’t have me. They have you, and I am going to be
living the rest of my season through you, and it will fucking be a
season to be proud of. Got it, Gun??”

“Yeah, I got it. You’re going to be the pain
in my ass.” Brett leaned back and closed his eyes, but when he
opened them, Harris hadn’t gone away.

The man chuckled and motioned to Zach and
Derek, standing in the doorway. Both guys entered the room. “You
don’t just have one; you now have three pains in the ass.” He
looked past Brett to Bruiser. “Or is that four? You in, buddy?”

“Hell, yeah, wouldn’t miss it,” Bruiser
grinned.

So much for a guy’s best buddy sticking with
him to the bitter end. He’d just thrown Brett to the ravenous
hyenas and joined the feeding frenzy.

Harris sprawled in the plush seat as best as
his recovering knee would let him. He snatched the remote from
Brett’s hands and zipped it back several frames. The rest of the
gang settled into the big upholstered chairs around him, stretching
out their legs. Murphy opened a bag of chips and passed it around,
as if they were at the fucking movies or something.

“Okay, see the outside linebacker? Jeff
Olson? He’s onto the Packers in this play. See how he adjusts his
guys? He knows they’re not running the ball. The QB gave himself
away. Can you see that?”

Brett studied the screen, frowned, and
studied some more. He’d seen something, just hadn’t been able to
completely put his finger on it until Harris pointed it out.

“He drops his left hip every time he’s going
to hand off.” Brett tried not to smile.

“What adjustments would you make if you were
the QB here?” Harris nudged him and pointed at the screen.

Brett mentioned a couple different options,
drawing a few nods from Harris.

“All valid options, but that’s not what I’d
do.”

“And I bet you’re going to tell me what
you’d do.” Blowing out a long breath, Brett settled into his seat
ready to take his licks like a man.

“Damn right I am. This team was Super Bowl
bound when I bit it. Now it’s on you, and you are going to take
them the rest of the way.” Harris turned toward him and poked Brett
in the chest, which royally pissed Brett off. He didn’t like being
touched like that, but he held his temper in check.

Harris didn’t seem to notice or care that
he’d crossed a line, not that there were any lines with Harris.
“You, my man, need some tutoring and a confidence boost. I’m going
to see to it that you get both, or I’ll fucking kill you
trying.”

Brett believed every word Harris said.

And then some.

* * * * *

The weather was cold and crisp, a rare
December Seattle day without rain, and Estie was spending the
afternoon with her badass older sister. Freddie was the only person
Estie knew who could wear white on a horse and never get a speck of
dirt on her. In fact, as she walked up to her horse she looked like
a model doing a fashion shoot rather than a woman who could rope
and ride better than any man. She rode a Harley whenever the
weather permitted, and sometimes when it didn’t.

Even though Freddie could be harsh, Estie
valued her opinion because Freddie told it like it was.

Figuring she might as well get it over with,
Estie took a deep breath and jumped off the high board into the
shark tank. “Freddie, I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Do what?” Freddie, the eldest and scariest
of the Harris siblings, swung her long leg over the saddle of her
black quarter horse gelding and settled in.

Estie waited to answer until they’d ridden
out of the barn area and into the woods. Part of her ran for cover,
while the braver side insisted she needed to get some balls,
figuratively speaking. The coward won.

Their horses walked side by side down the
logging road. Regret for opening her mouth surged through her. She
clamped her trap shut, hoping her sister would be distracted by the
beauty around them and forget her rash words.

No such luck.

“Do what?”

Freddie never forgot anything or allowed
herself to be distracted from the subject at hand. Freddie had the
same laser focus as their brother, which meant Estie didn’t stand a
chance, and she’d stupidly brought this on herself.

“Estie?” Freddie prompted with a note of
exasperation to her voice.

“Marry Richard.” Estie stared between
Annie’s ears at the road ahead, dappled by winter sunlight shining
through the trees. She could feel her sister’s shrewd gaze on
her.

“Why not? You two are perfect together.”

“Seriously? You really think so?” Estie
couldn’t help feeling a little insulted, but maybe it looked that
way from the outside.

“Does it matter what I think?” Freddie
laughed. Her sister took no prisoners, scared the crap out of even
the strongest man, and emasculated those not smart enough to run
like hell when she got her claws into them. Lots of people lumped
Estie in with her, but Estie considered herself the nicer
sister—not that that was saying much.

“Actually, it does. Why do you think he’s
perfect for me?” Estie ground her teeth together, not thrilled
about her sister’s assessment.

“I didn’t say he was perfect for you. I said
you’re perfect together. He’s used to being controlled and you like
to control.”

“And you think I should marry him?”

“Not really, but
you
seem to think
you should. Estie, you like everything in a perfect little package,
no surprises, no deviating from the plan. He’s part of your plan,
and come hell or high water, you’re going to follow that plan.”

She couldn’t deny that. “We’re good
partners.”

“Marriage isn’t a business, or it shouldn’t
be. Relationships are messy, emotional, and unpredictable.” Freddie
narrowed her eyes. “Like it or not, that’s the deal. Richard lulls
you into thinking you can have an ordered, controlled relationship.
I’ll bet you he’s not nearly as compliant as you think he is.”

Freddie had never been long on sympathy, not
one damn bit. She pretty much told it like it was and didn’t care
if she stepped on toes doing it.

She shot a glance at Freddie. “I know him
better than his own mother does.” Estie combed her horse’s mane
with her fingers so it lay flat on one side of her neck. But the
opinion Freddie has just expressed
had
crossed her mind.

“Estie, I don’t know what the deal is. Not
really. But for whatever reason, you’ve convinced yourself that you
need Richard. That he’s safe. First, you needed him when he propped
you up after Dad died. Then you needed him as a business partner
because of what happened to Tyler’s finances. No one blames that on
you, except you, by the way. Stuff out of your control—yes, out of
your control—created that situation, but now you’ve lost faith in
your abilities and convinced yourself that you need Richard. Then
you turn a decade-long friendship into a romantic relationship for
the same damn reasons. It’s fucked up, but that’s how it goes.”
Despite her reputation for being blunt, Freddie had never voiced
her opinion so strongly. Estie stared at the trees at the side of
the road so her sister wouldn’t see the tears. Annie and Ebony’s
hooves clip-clopped on the hard packed dirt of the logging road.
Freddie reached across the distance between them and patted Estie’s
shoulder in a rare sisterly display of comfort and affection. Not
that it lessened the truth of her sister’s words.

Her carefully planned life
was
fucked
up. Her future was starting to deviate like a rebellious teenager
and taking a path she’d never planned. She needed to get it back on
track, starting with crushing her insane attraction to Brett.

Because she didn’t really want him; she just
thought she did.

Chapter 6

On top of everything else going on in Brett’s
life, this had to happen at the worst possible fucking time.

Brett stared at the three-page eviction
notice in his hand. He glared at the paper. Yeah, he smelled a rat
when one scurried into his territory. He’d been a great renter,
kept the place immaculate. Now he had thirty days to move out.
Thirty days he didn’t have while the Jacks were making a run for
the playoffs.