Chapter 6—Third-Down Conversion

Days later, Tyler stood on the sagging back porch of his piece-of-shit mansion and surveyed his so-not-piece-of-shit surroundings. The mansion might need work, but the view sure as hell didn’t. Despite his intention to sell the property at the end of his ninety-day exile, a grudging appreciation of the raw beauty wound its way past his defenses.

A pinprick of guilt regarding the fate of the mansion unearthed his sense of family loyalty. He closed his eyes and waited for a moment of clarity, a sign as to the direction to take, but the answer eluded him.

Taking a gulp of oxygen, he opened his eyes and leaned on the porch railing. Tall cedars crowded the edge of the weed-infested lawn, while madronas clung to the bank and leaned precariously over the water of Outlaw Bay. On the horizon, clouds gathered and signaled another impending storm. Water lapped at the sand on the small beach and eroded a portion of his restlessness. The old dock creaked as the wake of a powerboat rocked it. In the distance, a small sailboat tacked back and forth taking advantage of the stiff breeze in Hazard Channel, named not just for the rocks below the water’s surface but for the many smugglers and criminals who’d plied the waters over the past century. A smile crept across his face as he imagined his ancestors bootlegging whiskey to the mainland. Obviously, he’d inherited their wild streak.

It was hard to believe the Super Bowl had ended only five weeks ago. For a couple of agonizing weeks after the game, the sports world buzzed with rumors about Tyler quitting football, his alleged drug and alcohol problems, and his bad attitude. Hiding out on the island might be making him stir-crazy, but it kept him out of the press’s sights. The rumors had died down to a whisper here and there as the fickle press moved on to the next story. He’d become yesterday’s news—which for once was fine with him—until the next round of rumors started circulating.

A small smile tickled the corners of his mouth as an uninvited peace soaked into his bones. He shook it off in an attempt to resist the call of the islands. He wouldn’t answer their siren song. He needed stimulation, the constant excitement and activity only a city provided.

He’d been born and raised in the country on a ranch, done some junior rodeo, mucked stalls, bucked way too much hay, and, truth be told, loved every minute of it. Buried deep, a country boy lurked under his city-boy façade, another contradiction in a life of contradictions.

Tyler turned away from the beauty. Walking inside, he ambled down the hallway into the den with its dark wood and massive stone fireplace. A hunk of old-growth cedar served as the mantel. Part of Tyler admired the incredible craftsmanship of the old mansion, how it’d withstood the test of time. Unlike the fickleness of being a football star one day, a goat the next. Another part of him compared the place to prison.

The cat—now christened Cougar in honor of his attitude and Tyler’s former college team—sprawled in front of the fireplace and waited for Ty to build a fire. Not that Tyler liked the cat, not at all, but they tolerated each other’s presence after the leather coat debacle.

“You’re a heat slut, Coug. Know that?”

Cougar blinked at him and stretched his long feline body. Standing, the cat rubbed against Tyler’s legs and made a purr-ow sound only cats could make. Tyler bent and picked up the tabby, cradling him in his arms.

Placing Coug on the couch, he sat at the antique rolltop desk and checked out the latest issue of a gossip mag he’d picked up at the grocery store. His gaze snapped to a picture of a familiar blonde on the arm of a tall man, both dressed for a Hollywood party. His body tensed. Cass. He’d assumed she’d be somewhere recovering from the breakup, like he’d assumed a lot of things.

Such as assuming his invincible father would be around forever. After all, he’d flown rescue helicopters in war zones and survived. He’d assumed Ryan would survive by some miracle. Then Art Harris died, the great uncle he’d only gotten to know six short months ago.

He’d never really known why Art had reached out to him. His uncle never really said, and Tyler hadn’t asked, though the answer seemed obvious. No one wanted to die alone. Everyone deserved to die surrounded by friends and family.

Nothing made sense anymore. His brash, self-absorbed costume didn’t fit well. His love of the game slipped away to be replaced by apathy. Football had been his obsessive focus for so long, quitting didn’t seem like a viable option. Tyler Harris without football didn’t exist. He had no identity unless he held a pigskin in his hands, and right now he didn’t even have that.

All this introspection didn’t sit well with him.

He needed human company, socialization, maybe a little admiration from the locals, anything to make him feel worthy. He’d hidden out on this estate for almost a month. Plenty long enough. An opinionated, demanding cat had been his only company with the exception of a few trips to town for milk, beer, pizza, and cat food. Plus, he was damn tired of eating his cooking, which exclusively revolved around an ancient microwave.

A few glimpses of Lavender weren’t enough to satisfy his cravings for human interaction. Though those few glimpses kept him going. Like a voyeur, he craned his neck for any sign of her curvy body and gorgeous face. He even knew her routine. She’d stride out to her makeshift greenhouse every morning and water her plants. One good gust of wind and the shack would be leveled. He snorted. Hell, her dinky little house wasn’t much better. It looked like he felt after a weekend drunk in college.

His sex-deprived brain indulged in various carnal fantasies, each one more deviant than the last, and every one involving the sassy little redhead next door who brought out the worst in him. Tell that to his dick. It didn’t care, it just wanted what it wanted.

But a man couldn’t live on fantasies alone. Being as much a social animal as he was an asshole, he sought out attention and conversation. When dusk set in, he headed to Sunset Harbor, the largest town on Madrona Island. Large being a relative term. Time to check out the local women and down a few brews.

Tyler parked his big-ass truck on the main street in Sunset Harbor and stepped out. The sleepy little town of a thousand consisted of a few blocks of shops, stores, and restaurants. He paused, tipped back his black Stetson, and surveyed the serenity and beauty around him for the second time today. The storm gave way to an unusually clear night. Stars shone in the sky, more brilliant because of the lack of city lights. A few blocks away and lit up like a cruise ship, a Washington State ferry motored away from the ferry landing bound for the mainland.

Tyler ran a hand over his face and steeled himself against the allure of the island. Turning his back on the view, he walked a half block and hesitated in front of the veterans club he’d noticed earlier, the same one on the business card Lavender had shoved in his pocket. He thumbed through his wallet for his national membership card, courtesy of his father’s service in the military. Finding it, he walked to the door.

He might as well hang with the locals since he was one, at least for now. After all, his family had over a century of history on this island, and for now he owned property here.

Tyler pushed through the door and drew the stares of every bar patron. He signed the guest book and listed his membership number.

Hadn’t these people ever seen a tall cowboy before? Casting one last glance around the room, Tyler took a seat at the long bar. He shook his head, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He’d come to town for company, though now that he was here, he wanted to be left alone. On any other day in any other place, he’d be sitting at a table surrounded by adoring fans and playing to his audience like the attention slut he was. His gaze swept across the room, past the table of locals speaking in low tones. He caught the words asshole, selfish, drunk, quitter, and entitled jerk. Shrugging, he turned away. He’d charm their asses off later if the mood struck him. Right now, he didn’t want to talk football with anyone.

He did a double take at the wall of windows looking out over some of the best views on the islands. Holy shit. Nestled on a hillside, the bar’ had an expansive view that took in the ferry landing and neighboring islands. This place would be worth a fortune in the current market just for that view.

His sharply honed womanizing eyes targeted the miniscule woman making a drink behind the counter, her back to him. To call her sexy wouldn’t do her justice. Unabashedly, he ogled her backside. Her compact, curvy body differed from the tall, emaciated blondes he normally dated. Her auburn hair fell in a curly mass across her shoulders and down her back. Her tight jeans hugged her round ass, just the right size to fit in his big palms.

Ty grinned. He could use a little island magic.

She barely cast a glance in his direction as she put glasses away. “What can I getcha?”

“How about you?”

She turned, and their gazes collided with the impact of a head-on collision. His mouth fell open. The woman rendered him speechless, and that didn’t happen often.

Shit. It was her. Lavender. Man, she’d cleaned up well. He almost hadn’t recognized her. She looked him up and down. He squirmed under her astute gaze. Her brown eyes stripped his defenses bare and found him lacking.

“It’s you.” She beat him to the punch and didn’t sound too happy about it, either.

“Yeah, babe, it’s me. The answer to your prayers. Did you miss me?”

“Members only. You’ll have to leave.” Her smug smile lasted only a second as he flashed his membership card in front of her face.

“You’re not a veteran.”

“My father was. I’m a member through him. Aren’t you a lucky woman?” He grinned, enjoying matching wits with her.

“You’re an ass. Take the hat off.”

“Not a problem.” He placed his Stetson on the counter. “How about you and me, and you can leave your hat on, baby.”

Moving closer to him, she crooked a finger. He leaned forward to catch her hushed words, enjoying the husky sensuality of her voice. “Let me fill you in, cowboy. I’ve heard every line. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Never challenge a competitive man. I don’t like to lose.”

“Get used to it.”

He laughed. She didn’t.

The lady was a smartass. He liked that in a woman. All that attitude made for a fucking good time in bed, pardon the pun.

“What’ll you have? I don’t have all day.” She drummed her fingers on the counter.

“With me it’ll take all day, Lavender.”

“With you it’ll take nothing because it won’t happen.” Her brown eyes flashed with annoyance. Damn, pissed-off redheads turned him on.

“You’re breaking my fucking heart here, darlin’.” He held his hands to his chest and cocked his head at her.

“That’ll be five bucks in the jar.”

“Huh?”

“For swearing. Put a five in the jar.” She pointed to a can sitting on the counter, picked it up, and shook it in his face.

“A swear jar? In a veterans club?”

She shrugged. “The money goes to disabled veterans. That’ll be five dollars.”

“It says a buck on the jar.”

“For you, it’s five.”

Tyler dug in his jeans and pulled out a twenty. Folding it up, he pushed it through the slit in the jar top.

“Do you want change?”

“Nah, consider it an advance payment.” With his mouth, he’d need it.

“We don’t like your type around here. Why don’t you go back to California or wherever you belong?”

“That might be a little difficult, darlin’, cuz I ain’t from Cali-for-nee-a.”

“You sure as heck aren’t from Texas. That’s the worst drawl I’ve ever heard.”

“Would you believe I’m a rarity around these parts? I’m a native: a true-blue, born-and-bred Washingtonian.”

“Dressed like that?”

“Hey, I’m from Eastern Washington. We’re all cowboys or farmers over there.”

“Like you’d know a horse’s ass from its head.”

“That’ll be a buck for swearing.” He smirked at her and tugged on a lock of her fiery red hair. She jerked away from him, and he let the silky strands slip through his calloused fingers.

Pissed, she yanked a bill from her tip jar and stuffed it in the swear jar. He chuckled, having more fun than he’d had in a long time.

“So what’ll it be?”

“That’s a loaded question.” He cocked a brow and winked.

“You have five seconds to name a beer, or I’ll pick one for you.” The lady was definitely not amused.

Lazily, Tyler looked up. He got the point. He was picky about his beer. “What’s the best dark beer you have on tap?”

“We have a local dark ale, brewed right here in the islands.”

“Sounds good.” He watched as she poured the beer into a glass and savored the view of her nicely shaped ass. Turning, she scowled when she caught him eyeing her.

“How’s the cat?” Lavender slid the beer across the bar to him.

“Why? Has he been bitching to you again?”

“Actually, I haven’t seen him at all.”

“That’s because he’s taken my house by siege and relegated me to servant status.”

“You? A servant?” She laughed, hearty yet feminine. He liked it so much he wanted to make her do it again.

“Honest. The little shit is more demanding than my agent when he negotiated my last contract.” Before she could open her mouth, he dropped a buck in the jar.

“You paid ahead.”

“Call it a donation. So, what time do you get off tonight?” He reached for her hand and caught it in his much bigger one. She tugged, and he gripped tighter, running his thumb across her palm. He liked the feel of her soft hand in his. She shuddered and sucked her plump lower lip between her teeth. Their eyes met. For a moment, he lost himself, forgot his problems, and just enjoyed the little jolt he got from being around her.

Lavender yanked her hand away. Her momentary thaw iced over. “You’re no better than the rest of them, are you?”

“Actually, I am better. The best, sweetheart. Give me a chance.” He didn’t have a clue who the rest of them were, but decided to let that one go.

“Not unless your IQ is equal to or better than your quarterback rating.”

She’d stabbed him below the belt, but he didn’t believe in letting anyone see him bleed. “For that to happen I’d need to be above-genius level.”

“Too bad, Einstein. The clock ran out. You just turned the ball over on downs.” She tossed him a sassy wink and turned away to wait on her other tables.

Tyler stared after her. He made a mental note to toughen up around purple lady, while at the same time stepping up his campaign to get her naked.

* * * * *

What a jerk. Lavender wanted to throttle the arrogant jock.

After she’d rejected him, Tyler wandered over to a lone table. He slumped in his chair, propped his long legs on another chair, and glowered at the Canucks hockey game on the nearby TV. The few people who attempted to approach him immediately backed off when he shot them a fuck-off glare.

She kept stealing glances at him. He looked like the real deal with his worn cowboy boots, which actually looked like they’d been used in a barn or on a horse. His hat seemed equally broken in. Nothing about him said money. In fact, his clothes said just the opposite, if she didn’t know better.

As much as she hated professional sports, a girl’d have to be a hermit not to know about Tyler Harris. He was a local legend, a Northwest hero, a self-proclaimed asshole and proud of it. Worst of all, he was her neighbor, the heir to Twin Cedars, the destroyer of dreams and island history, and the current object of her most decadent fantasies.

Unfortunately.

She’d be lucky to make it through the spring with her virtue intact, what was left of it. The bad girl in her desperately lusted after the bad boy in him. They’d be hot in bed, sheet-scorching, bone-melting hot. She’d been celibate since last summer following her aborted relationship with the spoiled son of a wealthy California attorney. Summer ended along with his interest in her. Another one of her meaningless flings with the wrong type of man. Not that it hurt much because her heart never participated in her sexual relationships. Not anymore.

She liked sex. Actually, she loved sex.

The advantage to having a purely sexual tryst with Mr. Touchdown was that she didn’t like him, didn’t find his particular brand of charm charming, and his residency status on the island was temporary. They’d both be able to get physically involved without any emotional bullshit.

Lavender twisted the bar rag in her hands.

No, no, no. None of that mattered. She’d promised herself. No jocks, no matter how well she justified it.

She wouldn’t cut the man any slack, even though he had two redeeming qualities: his body, and he was taking good care of the cat.

Despite Tyler’s obnoxious personality and conceit, her body didn’t seem to care. Every time he came near her, said body hummed with pleasure and begged to be set free. Her panties got wet. Her nipples hardened. Her heart sped up. The chemistry between them snapped and popped like a broken power line on a wet pavement.

Heaven help her.