Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (4 page)

“Wonderful, thanks so much.” She hesitated.
“Brett?”

“Yeah?” He held his breath.

“You’re a star.”

She’d called him a star. Him. Brett Gunnels.
A star. That made his day. “It’s my pleasure.” Hell, it was his
pleasure just to talk to her.

“Good night, Brett.” God, the way she said
his name did all sorts of things to him, and not just sexual,
though there was a good dose of that.

“Good night.” Brett listened to dead silence
on his cell then he slumped against the wall of the building.
Holy crap.

“Hey, you making plans to get some action
soon or something?” Bruiser, his best friend and the team’s
starting running back, studied Brett with that intensity he was
famous for on the field.

Brett stood up straight. “No, nothing, just
chillin’. Thinking about the game.”

“You’ve got that same shit-eating grin
Harris has when he’s about to throw the winning touchdown pass.”
The guy had just gotten married, and he was insufferably happy with
himself. Brett was jealous, disgusted, and thrilled for his buddy
all at the same time.

“Really, well, I guess I’m visualizing
kicking some Giants’ butt all the way to the Olympic Mountains and
back.”

Bruiser narrowed his eyes and tilted his
head. One blond eyebrow crept up his forehead. “Let’s get inside
then. Their defense is one the toughest in the NFL. Time to go back
to work.”

Brett nodded, forcing Estie into her own
compartment, one of those places he reserved for things he didn’t
want to think about, like the debacle in Afghanistan and his
estranged family. Yet part of him wanted to think about Estie,
about her love for animals, how her eyes lit up when she talked
football, and how in her just-so world, there was room for a little
dog hair.

Only he couldn’t think about her. She was
wearing a ring, off limits, and a distraction he didn’t need.

* * * * *

Estie walked into the pet rescue office for
her regular Saturday volunteer time, her step a little lighter and
her heart a whole lot happier. Working with homeless animals always
brightened her day. Not only did she handle the rescue’s
bookkeeping, but she also assisted with the animals when and where
needed.

Her best friend, Sylvia Roberts, looked over
the rim of her glasses as the door opened.

Sylvia, a tall, elegant black woman, ran the
rescue with her two sisters. Sylvia also had a day job as a
veterinarian with a busy practice of her own where she spent five
days out of the week, volunteering at the pet rescue on Saturdays.
Estie felt like a slacker in comparison, even though she maintained
her own busy schedule.

Sylvia was her BFF, but most days Estie
experienced more than a twinge of envy toward the woman who lived
the life Estie only dreamed of living. Not that she’d trade places.
After all she had a fulfilling, challenging career of her own, a
handsome fiancé, and a devoted family, even if they were hard to
take at times.

Everyone loved the gregarious, outrageous
Sylvia, and Estie had yet to meet a man who didn’t grovel at
Sylvia’s size-ten feet. Despite her tendency toward the dramatic,
when Sylvia worked with the animals, she exuded quiet confidence
and calm efficiency.

“How’s Humphrey today?” Estie indicated the
Great Dane laying on the dog bed in the corner, head between his
paws and his brow scrunched up in worry. He watched as Estie walked
closer and gave one half-hearted thump of his tail.

“Not good, but I can’t find a thing wrong
with him.”

“I think it’s a broken heart. He misses his
Daddy.” Estie straightened the magazines on the worn coffee table
and fluffed the pillows on the equally threadbare couch. She bent
down to scratch the big dog behind his ears. Humphrey’s human had
been deployed to the Middle East. Six months later, the soldier’s
wife had run off with her husband’s best friend and left the dog
with friends. When she didn’t return, the friends brought him to
the rescue, and here he would stay until Sergeant Brennon returned
for him.

Estie sighed. So many of these animals had
similar or worse stories, and it broke her heart to see them
homeless and confused, like the fifteen-year-old blind cat who was
thrown out of his owner’s apartment when her family put the old
lady in the nursing home. They hadn’t even bothered to find their
mother’s loyal pet a home or take it to a shelter. Gretchen had
almost died, but Sylvia came to the rescue with her tireless
refusal to give up. Now Gretchen spent the last of her nine lives
lolling on a plush office chair in the corner of Sylvia’s vet
clinic.

Gretchen’s story had a happy ending. Now if
only Humphrey’s would. The sad-looking dog reminded her of another
person, someone she’d fought hard to ban from her mind, yet he kept
sneaking back in.

Maybe Brett would like to foster an older
Great Dane. He’d love this place, love that it took care of so many
needy animals. A stab of guilt reminded her who paid a large
portion of the bills at this rescue. Richard’s parents, Eunice and
Gary, donated a sizeable amount each month, thanks to their
soon-to-be daughter-in-law’s great sales job that had hooked them
as donors, or perhaps in spite of it.

Giving Humphrey a final scratch behind the
ears, Estie washed up and went to work, paying bills, balancing the
books, and then helping Sylvia administer meds, replace bandages,
and give flea baths.

“How’s your week going?” Sylvia slanted one
of her sly glances in her direction. Estie swore the woman either
read minds or body language, or both, probably due to her extensive
time spent with animals. Subtle body language didn’t lie, and Estie
must have given something away.

Feeling exposed and vulnerable, she looked
into the distance and sucked her lower lip into her mouth, debating
on whether or not to tell Sylvia about her weird connection with
Brett. It would feel good to hash out her feelings about the man to
someone who wouldn’t judge her— they’d always shared each other’s
secrets—but putting her feelings in words would make them more
real.

Sylvia arched one of her perfectly shaped
brows. “Spill it, girlfriend.”

“I babysat a parrot for one of my brother’s
teammates.”

“And?” Sylvia obviously knew there was more
to this story.

“African Gray. You know how neurotic they
can be.”

“Do I ever.”

“Well, this bird has spent too much time
around my brother.”

“Let me guess. It likes the F-word.” Sylvia
filled a syringe with the proper dose of meds while Estie held a
squirming toy poodle.

“Loves it.” Once Estie got started, the
words spilled out of her like water down a cliff, as she launched
into a detailed account of her meeting with Brett as she put away
the poodle and carried a cute little mutt to the stainless
table.

“So the bird’s owner is an animal lover,
unlike Richard.” Sylvia rarely said much about Richard; usually she
just pursed her lips and held her tongue, like a kid swallowing
cough syrup.

“Richard donates a lot of money to this
rescue.”

“His parents do. It’s a write-off, and they
don’t fool me one bit. They’re doing it for you. They couldn’t care
less about the animals.”

“Richard asked them to donate.” Estie stood
up for her man because that was what a loving fiancé did.

“Estie, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the
money they’ve put into this rescue. In fact, it’s vital to the
health of the place.” Sylvia gave her one of those pure Sylvia
looks, as if she felt Estie were delusional. “I think Richard’s an
okay guy, I’m just not convinced he’s the right guy for you.”

“He is. Really.” At the skeptical look on
Sylvia’s face, Estie rushed to further justify her relationship
with Richard, unable to stop herself even though it sounded as if
she was trying to convince herself instead of her friend. “Richard
is just what I need.”

“Seriously? I don’t buy it. You like that
you can control him or
appear
to control him. There’s more
to that guy than what you see.” Sylvia did the eyebrow thing
again.

Amazing how much the woman could convey with
the simple lift of an eyebrow. Her friend focused her attention on
the whining little puppy she was examining. “So this animal lover
with the parrot—is he cute?”

“Yeah, in a way. I mean he’s not drop-dead
gorgeous, but he’s handsome. And attractive. Kind of rugged
looking.”

“Is he a nice guy?” Sylvia’s eyes narrowed.
Estie knew that look. Sylvia used it on recalcitrant dogs and their
owners. She also used it on Estie when she wasn’t buying what Estie
was selling.

“Really nice guy. But…” Estie hesitated.

“But what?”

“There’s something about him, like there’s
this profound sadness that lurks under the surface, like he has
these places in his mind that even he doesn’t dare go. Don’t ask me
how I know that, but I do.”

“And you, my dear Estie, want to rescue
every stray and take him home then organize his life to the
n
th degree. Now you’ve found a man who fits the bill.”

“He’s hardly a stray.” Estie refused to
admit to anything, though she’d concede Sylvia had a point. Estie
had been bringing home stray animals for as long as she could
remember, and the sorrow in Brett’s eyes reminded her of a homeless
puppy begging for someone to love him, or at the least, give him a
pat on the head. Estie snorted at that thought.

“So who is Parrot Man?” Sylvia sized her up
shrewdly, knowing there was more than she was saying.

“Brett Gunnels.”

“Ahhh. Shorter than you, isn’t he?” Sylvia
understood shorter men. In fact, she dated all sizes of men and
didn’t discriminate.

Estie squirmed. “Not really, as long as I
don’t wear heels. Not that it matters.”

“You like your heels. Wasn’t he the guy who
was in the military for four years right out of high school then
walked onto the Boise State team and made it?”

“Yes.”

Sylvia beamed like a proud mother. “I know
my football.”

“That you do.” No one with a brain would
argue that point.

“Brett Gunnels. Hmmm. Quiet guy, team
player, never causes trouble. Pretty much blends into the
background and flies under the radar.”

“That’s him.”

“You’re crushing on him.”

“I am not.” Estie’s face burned with
embarrassment. She wasn’t. Not at all. She was an engaged woman.
Engaged women in control of their futures didn’t crush on teammates
of their brothers they’d met for a sum of five minutes.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not dead. Nothing
wrong with window shopping, especially when you haven’t bought the
goods yet.” Sylvia grinned, showing perfect white teeth set off by
her brilliant red lipstick. Estie marveled at how put together her
friend looked no matter how many hours she’d worked. Estie cleaned
up well, but she didn’t always bother.

“He’s on layaway, and I’m just about to whip
out the credit card and pay the final payment.”

“Once you pay that price by putting your
signature on that wedding license, it’s done.”

“I know,” Estie muttered, staring down at
her hands clasped in front of her.

Besides, Brett Gunnels did not figure in her
long-term plans. Other than sharing her love of animals, she knew
very little about the quiet man who seemed to like to fade into the
background.

Richard was the perfect complement to her
controlling, borderline OCD personality.

And she’d keep telling herself that for as
long as it took.

* * * * *

Sunday morning Richard showed up at Estie’s
house to pick up his golf shoes he’d left behind the other night.
When she opened the door, he looked her up and down in her
Lumberjacks navy and gold and grimaced. Estie scowled right back.
Richard wasn’t into sports unless it was golf.

She’d been friends with Richard so long she
couldn’t visualize life without him any more than she could without
her brother or sister, but was that any way to think of a future
husband? What about passion? What about mutual interests and
hobbies? What about needing him like she needed to breathe? Yes,
what about all that?

Overrated, romantic crap, her practical self
insisted, not to mention messy. She hated messy. Richard was boring
said her suppressed wild side. But Richard had been her friend
through the worst of times. That was worth a lot. He’d been her
crutch when she’d most needed one after her father died, and her
defender to her ruthless, critical family. He was safe.

“Let’s go golfing and spend some couple’s
time together. We rarely do that.”

“I love football. You know that.” She
perched her hands on her hips and braced herself for yet another
argument regarding the value of professional sports.

“Your brother isn’t playing, so why go?”

“I told you. I
love
football.”

Waking from his slumber as if on cue,
Dozer—her huge St. Bernard cross—made a dive for Richard. Estie
grabbed the large animal by the collar. Richard hated dog slobber,
and Dozer fancied himself a professional drooler. In fact, he
drooled all over Richard every chance he got. Who said dogs didn’t
have a sense of humor?

Her fiancé jumped backward and almost fell
down the front steps. He wrapped his arms around the one of the
posts holding up the porch and clung to it like spider to its web.
Interesting comparison, one she didn’t dare psychoanalyze.

Straightening and wiping off his shirt, he
stared at the dog. Strings of saliva hung from Dozer’s lips and his
big tail thumped on the wooden porch. The poor guy forced a smile
on his face and reached out a tentative hand. “Nice dog.” Her St.
Bernard happily slimed Richard’s arm. Richard snatched it back and
gaped at the grinning dog.

Estie gripped Dozer’s collar and pulled him
back. “He adores you, give him a chance. He’ll grow on you.”