Fourth and Goal

by Jami Davenport

  "Yeah, some kid asked for my autograph this morning when I was gassing up my truck. Pretty weird. We've been anonymous for so long."

  "The team's been anonymous because we've sucked for so long and no one gave a shit. Last year our fans wore Washington potato sacks over their heads. We win this game, and they'll take off the sacks and start noticing."

  Derek nodded. A win would only make them four and four. Every win came against teams they had no business beating. Their fans were becoming believers. Tonight they'd play to a sold-out stadium, the first sellout in years.

  The locker room buzzed with excitement and anticipation. A far cry from the silence of three weeks ago. Three convincing wins against good teams built confidence. Something special was happening here, and everyone felt it.

  HughJack chatted with an assistant inside the locker room door. Unusually relaxed and friendly, he smiled as the cousins strode inside. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope you came to play."

  "Play, hell! I'm kicking some ass!” Tyler faked dribbling down a court and went up for a quick layup. He pumped his fist in the air.

  "Wrong game, Harris,” HughJack reminded him.

  "For me there's no wrong game. I'm the best there ever was at any game.” Tyler strutted into the locker room, bowing and waving to imaginary fans while belting out his rendition of “We Are the Champions.” His teammates hooted and hollered.

  Derek smiled at HughJack. “You can't fault his confidence."

  "Confidence has never been his problem. Attitude has. Now he's using it to his advantage in a positive way."

  "Tyler just needs his energy channeled in the right direction."

  "I'm trying, but the kid's a tough one. High maintenance."

  "Tell me about it. I've known him since birth. Despite the selfish asshole act, he'd take a bullet for a friend and his team."

  HughJack regarded him for a minute with expressionless eyes, then nodded. “I believe he would."

  Starting at wide receiver on national TV should have scared the crap out of Derek. In the past, when he'd played on other teams, he'd warmed the bench during nationally televised games but never gotten any playing time. Despite the bright lights and the rowdy Seattle crowd, an unusual calm settled over him.

  Derek did his pregame stretches, sprinted up and down the field with his teammates, and paused to scan the crowd for Rachel. He smiled when he spotted her with her brother in their seats. Rachel gave him a thumbs-up. Mitch avoided his gaze, which was an improvement. At least his former buddy kept his finger holstered.

  Derek's father and stepmother sat at the fifty, a few rows up from the field. His dad nodded at him. Even at a distance, pride shone in his father's dark eyes. His stepmother, his biggest supporter, waved a small blue and gold Jacks flag and yelled louder than any fan in the stadium.

  Tyler swaggered up and down the sidelines. He'd been soaking up the limelight from the second he did the first pregame interview. Raising his hands over his head, he incited the crowd to a foot-stomping, ear-splitting racket. Derek could barely hear his own thoughts, let alone understand his teammate's words.

  The Bulls kicked off to the Jacks. Their rookie running back called for a fair catch. As they gathered in the huddle, Tyler leaned forward. His laser blue eyes pinned each man with a sharp penetrating gaze. Focused and intense, determination radiated off his body. His iron will sucked them in. Gave them no leeway and took no prisoners.

  Turning, Tyler swept his hand downward to indicate to the crowd to quiet down. The rabid fans quieted to a decibel that would still cause permanent hearing loss, but at least they could hear in the huddle.

  Tyler led. His team followed. Within the first few plays, he transformed from a self-centered athlete into a team player. No more renegade, trying to do it all himself. Tyler ran the plays as called unless he read the defense differently. In that case, he'd audible while HughJack ranted on the sideline, but Tyler's gambles paid off and deflated HughJack's anger.

  Derek caught an uncatchable pass in the end zone. Even he was surprised when he saw the replay on the stadium big screen. Luck shone down on them, not that it wasn't a battle until the very last second ticked off the clock. Their running game came alive. Bruce “Bruiser” Mackey pounded through the Bulls’ defensive line like running through whipped cream. Tyler threw with uncanny accuracy.

  In the end, they squeaked out a win and handed the Bulls their first loss.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eighteen

  Safety Blitz

  If Derek could define an exact time when the Lumberjacks went from goats to heroes, league doormats to possible contenders, beating the Bulls would be it. Their popularity escalated like a snowball rolling down one of Mount Rainier's glaciers. With each win, it gained momentum and size. Their fourth win exploded like an avalanche, happening fast and covering everything in its wake until it was so large it took on a life of its own.

  The underdog Lumberjacks, a perpetual rivals’ punching bag, scrapped their way onto the national sports media's radar. The Cinderella team with the young, fiery coach, renegade quarterback, and ragtag mix of linemen, receivers, backs, and rejects, captured the hearts of Seattle and America.

  For Derek it started subtly: The barista at his favorite coffee spot complimented him on a well-played game. The bartender at his favorite hangout asked for an autographed picture to hang in the bar. It escalated as strangers recognized him and approached on the street or in a restaurant. Lumberjacks posters popped up in places he'd never seen them before. Blue and gold dominated window displays and fan T-shirts. And on a more personal level, his agent inundated him with promo opportunities and requests, especially charitable contributions in the form of his presence.

  Derek and Tyler's evening workouts with Rachel shrank to one night a week, maybe two.

  The Lumberjacks capitalized on the ballooning popularity of the homegrown cousins and scheduled them for countless appearances. Heck, he and Tyler even did a radio talk show once a week and a couple of appearances on local TV. A landslide of attention swept him down the mountainside. He hadn't seen it coming and never would have estimated the brute force.

  Tyler, being Tyler, took it all in stride, as if it was his due. He basked in the glory. Derek found it hard to say no to all the people who suddenly wanted a piece of him. If he was busy before, it didn't compare to being a local celebrity, poised on the brink of being a national celebrity.

  He reeled from the impact and sought refuge from the chaos, a refuge only one person could give him.

  Rachel.

  "You're in denial.” Mitch propped his butt on the porch railing. Crossing his arms over his chest, he angled a glare at his sister meant to pierce the strongest defenses.

  Rachel maneuvered away from the porch light so he couldn't see her face clearly. “I am not. I'm doing exactly what I set out to do. Give me another month or two, and he'll be telling all."

  "Bullshit. You've fallen in love with him.” He spat the words like a distasteful mouthful of the broccoli he'd hated as a child.

  "See how good I am? I even have you believing I'm in love with him.” Rachel smiled sweetly.

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “The only thing I believe is you're interested in proving Ramsey's innocence."

  "If I proved his innocence, that would mean our father—"

  "Is guilty. Think about it."

  "Dad's innocent.” Above all else, Rachel was fiercely loyal to her family. Family came first. It always had. It always would. She wouldn't sell them out for anyone, even Derek Ramsey. “I'll get the information out of him."

  "You're paying a big price. Are you absolutely certain you're up to this?"

  "I'm in complete control.” Rachel grabbed Simon's collar as he shot up the porch steps toward her brother.

  "What's with that dog?” Mitch eyed the animal with suspicion.

  "You need to switch aftershave. Whatever you're wearing attracts ca
nine delinquents.” Simon strained against her hold on his collar and whined.

  Her brother moved back a few steps. “Have you seen Dad lately?"

  "A few weeks ago. He's the same."

  "Yeah, I saw him last night. At least he was half-sober, but it was early evening. I tried to talk to him about getting some help. He kicked my ass out of the house.” Pain filled Mitch's green eyes.

  "Mitchie, I promise I'll fix this."

  "Really, Rae? Even if he's vindicated, will it heal his wounds? I'm not sure life is so tidy."

  Rachel was certain life was anything but tidy.

  Rachel pulled back the curtain and gazed into the black night. She sighed and pressed her face against the cool window glass.

  Derek had invited her to dinner. He'd called three times saying he was running late. Finally he'd called one last time with apologies. Watching game tapes with the guys, he just couldn't get away. She held out hope he still might make it, but it'd been a couple of hours.

  Disappointed, she opened her laptop and read through the materials from today's lecture in her football management course. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven p.m. Tires crunched on the gravel driveway. Cass had moved out over the weekend and in with her new lover, so it couldn't be her.

  Rachel peeked through the curtain. Tall and lean, always in motion with pent-up nervous energy, Derek stood on her porch, tapping his foot. He raised his hand to knock. She opened the door, kneeing Simon in the chest before he bowled her over and invited himself inside. Simon whimpered, and she saw that one of her leather riding gloves hung out a corner of his mouth. Rachel lunged for the glove. Simon feinted left and bounded out of reach. Rachel grasped air, tripped over the doorjamb, and went down. A split second later, Derek suspended her in his arms. He pulled her next to his chest and held her tight.

  "Interesting welcome.” His chest rumbled with laughter under her ear.

  "The criminal has one of my new gloves.” She raised her eyes to his face, and her heart waltzed a little welcome dance despite her annoyance with his dog. He stared down at her and didn't say a word, though his mouth twitched at one corner.

  Simon whined, but Charlie held him at bay with one of those stay-back-or-you're-cat-food looks only a cat can give. The feline rubbed around Derek's legs and inserted himself between them and the dog. Simon backed off the porch.

  "I'd given up on you. Do you know what time it is?” Sometimes she wasn't sure he noticed such things.

  "Uh, yeah. I just got done. I'd promised to put in an appearance at a charity event, and I totally spaced it. Had to run by there first.” Derek released her and bent to scratch the cat. Charlie rolled over and exposed his belly for more scratching. Simon made a move to sneak by. Charlie didn't allow sneaking. He slapped Simon on the nose, claws out, and drew blood. Simon yelped and jumped back.

  Derek straightened, shook his head, and laughed. “Reminds me of your brother and me."

  "Which one of you is the thief?"

  "Neither.” His intense stare backed her up a step. “Damn, I've missed you. It's been a long week."

  "It's not over yet.” Hope bloomed in her heart.

  "We fly out tomorrow for our game on Sunday. Can I come in?"

  "It'll cost you a glove."

  "Wicked, evil woman to pit me against an obsessed dog."

  "Not wicked enough."

  "You're getting there.” His knowing gaze raked her body. She shivered as if he physically ran his tongue over her bare skin.

  He called Simon to his side. Simon obediently sat and spat the glove out on the ground, panting heavily. Charlie hissed from a few feet away. The dog kept a wary eye on the devil cat.

  "All you have to do is ask him. He's very accommodating."

  "To you maybe. He knows I don't like him. He toys with me.” Rachel grimaced at the growing pool of saliva on her porch. She picked up Charlie, holding him to her. Her cat looked over his shoulder and smirked at the canine intruder.

  Derek shrugged and handed her the soggy glove with a missing thumb. “Can I come in now?"

  Rachel stood back and let him in. He squeezed through the door, careful to keep Simon out. She slammed the door on his persistent dog. Prying Charlie's claws off her shirt, she placed him on the floor. Satisfied the enemy was locked outside, he strutted off to spread cat hair on her couch.

  "Rae. I'm really, really sorry about tonight. I was looking forward to it."

  Not as much as she'd been.

  Derek wrapped his arms around her and just held her against his big body. She felt the tension, knew it was from the incredible pressure he was under. When the team was bad, no one but the team cared, but now that wasn't the case. Expectations and pressure had risen exponentially with their Sunday night win.

  He buried his face in her hair. His breath feathered her neck. Little shock waves of sexual electricity charged her body. A smart girl didn't need sleep when she had a sexy guy like Derek. He slid his hands down her back and molded her to his body. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he flinched.

  "Are you okay?” She loosened her hold.

  "Just sore.” He drew back and studied her face. “But I'm better now that I'm with you."

  She didn't want to hear that. Not tonight. Not ever. He made it sound like he cared, like they could have a real relationship that might actually go somewhere. She journeyed to more stable ground. “You're so tight."

  "That's my line."

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Watch it, or I'm sending you out to sleep on the porch with Demon Dog."

  "Sorry, ma'am.” He swept off an imaginary cowboy hat in a gallant gesture and bowed low.

  Rachel sighed. “Would you like me to work out some of those kinks?"

  "Oh yeah, and how about adding some of your own?"

  "Kinks?"

  "Uh-huh.” The weariness in his dark brown eyes gave way to a twinkle of expectation.

  "Do you ever think about anything but football and sex?"

  "I try not to."

  She laughed in spite of herself. Smirking, she crooked her index finger at him. “Follow me to physical therapy."

  "I was hoping you'd say that.” His grin spread wider than the Grand Canyon. “Are you including those kinks you mentioned?"

  "I'll decide the therapy. You decide your state of dress."

  "That's simple. Skin."

  Derek trailed Rachel to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and stripped off his sweatshirt, T-shirt, and socks. He fell on the bed on his stomach. He left his jeans on and gave her the choice as to whether or not she wanted to turn her offer into something sexual. He was easy and game for anything, at least with her. Besides, he liked the thought of her undressing him.

  She straddled his body and worked on the knots. He winced when she hit an exceptionally sore spot.

  "Does that hurt?"

  "I'm pretty beat-up, but I have a high pain tolerance.” He shut his eyes, letting the crap of the day flow away from him. Her competent hands worked through the layers of tension little by little.

  "You're burning the candle at both ends. Have you ever considered saying no?"

  He sighed and buried his head in the pillow. “I can't."

  "You can."

  "Who should I say no to: the battered women's shelter that asked me to speak to their kids; the children's hospital that wanted me to visit the terminally ill; or how about the soldiers that just came back from overseas? Or maybe I should turn my back on the senior citizens group, some of our most loyal fans?"

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't push you."

  "You don't need to apologize. You're speaking the truth. I know that. I just don't know who to turn down."

  His cell phone jangled in his pocket. No one called him this late unless it was an emergency. “Aww crap. Can you get that for me?” Right now he didn't want to move and destroy this rare relaxed state she'd lulled him into.

  "Sure.” Rachel fished it out of his pocket—a pleasant experience—and handed it to him. He
checked the caller ID, hit the Off button, and tossed the phone on the nightstand.

  "Damn."

  "Who is it?"

  "My agent.” He gritted his teeth. The man did his job—too well.

  "This late?"

  "He's been hounding me all day about a lucrative modeling contract he wants me to sign."

  "You? Model?"

  "That's my reaction. It's for men's underwear."

  "You? An underwear model?” Rachel started to laugh, but Derek didn't find the situation funny.

  "The one offer I can say no to. He's Ty's agent too. Why the hell doesn't he ask him?"

  She shook her head. “You need people to screen this stuff for you."

  "My people consist of a kleptomaniac dog, an old cow pony, and an agent with dollar signs in his eyes instead of pupils."

  "You need an advocate for you, like a handler."

  "Yeah, maybe I do.” He mulled her suggestion over as she went back to work on his kinks. The answer struck him up the side of the head with its simplicity.

  "How about you? You handle me pretty well. Except I'm still not getting that kink you promised."

  Rachel pushed on another tender spot. He grunted in pain and shifted his position on the bed.

  "There, I got it. Happy?"

  "Not exactly.” He rested his head on his hands.

  Rachel laughed, and more of the day's stress peeled away. She'd become his go-to girl, just like his senior year when the Cougars were Rose Bowl bound. He'd been under enormous pressure then, but it didn't compare to this. Nothing compared to this, and the ride had only just begun. If it wasn't for Rachel, he didn't know how he'd deal with it all. A twinge of guilt slid through him. When things settled down, he'd stay here on his Seattle farm while she headed for a job in pro sports, most likely with another team.

  He didn't want to think about her not in his life.

  Shutting out the future, he closed his eyes and let her work her magic. The tension flowed away like warm water down a bathtub drain. Seconds turned to minutes until he lost track of time.