Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5)

by Jami Davenport

“You’ve got a deal.” Even if she hadn’t been starved, she’d fake it just to spend time with him.

  Brett’s big grin did more for her than all the other smiles in the world. He reached for her hand, and she clasped it tight, even though she shouldn’t. It was just a friendly gesture on his part, nothing more.

  Like hell. Who was she kidding?

  Brett drove his SUV to a small neighborhood bar close to Estie’s house. He held the door open as they entered the old log cabin structure and found a private booth. A few people glanced his way and did a double take. When Brett didn’t make eye contact, they left him alone and minded their own business, much to Estie’s relief.

  Sitting down across from Brett, Estie noticed his frown and turned to see his picture on the TV with a caption of “Quarterback Least Likely to Succeed in Playoffs.” His mouth drew into a firm straight line.

  She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, drawing his eyes to hers. “Don’t let the doubters get to you. There will always be negative people who delight in tearing you down. You can do this. I know you can.” Estie meant those words more than she’d ever meant any before.

  “I know I can, too.” He met her gaze, and she squeezed his hand again. “It makes me more determined to prove them wrong. All those negative comments fuel my desire to win.”

  They both looked up as the waitress approached to take their drink order. She didn’t even give Brett a second glance as she sauntered off to get their drinks. Obviously not a Lumberjacks fan.

  A few seconds later, an eighty-something grandmotherly type tottered up to them. She pushed her thick glasses further up her nose and leaned in close to regard Brett. “Are you Brett Gunnels?”

  He nodded slowly, almost as if he wished he could say no.

  The woman turned to her group of geriatric friends and gave a thumbs-up, shouting. “Pay up, Mabel. I told you it was him.” She turned back to Brett and squinted at him. “You’re not very big, are you? You remind me of my Harold. Honey, you need more weight on those bones so those big boys don’t squash you like a bug on the windshield. Lordie, most of their thighs are bigger around than your rib cage.”

  Brett just nodded, as if he didn’t know what else to say.

  “Would you sign this for Eunice?” She handed him his unused napkin just as the waitress returned with their drinks on a tray and waited impatiently for the woman to get out of her way.

  “Are you Eunice?”

  The folds of skin shook on her face as the woman nodded.

  Brett scribbled his name on the napkin, and the old lady inspected it as if to make sure it was genuine. Satisfied, Eunice stole a handful of napkins from the waitress’s tray and rapid-fired instructions to Brett as to the names of her friends. Brett signed five more napkins. Eunice tottered away, waving the napkins at her friends, without a word of thanks to Brett. The waitress forced a polite smile as she finally set down their drinks and turned back toward the bar.

  He shook his head. “Your brother gets gorgeous young women wanting his autograph, and I get the geriatric gang. That’s pretty much my life in a capsule.”

  Estie laughed. “The one named Mabel is kind of cute.” She knew that story. She’d always gotten Freddie’s leftovers. It was what it was.

  Brett glanced toward the table of twittering ladies, who were pointing their cameras at him then texting as fast as their arthritic fingers could tap out the messages. He sighed and met Estie’s gaze. She resisted the urge to grab his hands again and hold onto them, not just to give him strength but to give her strength.

  She met his gaze and couldn’t look away. Staring into those pale blue eyes, everyone else in the room faded into the background once more. Only Brett existed, and she only wanted Brett to exist. They were star-crossed wannabe lovers, two people meant for each other in the wrong time and place, and nothing would ever fix the dysfunction of it all.

  Estie waved for another drink. What the fuck, she wasn’t driving. Maybe alcohol would dull the pain of choosing practicality over matters of the heart. Now she sounded like some crazy-assed poet, which was so not her or anyone in her family.

  They ate dinner over a discussion of the various Yappy Hour dogs and their new families. Estie gushed with enthusiasm, and usually quiet, stoic Brett seemed to get caught up in her excitement.

  “You love this, don’t you?” he asked her.

  “Love what?” Estie sat back and curbed her enthusiasm. Every time she went overboard on her animals, someone stomped on her excitement. Out of habit she drew back.

  “Working with the animals, finding them love matches.” He grinned at her showing those rare dimples in his cheeks.

  “Love matches. I like that. You get me.”

  “You get me.”

  “We’re a pathetic couple of animal lovers, aren’t we?”

  “I don’t consider us pathetic. More like enlightened.”

  “Absolutely.” Estie clinked her wine glass to his beer glass. “I’m glad that soldier is taking Goldie home, or I’d be tempted to take her myself. I don’t need another dog. Not right now.”

  Brett sobered for a moment. “Because of Richard? Why are you marrying him? You two seem so different.”

  “I’m n—” Estie cut off her denial. Maybe it’d be better for both of them if she kept her mouth shut. Her “engagement” would keep Brett at arm’s length, and right now, she didn’t need one more thing out of her control to mess with her life. He had games to win, and she had a life to plan. Neither of them needed distractions.

  “I’m learning to embrace our differences,” she lied.

  Brett did not look the least bit convinced. In fact, skepticism was written from his furrowed eyebrows to the thin line of his lips. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I hope so, too.” Estie whispered under her breath.

  * * * * *

  Brett didn’t get it. He looked at Estie across the table and fell a little harder for her.

  Why would someone as smart, beautiful, and loving as Estie choose to be with a dick like Richard? She scored a touchdown in his book—but then his book was a little skewed considering he harbored a Super Bowl-sized crush on her.

  “Why did you go into financial planning instead of doing something with animals?” He held his breath, sensing he might have overstepped some invisible boundary with his too-personal question.

  She met his gaze. Her blue eyes so clear and vulnerable. As if she were about to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets.

  He leaned forward and on impulse grabbed her hand. “Estie? Why?”

  She heaved a large sigh, held his hand tighter, and gazed into his eyes. “I’m great with numbers, very organized. I like the control and the order.”

  He nodded, while a small smile tugged at his mouth. She did like her order. She stared down at their intertwined fingers. His gaze followed hers. He might be short by NFL standards, but he had big hands and big feet and big—well, he detoured away from that line of thinking. It’d only get him in trouble. He stared hard at her hands. Something was missing. Something—

  He jerked his head up, meeting her gaze, hoping against hope, there might be a reason for what he saw—actually didn’t see. “Your ring is gone.”

  For a moment she turned pale as a Forks vampire. “I’m— It’s being sized. It was a little too big.”

  Brett frowned and scratched his head and pushed the mystery of the missing ring from his brain. “Have you ever considered doing something with animals?” Her hand felt so good in his. So damn good and so damn right, and he was so damn screwed.

  “At one time. My dad thought I should be a veterinarian.”

  “Why didn’t you do that?”

  She shrugged one shoulder and stared at the wall. “I’m good at finances, and everyone assumed I’d eventually manage Tyler’s money and Freddie would manage his legal dealings. It was part of the plan.” She was holding his hand so tight, he swore she’d cut off the circulation.

  “And you do lik
e your plans, don’t you?” He winked at her. “You’d be an awesome veterinarian,” Brett spoke with absolute conviction.

  Estie sighed, as if the weight of her world sat on her shoulders. “Maybe, maybe not. I couldn’t control aspects of it. That might drive me crazy.”

  “It’d be good for you, and you’d make one hell of a vet.”

  “You think?” Estie’s eyes widened, as if she’d just had an epiphany and he’d given it to her. He slid his thumb across the skin between her thumb and forefinger, totally getting off on it, which seemed so wrong on so many levels—not that he gave a shit at this point. His moral compass had found its magnetic north and didn’t care what true north might be.

  “Estie, the way I see it, you’re wasting your talents.” And her love. Estie had a lot to give in that department, and she was giving it to a man who didn’t appreciate it.

  Like he would?

  Yeah, he’d appreciate it, but he doubted he could give her everything she needed.

  She leaned forward, like a woman did when she was into the guy she was with. He liked that, and he liked being that guy.

  “What about you, Brett Gunnels? What do you want to do to change your life?”

  Brett blinked several times and tried to come up with a noncommittal, yet honest answer. His life was football and after football like so many guys, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do. He’d always wanted to work with animals, but that didn’t pay the bills. A lucrative starting quarterback contract would give him the means. “I want a championship ring. I haven’t thought beyond that.”

  “You’ll get your ring. I know you can do it.”

  Brett nodded slowly. When she grasped his other hand and squeezed it, he thanked every deity known to man that his ass was in the chair, or he’d surely have collapsed on the ground and worshipped at her feet.

  She believed in him, and she wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass. He knew when people were bullshitting him. She was not. Her absolute blind faith fueled his desire—on and off the field.

  Her paradise-blue eyes sucked him in, like warm sand on a tropical beach. He sank down and basked in the sunshine as it bathed his naked body with its golden rays.

  Well, fuck, the last thing he should be thinking about were naked bodies when it came to Estie, but he could so picture her naked body lying on that beach with him, her long legs entwined in his, her perfect breasts pressed against his chest, and wearing nothing but a smile.

  A very sexy, come get-me-big-boy smile.

  He was so there.

  And so not.

  Brett pulled his hands from hers and anchored them under the table to his thighs. All he wanted to do was hold her and pledge his undying love. Instead of looking for a nice, sweet woman to settle down with and have children, he continued to lust after a woman who wasn’t available emotionally or any other way that mattered.

  Estie toyed with her straw, like she was upset, as if it bothered her, like maybe he’d rejected her. Hell, he hadn’t rejected her. He’d follow her anywhere, no matter how far or how fucking stupid. He’d do it anyway.

  “Are you okay?” He fought to keep the desperation out of his voice, fearing she might suggest they quit meeting like this, whatever “like this” happened to be.

  Ah, hell, she lived in his dreams every night, and he had no fucking clue if he lived in hers or ever counted for anything in her thoughts, or if he even should want to count.

  He was one messed-up hombre.

  Chapter 10

  Ineligible Receiver

  Estie said goodbye to Brett and ran inside her house, not lingering for a moment, not gazing into those pale blue eyes, not saying one word beyond good night. Because one word—one little word—would put her over the edge. And over the edge meant horizontal in his bed with no clothes and a lot of sweating and panting.

  Damn, it’d been a long time since she’d wanted a man enough to be sweating and panting. With Richard she had sterile sex if there was such a thing, not sweaty or scalding hot and bothered. In fact, Richard got the job done in his usual efficient manner, rolled over and went to sleep, leaving Estie to wonder why everyone thought sex was such a fucking big deal. As far as she was concerned, she could live with or without it.

  Until she’d met Brett.

  Now she got it. She imagined a dozen different ways she’d like to screw his brains out and a hundred different positions. She’d never been like that before. In fact, she’d never considered herself a passionate woman until now.

  Brett might be quiet, but under all that deceptive calm she suspected lurked an equally passionate man waiting for the right woman to unleash him. That was another trait they shared.

  Just one night. One night to know what it would feel like. Would that be so bad?

  With a sigh, Estie stripped off her clothes and pulled on a pair of flannel pajamas. They were perfect—she wasn’t feeling sexy tonight, just confused and frustrated. She crawled into the bed she shared with Marilyn, Spock, and Jim, while Dozer chose to snore his little heart out on the dog bed nearby.

  Estie snuggled deep under the covers and closed her eyes, only sleep didn’t come to her. She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, but a glance at the clock revealed it was only midnight.

  A veterinarian? Leave it to Brett to unearth something so closely personal to her.

  Somewhere deep, down inside, she’d always yearned to be a vet, but her practical side scoffed at such ridiculous notions. She had a challenging career she was damn good at. Strike that, make it used to have a challenging career. Sure, she was still taking care of Tyler’s finances in her conservative manner, but was she really the best person for the job? Maybe he’d be better off elsewhere and so would she.

  Brett’s smile swam in front of her, always tinged with sadness, and she wanted to make his sadness go away, but she feared she’d add to it. In the bedroom below hers, he was probably sleeping soundly, surrounded by his own menagerie and lulled to sleep by Bongo’s obscene lullabies.

  Outside the wind rustled through the old cedars surrounding the house, a comforting sound, bringing back memories of family camping trips in the woods, camping trips she’d always assumed she’d repeat with her own family someday.

  Estie froze. A noise. An almost inhuman noise. Like a wounded animal whimpering to be put out of its misery.

  She sat up and cocked her head to listen, certain it came from her downstairs apartment.

  Brett?

  Had something happened to Risky? Did he need her help? Or was it wishful thinking on her part?

  Estie raced down the stairs separating their two separate living areas and tried the door. It was unlocked. She hesitated, rapping hard but getting no answer. If Brett was in the bedroom on the other end of the apartment, he probably wouldn’t hear her. She’d quietly sneak inside and make sure everything was okay then slip back to own territory.

  And how stupid was that line of thinking? Did she even care?

  This was so wrong in so many ways, yet her twisted mind managed to justify it. Brett needed her. Or the animals needed her. Yeah, that was it. Risky was injured, and Brett would be too proud to ask for help, but Estie happened to be damn good at animal first aid, and she could always call Sylvia.

  She slipped into the apartment. A couple night-lights glowed dimly in the living room and hallway, probably for Bongo. She tiptoed by his cage, covered with a cloth, her heart slamming in her chest. If Brett discovered her, he’d think she nosed around his private spaces all the time, but this was the first time she’d been in his apartment since he moved in.

  Despite her misgivings, she crept along the hallway, feeling her way in the dark until she found the open doorway to Brett’s room.

  The noises sounded inhuman and disconcerting as hell, only it wasn’t an animal that was whimpering and groaning.

  It was Brett.

  She stood in the doorway, conflicted, afraid, not of Brett, but of herself. A small lamp on the table beside the bed illuminated B
rett as he flailed back and forth, alternating between his strange moaning noise and talking to someone.

  “No. Don’t step there. No. Not there. No. No. No. Rex, no, not there. Nooooooo.” He pleaded, his voice raspy and desperate, as he lived through some imagined or remembered hell.

  Estie stepped closer. Tears streamed down Brett’s usually stoic face. He clutched the blanket in his fists, as if it were his very lifeline.

  Gingerly, she touched him. His skin was cold and clammy. He didn’t react to her touch but continued his warnings to an unseen person, becoming more desperate with each word, as if his life depended on it, and in another place and time, Estie suspected it did.

  “Come on, Rex, come on, buddy. I can’t carry you. Got my hands full. The ’copter’s coming. You can do it, boy.”

  A heart-wrenching scream was torn from his chest. Estie jumped back against the wall, wringing her hands, feeling completely helpless. She’d heard about stuff like this but never actually dealt with it. She couldn’t leave him alone, couldn’t just walk out, not in his time of need. She couldn’t.

  Gingerly, she turned on the other nightstand lamp in hopes the light would wake him. It didn’t. She approached Brett and touched his shoulder. He didn’t wake, instead he writhed on the bed, groaning and sobbing, a man caught up in a nightmare. Estie shook his shoulder. No response, no indication he’d left his nightmare to return to reality. She shook him harder, and he shot up in bed so quickly, she skittered backward until her back slammed into the dresser.

  Brett stared around the room, frantically clenching and unclenching his hands. His body shook, and he blinked rapidly. His breath came in rapid pants as he ground his jaw. His eyes focused on horrors she couldn’t see, horrors inside his brain that had nothing to do with what has happening outside or in this room.

  Memories. Bad memories. Horrible memories.

  From down the hall, the sound of reality intruded. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Bongo needs sleep. Fuck you.” They’d woken Bongo and he wasn’t a happy parrot. Not one damn bit.

  Brett shook his head several times. “Estie?” His quivering voice penetrated her confusion. He sounded needy, desperate, scared. Completely torn apart. Even worse, he sounded like a man certain she could fix what was broken. If only she had the same faith in herself that he had in her.