NEW
RELEASE and EXCERPT
Time of Possession
(Seattle Lumberjacks Book 5)
(Seattle Lumberjacks Book 5)
by Jami
Davenport
Time of Possession is the fifth book in Jami Davenport's Seattle Lumberjacks series. Also available: Fourth and Goal, Forward Passes, Down by Contact, Backfield in Motion, and Christmas Break (Book 4.5).
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Description
The clock's ticking down,
and the hearts of Estelle Harris and Lumberjacks quarterback Brett Gunnels are
about to enter crunch time.
Supposedly undersized for the NFL, Brett Gunnels went off to do a stint
in the US Army right out of high school. Returning damaged yet stronger and
more determined than ever to prove himself, he was picked last in the draft.
Mr. Irrelevant, they called him. The last few years as a backup quarterback
have given him no opportunity to compete for the starting job. That’s why he
has a chip on his shoulder the size of Puget Sound.
Estelle Harris is engaged to a man she doesn't love, working a job she
hates, and fooling everyone including herself in the process. Her love of
animals is the only thing that gives her purpose - a love she shares with the
Lumberjacks’ reclusive quarterback. And then their mutual friendship turns a
hot, dark, forbidden corner and there's no going back.
True love is like football. It’s not always how long you have the ball.
It’s what you do when you get it.
Excerpt
Chapter 1 - Mr. Irrelevant
Brett Gunnels had
fostered an intimate relationship with his clipboard over the past several
football seasons.
After all, as the
backup quarterback, he played his game on that clipboard, not out on the
football field. Every Sunday during the season he stood on the sidelines making
endless notes. One day he’d get his chance, a chance to prove that Mr.
Irrelevant—the title bestowed on the last player picked each year in the NFL
draft—was anything but.
Today, like any game
day, Brett roamed the sidelines, clipboard in hand. Every once in a while, he stopped,
cupped his hands to his mouth, and called out warnings or advice to the Seattle
Lumberjacks’ starting quarterback. Not that Tyler Harris heard him or would
listen even if he did. Harris did his own thing, and to hell with anyone else,
even his teammates and coaches.
A couple penalties
set the Jacks back to San Francisco’s forty yard line, and the offense was
looking at third and twenty-five with fifteen seconds on the clock.
Harris took the ball
from center and stepped back, staying in the pocket with the coolness and
finesse of the elite quarterback he was. A second later, the pocket collapsed
around him and he scrambled, running for his life while looking for an open
receiver. Every one of them was covered.
Harris never saw the
streak of pure muscle and brawn coming from his blindside. Brett cringed as the
linebacker slammed into Harris with a vicious hit, falling on him in the
process. Harris was known for his toughness, but from Brett’s point of view,
knees didn’t bend like that.
As the offense returned
to the huddle, a couple of them looked toward Harris, as if expecting him to
bounce to his feet. He always did. But not this time.
Sprawled on his
back, the two-time championship quarterback didn’t move. Not even an eyelash.
A hush came over the
crowd, eerie in its silence, while a cold wind of fear blew through the
stadium. Harris’s cousin and the Jacks’ top wide receiver, Derek Ramsey, knelt
beside the immobile quarterback, as the coaches and trainers hurried onto the
field. The offensive line huddled nearby, pretending not to stare but doing so
anyway, worry etched on the big guys’ beefy faces.
Brett might not like
Harris much—not many guys did—but his grudging respect for the guy’s talent and
work ethic overrode any personal issues he might have. Besides, no one wanted
to see a teammate laid out on the field like that, or anyone else for that
matter.
An icy shiver
radiated up Brett’s spine as his brain transported him to another time where
sand stretched as far as the eye could see, another body down and not moving.
Nothing. Just like Harris was now.
A cold sweat
trickled down Brett’s forehead, and he dropped his clipboard and scrubbed his
face with his hands, forcing those memories back into the compartment where he
kept them tightly locked up.
This wasn’t a war
zone—well, not exactly—and his teammate was known for his dramatics. He was
probably taking a two-minute siesta at the expense of everyone’s nerves. Any
second, he’d hop to his feet and chastise them for being such pansy-asses.
Only Harris didn’t
move. Brett couldn’t stay on the sidelines and do nothing. He ran onto the
field to join his teammates standing in concerned clusters. Harris’s chalky
face looked like death. Brett swallowed back the fear and bolstered his
courage. He’d be okay. He had to be. He was too mean and too tough to be
seriously injured.
After several tense
minutes, Harris sat up and shook his head. The team breathed a collective sigh
of relief. Groggily, he accepted assistance to his feet, only to have his knee
buckle. He went down again, clutching his leg, pain carved into his usually
stoic face as he rolled back and forth on the turf. A few seconds later, two
linemen helped him onto a cart, and they zipped him off the field and down the
tunnel.
Only then did Brett
realize the coach was yelling at him.
“Gun, get your
helmet on and get your ass out there on that field.”
Standing on the
fifty yard line, the guys in the huddle gawked at him, waiting for him to
assume control. Frantic, he looked for his helmet but couldn’t find it. Zach
Murphy, their All-Pro linebacker, shoved it in his hands. Strapping it on as he
ran, Brett got to the huddle, only to find the mic in his helmet wasn’t
working. After tapping on the helmet a few times, he took several deep breaths
and squelched the growing panic inside him. He could do this. He would do this.
He had to do this. The team was
counting on him.
Brett turned to the
guys gathered around him, his gaze determined. He knew exactly what play to
call in this situation, having rehearsed it over and over in his mind and on
the practice field. He called for a quick out-pass to Derek, hoping to catch
the defense expecting a run because of the quarterback change. He took the snap
from center, pedaled backwards, and tossed an easy lob to Derek, who collided
with a defensive end as they both went for the ball. The end batted the ball
into the air, and a San Francisco linebacker in the right place at the right
time scooped it up before it hit the ground and ran it back for a touchdown.
Game over.
At first his stunned
teammates stared at the end zone as if they couldn’t believe their bad luck.
Then one by one, guys patted him on the back amid murmurs of “good try,” “tough
break,” and “we did the best we could.” Regardless, Brett blamed himself
because that’s what a good quarterback did. A great one carried the whole team on
his shoulders and found a way to win. Just not today.
Sighing, Brett
jogged for the showers and let the warm water wash away some of his frustration
and disappointment. One play in an NFL regular season game, and it ended with
the other team scoring.
Damn it.
Coach announced in
the locker room that Harris was staying overnight in the hospital for
observation. He’d damaged his knee, and he’d be in surgery within the next day
or so after arriving back in Seattle. A collective sigh circulated the locker
room, as the men slumped on the benches in weary disbelief.
The plane trip back
was quiet, no obnoxious Harris harassing the rookies or singing old rock tunes
in his amazingly good voice. Brett actually missed the jerk, but there was work
to be done, and it started now. Brett buried his head in the playbook, going
over and over what he could’ve done differently for a better outcome. He came
back to the same answer. Run that play a hundred times and ninety-nine outcomes
would go as expected. Leave it to him to have that one-out-of-a-hundred result,
he thought with wry humor.
Brett looked up as
Coach took the empty seat next to him. Hubert Jackson, or HughJack as everyone
called him, studied him with assessing eyes. Brett closed the playbook he’d
been studying and faced the coach head on.
“What’s up?” He
attempted to keep it light even though the situation was anything but.
HughJack didn’t
crack a smile. Instead he rubbed a spot between his eyes and blew out a breath.
“This is your team now, Gun.”
Brett nodded tersely.
“Harris is out for the season?” As if he hadn’t already figured that one out.
“At the least.”
Solemn, Brett stared
at his hands. “That sucks.” He never wanted to get a starting job through
injury but it was what it was, and he’d make the best of the opportunity.
“Sure does. We’re
going into the final four games of the year, tied for the division. San
Francisco has the tiebreaker.” Leave it to HughJack to point out the obvious
and not sugarcoat it.
“I’ll do everything
I can.”
“I know you will. A
lack of work ethic has never been your problem.” HughJack paused to look around
the plane at the various men collapsed in their seats. “This is your time to
shine. Your time to prove wrong every idiot armchair critic who ever said you
were too old, too short, not athletic enough. Your time to earn a big new
contract as a starting quarterback at the end of the season. If contracts were
awarded on effort alone, you’d have one, but it’s all about winning. I believe
in you. So do your guys.”
Brett nodded and
waited for HughJack to continue. Yeah, he’d heard all the negative stuff his
entire life, and he’d fought tooth and nail to overcome it. He couldn’t do a
thing about his five-foot-ten-and-a-half height, which in a world of six-four
quarterbacks was considered small. But he could be quicker on his feet, more
accurate, and smarter than anyone else to make up for it. As for his age, he’d
just turned thirty, but he had low miles on the field, that should count for
something.
“You’re more than
capable of taking this team to the playoffs. I believe that. This team believes
that. The question is do you believe that?”
Brett nodded and
swallowed.
HughJack leaned
forward. His intense blue eyes drilled into Brett’s. “You haven’t worked with
the first string all season, and you don’t have your timing down with your
center or your receivers. There’ll be some tough times while you work all that
out. Don’t get discouraged.”
“I’m committed to
making this work.”
HughJack almost
smiled. “What can I do to help you?”
“I need time with
the guys, time to click with them, time for us to get used to each other, for
them to learn my cadence and for me to learn their quirks, capitalize on our
strengths and minimize our weaknesses.”
“You’ll have all the
time in the world, son—until the next game.” HughJack clapped him on the
shoulder. “You can do this. Harris left us in a decent position. We’ve got some
leeway while you’re figuring this out. I have utmost faith in you.”
“Yes, Coach. I
know.”
HughJack studied him
a little longer, as if assessing his character right through his skin. Then he
patted Brett on the arm and moved back to the coaches’ area of the plane,
already game-planning for next week.
The opportunity of a
lifetime had just fallen into Brett’s lap. He’d be damned if he’d fumble it
into early retirement. No way in hell. He’d take that damn ball and run with
it. The guys were counting on him. This was his time and his team.
Today was the day
Mr. Irrelevant ceased to exist.
Featured Review
This is book five in Jami's Seattle
Lumberjacks series and another winner. This is the story of Brett the
second String Quarterback thrown into the big game due to the injury by the
first string and Estelle who happens to be the sister of the Quarterback who is
engaged to man who she really does not love but is only a crutch who fits into
her life plan. Their love of animals has them coming together and you are
rooting for the two of them from page one. Their relationship is definitely an
emotional one filled with some angst but you want to see their HEA. If you are
looking for a book that will make you feel good this definitely the one you
want to pick up and definitely a series you will want to read.
About the Author
An advocate of happy endings, Jami Davenport writes sexy romantic comedy,
sports hero romances, and equestrian fiction. Jami lives on a small farm near
Puget Sound with her Green Beret-turned-plumber husband, a Newfoundland cross
with a tennis ball fetish, a prince disguised as an orange tabby cat, and an
opinionated Hanoverian mare.
Jami works in IT for her day job and is a former high school business
teacher and dressage rider. In her spare time, she maintains her small farm and
socializes whenever the opportunity presents itself. An avid boater, Jami has
spent countless hours in the San Juan Islands, a common setting in her books.
In her opinion, it is the most beautiful place on earth.
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