Forward Passes (Seattle Lumberjacks) Read online

  Cat ran back to her and sank his claws in her leg. With a yelp, she leaned down and detached the little brat, cradling him in her arms. “You’re in deep shit, buddy.”

  Cat purred. In the self-absorbed way of most cats, he’d didn’t give a damn about all the trouble he’d caused.

  Sputtering and cursing, Tyler bobbed to the surface and grasped the edge of the dock. He hoisted himself out of the water and stomped to shore, shaking water from his hair.

  Lavender’s eyes widened as he headed straight toward her and Cat, his eyes blazing and his shoes making squishing noises. Every muscle in his six-foot-four frame appeared tensed for battle as he towered over her by more than fourteen inches. She tightened her grip on the troublemaking feline.

  “That cat just used up all nine of his lives.”

  Standing toe-to-toe with the arrogant quarterback, Lavender shrugged and tossed him a too-innocent smile. “You’re dripping all over my feet.”

  His body vibrated with restrained fury. Salt water ran off him in streams and puddled on the already saturated ground. He gave her a once-over as the storm in his eyes built to a category five. “I’m not done with him. Or you.” Whirling around, he grabbed a towel someone handed him and stalked off.

  Lavender didn’t know whether to laugh or run like hell. If he thought he was pissed now, just wait until the reading of the will this afternoon.

  She’d be replacing Cat as number one on his hit list.

  Chapter 3

  Animal Attraction

  Over the years, Tyler worked hard to cultivate his reputation as an asshole. One hundred percent asshole, from his gorgeous mug to his well-exercised cock, from his fast moves to his irreverent attitude, he practiced the art of being an asshole. In fact, he considered himself a master.

  Screw nice. Tyler didn’t do nice. Nice guys were pussies, boring pussies. Well, except for his cousin and best friend, Derek. Yeah, Derek could be a pussy at times, especially with his fiancée, but he also had steel in him. He was the guy Tyler would want to have his back.

  On the rare occasions when Tyler was caught doing a good, selfless deed, he drowned it in a smoke-screen of self-serving bullshit. The press ate it up. Everyone loved to hate an asshole. So he gave them what they wanted and made money doing it. More importantly, the asshole role kept people at a distance and discouraged them from looking any deeper because Tyler never exposed his soft underbelly to anyone. Never let them see the guy who didn’t watch sad movies, had a soft spot for animals and old people, and anonymously donated shitloads of money to childhood cancer.

  Which was exactly why no one knew about his relationship with Uncle Art. Not even his mother or sisters.

  Jim Miller, his uncle’s attorney, rifled through the stacks of papers teetering precariously on his desk, leaving Tyler to wonder if the old coot had lost the will. Tyler shifted his butt in a chair made for a guy half his size. He stretched his cramped legs out in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest.

  His gaze flicked over the hot little chick with the weird name radiating some serious attitude in the chair next to him. He made a mental note to take a rain check on a more thorough body assessment of the sassy redhead.

  Just not now.

  Uncle Art’s unexpected death had sucker-punched him in the gut. No more secret weekly visits to the VA nursing home to play poker with his uncle and his cronies. No more arguing over who was the greatest baseball player of all time. No more stories about ancestors Tyler never knew. Even worse, he didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to an uncle he’d only gotten to know in the past six months.

  Just one week ago Tyler had stood on the podium after winning his second Super Bowl and hadn’t felt a damn thing but emptiness. He sure as hell didn’t have that problem now. He swore a grizzly bear had torn open his chest and ripped out his heart, leaving a gaping cavity and a load of intense, agonizing pain.

  But he’d played through pain before, and he’d do it again. He put on his game face and slipped into his favorite role when things got tough, that of a selfish asshole.

  The old attorney with bad taste in clothes finally held the will in his pudgy hands. Tyler bit back a few choice words. He just wanted to get on with it and get the hell out of here and back to civilization. He couldn’t even get cell-service on this godforsaken island.

  Jim glared at him through his coke-bottle glasses, as if Tyler had pissed him off somehow. Hell, Tyler was the one who’d been summoned from his city condo, dunked in the freezing-ass cold waters of Outlaw Bay, and forced to stay on this isolated rock two hours longer than necessary. And for what? To be an unwelcome guest at his uncle’s funeral and make a total ass out of himself? To listen to the reading of a will which didn’t apply to him? Tyler preferred to do his grieving in private, not in front of several hundred hostile islanders in the middle of a fucking hurricane.

  Tyler leaned forward, elbows on Jim’s desk, and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, which contributed to his crappier than usual attitude.

  The old goat pushed his glasses up his nose and started reading. Tyler tuned him out until he heard his name. “To my great-nephew, Tyler, as the last of the Harris males, I will to you my estate at Twin Cedars and all of my personal effects therein, including my beloved cat. I’m truly sorry my estrangement from your family kept us from knowing each other sooner. After your father died, I should have been there for you, but I wasn’t. At least we had time together at the end.”

  What the fuck? Tyler leaned back in his chair, letting the words sink in. He hadn’t seen this coming. Not at all. Especially the cat part.

  Hot Chick aka Lavender shrieked one of those high-pitched female sounds that usually sent him diving for cover. She clamped her hand over her mouth, but not before he heard a muffled sob. Oh, crap. Not tears. He’d never been able to deal with a woman’s tears, not even his sisters’.

  He played dumb, not hard to do with a 1.09 GPA.

  Lavender stared at the attorney seated across the table from her as if his words had sucked the life out of her future. “Jim, there must be some mistake. Are you sure?”

  “I wish there was a mistake. Artie requested the change six months ago.”

  “Six months ago?” She made that little heartbreaking sound from deep in her throat, the one women usually followed up with hysterical crying and a big dent in his credit card to make things better.

  “Right after Art took a fall and went to the veterans’ nursing home in Seattle to recover.”

  Right after he’d called Tyler out of the blue and asked to see him. Tyler bit back a dose of guilt, even though he’d no reason to feel guilty. He hadn’t asked for this. Hell, no one in their right mind would ask for this. The place was beyond repair and a money pit if he ever saw one.

  “But-but…” Lavender wrung her hands in her lap. Tyler figured she’d rather be wringing his neck. “Art shared the will with me. We had dreams for the estate—shared dreams once we got the money together. He knew I’d carry on if something happened to him. How could he leave it to this—this person who has no appreciation of the mansion’s history or interest in the legacy of one of the island’s pioneer families?”

  “Which happens to be my family,” Tyler reminded her.

  She shot him a look that had first-degree murder fantasies written all over it.

  “It’s quite clear, Mr. Harris inherits it all if he conforms to the requirements set forth in Artie’s will.”

  Tyler snapped to attention. “What requirements?” Jim had better not be messing with him. Tyler wasn’t in the mood for bullshit.

  “The terms are clear, Mr. Harris. Before you can inherit the property, you’ll need to be in residence for ninety consecutive days starting today.”

  “What?” All those years in loud football stadiums must have screwed up his hearing.

  “Ninety consecutive days.” Lavender repeated, as if she considered him a fucking idiot or something.

  “Not gonna happen.�
�� No way in hell did Tyler want to be stuck on this frigging island, not even for five more minutes. At this very moment, a float plane idled at the dock, waiting just for him.

  “Then the property passes to the Island Yankee Brotherhood and Lavender Mead.”

  “Island Yankee Brotherhood? Not the old guys in military uniforms at the funeral?” Hell, they couldn’t even get taps right, let alone deal with a big-assed estate badly in need of millions of dollars in TLC or, even better, bulldozing.

  “One and the same.” The defiant look in Lavender’s eyes almost had him smiling. He liked women with balls.

  “I’m supposed to get married in a month.” Like that was going to happen. Cass wouldn’t answer his calls after he’d postponed the wedding once again, and truthfully, Tyler was relieved.

  “You’ll just have to get married on the island.” Jim’s helpful suggestion didn’t help one damn bit.

  “Cass would never come here. She’d hate it.”

  “Then I guess she’ll wait if she really loves you.” Lavender was starting to annoy the hell out of him.

  Besides, Ty wasn’t marrying for love, just convenience and hot, inventive sex. At the thought of sex, his gaze slipped to the woman next to him who wore her displeasure like a suit of feminine armor.

  He considered his options. If he left, he’d forfeit the place to a group of geriatrics who’d most likely lose it or sell it. Or, he could spend the next ninety days on an island with no cell service, one stoplight, and no nightlife, unless you counted playing pull tabs and swapping fish stories with the locals as nightlife. He’d be completely isolated from rabid reporters and hoards of nosy fans, which did have its merits. Or he could high-tail it out of Dodge with nothing lost, nothing gained.

  Ever since he’d rear-ended the cop car over a week ago, his life had been hell. The press hounded him day and night. Rumors flew about DUI and drug charges, even a possible stint in rehab. Forget that he’d just won the Super Bowl. Nobody cared about that. They wanted dirt. Even worse, some dipshit videoed the entire fucked-up accident, including the aftermath and sold it to a major sports network. The clip started with him ramming into the cop, then taking a breathalyzer test which he passed with flying colors—thank you very much—and ending with him being handcuffed and hauled into jail because he’d given the jock-hating prick of a cop some lip. The cocky son-of-a-bitch had arrested Tyler just because he could. His attorney got him out a few hours later, no charges filed. At least, not yet.

  But that didn’t stop the speculation. Everyone wanted to believe the worst of him. No one bought that he’d passed the breathalyzer. He’d been the subject of just about every sports show for the past week—ad nauseum, while his agent worked feverishly to do damage control with the league and the team.

  Tyler rubbed his thumb across his stubble, considering his options: peace and boredom or mayhem and stress. He pinned Jim with a laser gaze. “So, how much do you think that property is worth?” He kept his attention on Jim, not chancing a look at Lavender, even though he heard her sniff and blow her nose.

  “Millions. With that much waterfront, even in this economy, it’s priceless.” Something flickered in Jim’s eyes, immediately rousing Tyler’s suspicions. The attorney wasn’t being one hundred percent straight with him.

  Whatever.

  Tyler didn’t need a run-down mansion in the middle of flipping nowhere. Yet, Twin Cedars was his family’s legacy, built over a hundred years ago by his timber baron ancestor, Jackson Harris. Not that he’d keep it in the family.

  The land was a different story. Worth Millions?

  Tyler blew through money like a NASCAR driver blew through the finish line. Being a big spender was all part of his persona. He always figured he’d just earn more.

  Yet even before the playoffs, the winds of change had started blowing across his once secure future. That big contract loaded with incentives and the lucrative endorsements could all end tomorrow. Take another mediocre season and add a hot-shot rookie quarterback, and he’d be relegated to backup status. Even worse, an injury could end his career in the time it takes the center to snap the ball. Then where would he be? No source of new income, no marketable skills other than football, expensive tastes, more expensive fiancée, and a family who dipped into his cash a little too often.

  He’d seen it happen several times. A washed-up football star goes bankrupt.

  Not gonna happen to him. He’d never suffer that humiliation; never do that to his family. They depended on him.

  He’d be damned if he’d give up a valuable chunk of land just to get out of ninety days of pure hell. If there was one thing Tyler had never had enough of, it was money. And Tyler always wanted more. His life revolved around an endless pursuit of more: more fame, more fortune, more victories, more women, more parties. More of everything. Because somewhere buried in all the excess had to be the one elusive piece that finally allowed him to say now I have enough.

  “Did Art say anything about me?” Lavender sniffed and honked her nose so loudly she’d do a Canadian goose proud.

  “Yes.” Jim felt around for his glasses, stuck them on his fat face. He cleared his throat and sent Tyler the same kind of look Tyler used to get from his dad warning his son to be seen and not heard. “Lavender, you’re probably really disappointed with me and confused. I’m sorry I let you and the Brothers down. You are the granddaughter I never had. I know we had plans for turning the mansion into an affordable vacation resort for veterans. Especially disabled, aging veterans. You have a gift, a great affinity for senior citizens. I wanted to help you get your degree in gerontology—”

  “The study of old people,” Lavender added, as if she considered Tyler a moron.

  Tyler gritted his teeth but said nothing. He’d never pretended to be a Rhodes Scholar, but he hated being talked down to like a dumb jock, even if the cleats fit.

  Jim waited for the two of them to stop their mental stare down then continued. “—but there’s no money, and I can’t mislead you anymore. Tyler can afford to do what needs to be done. The Brothers and you can’t. I only hope after ninety days in residence, he will come to love the place as much as we did, and do the right thing.”

  “The right thing? What the fuck does that mean?” No chance in hell would he keep the rotting hulk. In ninety days, the place had to go on the market, sold to the first buyer with a wad of money. Stuff like family heritage and historical significance couldn’t influence his decision. He wouldn’t let it. He needed that money, as much as he needed to lay low for a while.

  Jim glared at him like this whole mess was Tyler’s fucking fault. “You figure it out.”

  Tyler shifted his gaze to Lavender, who’d gone back to wringing her hands and sniffling. “Look, I didn’t ask for this.”

  She raised her chin and glared at him. Tear tracks were visible on her cheeks. Her lower lip quivered. “But you’re going to do it.” She spoke so quietly he had to lean toward her to hear. He caught a whiff of her perfume, taking him back to the smell of the spring wildflowers that had grown in the front pasture of his father’s ranch. The feisty little redhead met his gaze, wiped at a tear on her cheek and held her head high.

  “Yes, I’m going to do it.”

  “It’s settled then. Here are the keys.” The old goat attorney slid the ring of keys across the table. “You’ll love the island, Mr. Harris.”

  Tyler grabbed the keys and sealed his fate.

  Chapter 4

  The Cat’s out of the Bag

  Lavender hoisted the fat feline into her arms and rapped on her neighbor’s door. The orange tabby cat, evil prima donna that he was, purred his approval.

  As long as she had anything to do with it, Tyler Harris was going to take care of Art’s cat and not shirk his responsibilities. He’d had two weeks to take care of business, now she’d take care of it for him.

  After Art went to the nursing home, she’d fed the pissed-off tabby, even smuggled him into her little house, but her landlady grand
mother went wacko after she showed up one morning and found the animal drinking out of the toilet. Add to that the claw marks on the back door, cat hairballs on the carpet, and her grandmother’s cat allergies. Not a pretty sight by a long-shot. The cat found himself kicked out for good. She’d tried to find him a home, but no one wanted the demanding animal. Besides, Art willed Cat to Tyler, and Art had adored Cat. That must mean something. She just hoped like hell she was doing the right thing.

  Bracing herself, she knocked on the door again.

  The door opened. Lavender stared face-to-abs with the most incredibly sculpted, though sweaty, chest she’d ever seen. Tyler towered over her, naked from the waist up with his faded jeans slung low on his hips. She lifted her gaze to his well-defined pecs with a smattering of black chest hair. Muscles bunched in his arms and a Rose Bowl tattoo adorned his right upper arm. Despite the muscles, he looked lean and ready for action. She licked her dry lips, imagining the kind of action a man like that might be ready for.

  The word Ryan was tattooed on his chest, right above his heart. The name rang a bell in connection with Tyler, but she couldn’t quite recall why and chose not to ask.

  Instead, she focused on the superficial. Damn, but he had a fine body. Standing next to him at point-blank range, he was taller than expected, and gorgeous, absolutely, gorgeous. Too gorgeous for his own good and hers.

  A slow, sexy smile softened the hard lines of his face and transformed him from a jerk to a charmer, all the more lethal. “So, Lavender, what brings you to my doorstep? Been missing me?” His deep voice rolled over her like the gentle swell of a tide on the beach.

  She found her tongue tied to the roof of her mouth and forced it back into service. “I’m your neighbor, and this is your cat.”

  His amused gaze washed over her, warming her inside and outside. His blue eyes infiltrated her defenses.