Down by Contact - A Seattle Lumberjacks Romance (8 page)

Kelsie nodded. “There’s no need for such
drastic measures. We’re making progress.” Holding her hand behind
her back, she crossed her fingers.

“I sure hope so. Do I need to give him a
little nudge or is he cooperating?”

“He’s cooperating.” She slipped her other
hand behind her back and crossed those fingers, too.

“I sure hope so. For your sake and his. The
gala was Veronica’s idea. Hell, I’d be happy if the guy ate with
utensils and didn’t belch during interviews.”

“I’ll take care of both.” Oh, Lord please
help her. Zach didn’t exactly cooperate, and she doubted he’d do
his homework either.

“Okay, let me know if he needs any added
incentive.” Coach Jackson glanced at his watch. “Time for practice.
I’ll be in touch.” He zipped out of the room, paperweight still in
hand, leaving Kelsie standing in the eye of the passing tornado and
wondering what just hit her.

* * * * *

The team won its first home game, making
their record two and zero, the best start Zach had ever had as a
professional. Afterward, he showered in the locker room and wrapped
a towel around his naked lower body. He’d played almost every down
on defense in the Jacks’ first home game of the regular season. The
crowd had been electric, rocking the stadium like he’d never
experienced in his life.

His body hurt like hell, but he refused to
admit he might be getting too old for this. The whirlpool beckoned,
and afterward he might get cozy with a couple painkillers. As a
matter of course, he avoided taking pills, but he’d make an
exception tonight. It’d been a tough, hard-fought game right down
to the wire.

Harris’s laughter dragged his attention to
his left. Putting Zach’s locker next to his had to be coach’s idea
of a sick joke.

A large group of media guys surrounded the
cocky quarterback, salivating at his every word. The asshole
charmed his prey like a snake seducing a rat then swallowed them
whole. Grudgingly, Zach admired Harris’s ability to say the right
thing at the right time, tossing out quotes to be used for
headlines tomorrow. Whenever Zach opened his mouth to the media, he
either inadvertently insulted someone or created a media hoo-ha
over some stupid-assed thing. Yeah, like the time he’d called an
opposing team’s quarterback an over-hyped coward who couldn’t knit
his way out of the backfield. The next day the guy threw for
350-yards against Zach’s old team and booted their asses out of a
playoff spot.

Shoving his wet hair off his forehead, Zach
ground his teeth together in frustration. The quarterback played an
okay game, but the local sportscasters treated him like old ladies
treated the only old man on pinochle night at the senior
center.

Their worship stuck in Zach’s craw. His
defense had kept them in the game. They should be fawning over
Bryson who recovered a crucial fumble or LeDaniel who intercepted a
sure touchdown. Harris had played it safe. He didn’t lose the game
for them, but he didn’t win it either. Zach’s defense won it in the
trenches.

“We won no thanks to you.” Zach grumbled
once the press had left.

Harris’s hand snaked out and collared Zach
around the neck, catching him off guard. He slammed Zach against
the locker room wall with a violent force more representative of a
defensive player instead of a pussy-assed quarterback.

“What the fuck is stuck up your butt,
asshole?” With legs splayed apart, Harris’s fingers closed around
Zach’s neck, not enough to choke, but enough to show he meant
business.

Flakes of sheetrock fluttered past Zach’s
eyes, just as a poster listing the ten steps to winning fell off
the wall. Seasoned veterans busied themselves in their lockers,
while rookies scattered like seagulls on the beach. They glanced
back over their shoulders as they high-tailed it out of the locker
room and away from their battling team captains.

Zach blinked a few times, jolted by how
strong the quarterback actually was. He only allowed himself a
split second of shock before he shook it off and shoved the heels
of his hands into Harris’s chest. Harris didn’t budge despite his
sharp exhalation of breath as Zach’s full strength compressed his
rib cage.

“You’re up my ass, and I’m fucking tired of
it.” Zach tore Harris’s hand from his neck.

Harris smirked. “Well, at least I’m warm.”
He stood toe-to-toe with Zach, who out-benched him by a
considerable amount. Zach gave the quarterback a point for his
guts, or foolhardiness, depending on how he looked at it.

Harris had a couple inches on Zach, and he
wielded his height advantage like the warrior with the sharper
sword. His chin jutted out, and he stared down at Zach as if he
were a lowly slug on a wet Seattle sidewalk. Neither of them
moved—two alpha males refusing to give ground.

Zach leaned into Harris’s space. “I don’t
like you.”

“No shit. What the fuck is it with you? I’m
working my ass off, just like you are.”

Years of frustration bubbled to the surface,
years of being stuck on a mediocre team with worthless management
and shitty decisions from the front office to the coaching. All
those years, he’d watched Super Bowl after Super Bowl with one goal
in mind—to one day be the guy standing on the podium hoisting the
Lombardi trophy over his head. Despite a sure hall-of-fame career,
all his achievements would mean nothing without that championship
ring. Yet, Harris had two and didn’t seem to appreciate how lucky
he was.

Obviously sensing a change in Zach’s
attitude, Tyler frowned and backed up a few steps. Plastering an
I-don’t-give-a-shit expression on his face, he crossed his arms
over his chest and leaned against his locker.

“I want a ring.” Zach spoke with more
emotion than was wise.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. You’d
sacrifice your last friend on earth for a ring, that’s assuming you
had any friends.”

“
You
stand between me and a
ring.”

“Hey, asshole, get a clue. In case you
haven’t noticed, we’re on the same team.” Harris rolled his
eyes.

“Seems like we’re on opposing teams if you
ask me.”

“That might be the way you see it. The way I
see it you’re destroying our chances. You’re splitting the team in
half, forcing the defense to side with you and leaving the offense
no choice but to side with me.”

“I don’t like what you stand for.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“Everything I hate about quarterbacks.”

Harris raised one dark eyebrow. “And that
is?”

“You think the world revolves around
you.”

“Damn right, because it does, dumb
shit.”

“You quit on the team last year.”

Harris’s eyes turned dark like a cloud
blotting out the sun, and he didn’t deny Zach’s accusation. “I’m
not the same guy I was last year. I was going through some—personal
issues. I’m fine now. I’m all in.”

“Prove it.”

Harris closed his eyes for a brief moment
and sighed, almost as if he’d grown weary of their constant
squabbling. “I have been. Open your fucking eyes and get on board
before it’s too late.”

“I am on board, but I’m not convinced you
are.”

“Fuck you.
You
are the problem, not
the solution.” Grabbing his gym bag, Harris stalked out the door
and slammed it behind him.

Zach turned to glare at the lone stragglers
in the room, a couple of his defensive guys and a few of the
offensive linemen, also Harris’s cousin, Derek, a straight-up guy,
even though he had the misfortune of being related to Harris.

His teammates turned back to their lockers
and pretended to be busy with whatever the hell they were doing,
except Ramsey. He edged over to Zach’s locker and sat down on the
closest bench.

“We won, you know. You might want to lighten
up a little around him.” Derek’s expression remained open and
friendly.

“Why? Is he gonna kick my ass?” Zach
sneered, but his surliness didn’t faze Derek in the least. Hell,
the guy had spent years with Tyler.

Derek shrugged one shoulder. “Hard to say.
He’s got a temper, and he can be a scrapper. Used to get in a lot
of bar fights in college.”

Zach snorted. “I find it hard to believe
he’d bruise that pretty face of his.”

“Don’t underestimate my cousin. Last year
was an anomaly. He went through some tough times, but he’s back on
track. He’s not a quitter. He’s competitive and tough. He’s played
hurt, with the flu, and everything in between. You’d be smart to
remember that instead of focusing on one off year out of a dozen
exceptional years.”

“You’re taking his side.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side, but your
bickering is crippling the team. This locker room division needs to
stop. I think you’re man enough to check your pride at the door and
find some common ground. You both want the same thing—a
championship. Work together instead of at odds with each
other.”

“So I’m supposed to cave to his demands,
like everyone else in this locker room? How’s that gonna look to my
guys? I’m the captain of the defense. Do I just lay down and let
Harris stomp all over me then thank him for it?”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck and
sighed. “If you want a ring as badly as you claim, you’ll do what
it takes.”

Like he wasn’t already? Shit. He was busting
his balls on the field, while condemned to a hell known as
etiquette classes taught by the one woman he could never resist,
not years ago and not now. He’d been her doormat once, and if his
body’s current reactions were any judge, he’d gladly lay down
across a mud puddle so she wouldn’t get her dainty feet muddy.

Yet he knew Derek was right. They shouldn’t
be airing their dislike of each other in front of the team. Zach
might have the best of intentions but his mouth got in the way of
his brain, and dumb stuff came tumbling out. The few times he’d
tried to compliment the surly quarterback, the jerk took it as an
insult. Now they were at odds to the point where they couldn’t say
a civil word to each other if their life depended on it.

Zach knew his grudge was stupid, and Harris
knew it was stupid, but they were stubborn alpha males who refused
to show weakness and be the first to back down. He hated to admit
it, but maybe he could use a little training in tact and
manners.

Off to his side he heard Derek sigh, and a
second later he walked out of the room.

Frustrated by the doubts filling his head,
Zach pounded his fist into his locker. But even the dent he left
didn’t make him feel better.

CHAPTER 6

Kelsie consulted the handwritten directions
Zach had scrawled on a piece of paper. She couldn’t afford a data
plan on her phone so goodbye GPS, hello old-fashioned navigation by
paper.

She turned on Sparkling Bay Drive and drove
down a street lined with stately maples and historic Seattle
mansions, scanning for the correct address. From a block away, she
spotted the likely culprit. Not that it was a bad house. In fact,
just the opposite, the old Victorian mansion stood tall and proud,
defying time and looking down her classical nose at modern
development.

No, it wasn’t the house that concerned her.
If Zach paid a gardener, he’d better fire the guy.

She was speechless.

As she drove next to the house, Kelsie
slowed her car to a crawl and craned her neck. A post with a house
number partially obscured by overgrown rhododendrons confirmed her
worst suspicions.

Zach Murphy, former poor boy turned NFL
defensive star, lived at this address. She turned up the once
elegant driveway. A forest of overhanging branches scraped along
the roof of her car as she drove past a flock of faded, pink
plastic flamingoes, one missing a beak, another missing a leg.

Oh, yes, she’d come to the right place.

Unfortunately
.

She stopped her car, gripped the steering
wheel, and stared. And stared. And stared again. She blinked.
Closed her eyes. Counted to ten. Peeked once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing changed the landscaping disaster obscuring most of the
house from view.

Oh, good heavens
.

If a child ventured into Zach’s yard, the
two-foot tall grass would surely gobble him up and he’d never be
seen again, if the tangle of feral shrubbery didn’t attack him
first. She stared through the car window, expecting to catch a
glimpse of the random lion, tiger, or bear that might have taken up
residence, also never to be seen again.

Did she dare get out? Especially in her new
thrift-store heels? The very heels she would have turned her nose
up at in her former life.

Half hidden under an undomesticated wisteria
arbor, Kelsie spied the front walkway cleverly disguised as an
Amazon rain forest. She gingerly stepped out of her car, hoping she
could find it again when it came time to leave.

Picking her way across a concrete driveway
pitted with potholes and clumps of grass growing up through the
cracks, she approached the clandestine walkway. An errant
blackberry vine wrapped itself around her leg despite her best
attempts to step over it. Greedy thorns snatched at her legs, as if
she were their next meal. She stepped on the vine with her other
foot and pulled it off her, but not before it tattooed her ankle
with scratches.

Hearing a chuckle, she looked up. Zach stood
on a wide porch, which appeared to wrap around the entire house. A
smile tickled his mouth. While not prone to violence, one
well-placed slap to his amused face would do wonders for her
mood.

“Welcome to Branson Manor.” His voice
sounded strangled, as if he fought to hold back out-and-out
laughter.

Kelsie didn’t see one funny thing about this
situation. “That’s what you call it?” Avoiding another blackberry
vine, she mounted the front steps, which creaked under her weight.
A tattered, blue suede recliner with duct tape on one arm crouched
in a corner of the porch, a stack of beer bottles next it, and not
good beer, but the cheap stuff.