“You see son, it’s the first five minutes of each half that determines the game,” Gilbert Gresham explained to his son Dalton while he locked his shoulder pads in place. Dalton grew up knowing this day would come and his father, at one point, would be his coach. In the small town of Estes Park, Colorado people thought his starting position freshman year had nothing to do with his skill and everything to do with his lineage. He guessed they were one in the same. Had it not been for a twist of fate and a knee injury his father could have been one of the best the game had ever known.
Dalton had discovered his love of the game from his father. His childhood had him chasing after his high school football coach of a father with the best record in Colorado history. There wasn’t a Friday in the fall Dalton hadn’t spent at a stadium. Shagging balls for the big kids when he was young, to hearing the salty words his mother would blush at in the locker room. His father loved the chess match that played out every game as pawns were trained and moved all in the goal of another conference title or state tournament.
A half hour before the rest of the team was supposed to arrive, Dalton was receiving the lecture meant for his ears only. The deeper look into the game because all eyes were on him to fail. To prove the senior, he beat out for the left tackle on the offensive line really was better. Over the years, he’d been successful at most line and even a few receiving positions, but with his size and the fact he had years left to grow, he mastered the spot that for most quarterbacks was critical. Luckily for him, the current senior starting QB was a lefty.
Grunts and howls rippled through the ranks as the fifty odd players stood shoulder pad to shoulder pad. Tightly packed in the tunnel that led them out to the field with their arms locked and rocking side to side. Dalton could feel his stomach tighten as bile rose up his throat. Lights from the stadium streamed through the cracks between the players and sweat dripped down the side of Dalton’s face. The heat from the day and the confined space wasn’t the issue. They’d lost the coin toss and after the kickoff he’d be starting. The confidence his father had in his ability didn’t stop the fact he didn’t know if he was going to shit his pants, puke or do some combination of the two. Swagger be damned, he was starting left tackle in a varsity game on a team that hadn’t lost the conference in five years. Suddenly the pack of players was moving and he was running through the scraps of paper from the sign the cheerleaders had been holding.
His feet took him to the sidelines where he proceeded to vomit everywhere on the end of the bench. Unable to remove his helmet in time Dalton struggled to get it off before the smell caused a second round. His father walked over to him and slapped him on the back.
“Next time do that in the locker room. Can’t let the other team see your nerves.” Dalton’s eyes were watering as he looked up to his father. All six foot five of him standing broadly with his crystal blue eyes trying not to laugh at him. “We have a game and if you don’t want to smell puke all night I’d suggest you take off that helmet and rinse it. You’ve got about three minutes, son. Guess it’s a good thing we had the starting defense introduced first.”
Fifteen Years Later
There is something about domination that invigorates a man. Whether on the field, in the bedroom or life. The crack of a helmet as you send a man back five feet so he cannot touch your running back, better yet he’ll never even see your quarterback’s eyes. Your hands pinned tight to his chest right under the shoulder pads so you can’t be called for holding as you use the pads as a steering wheel to send him where you want. The feel of your wrists as they are bent back, but still you do not yield until you’re sure the final whistle has blown. Doing everything legal between the whistles to punish the man who may be your contemporary, but for those few seconds is your sworn enemy.
Dalton Gresham pushes harder against the Infantry’s defensive lineman, sending him back one, then two, and three yards until Jerome Speed’s hand ceases to be on Dalton’s back and the crowd erupts as he breaks free through the small hole created by Dalton and the left guard, Bart Tomlinson. Once free, the defensive lineman shoves one last time as Gresham lets up because Rome is proving Speed still kills in Chicago. Not enough for a touchdown, but more than enough to convert and get them a new set of downs. Not bad since Rome usually doesn’t run on second and short, but why not have him finish the downs when he got eight yards the first time.
Walking back to the huddle with his hands on his hips, the six-foot-ten lineman blew out a hard breath.
“Too much for you,” Rome joked before heading back to the sidelines.
“I don’t get to take plays off, wussy,” he called back before listening to Matt Bishop call out the next play.
When he lined up, he saw something in his peripheral field of vision that was off. “Tomlinson,” he barked, unable to move because the ball was still being held by the center, Dmitri Yeltsivinck, and Dalton had stupidly got into a three-point stance. “Blitz left, blitz—”
“Hike,” Matt called and Dalton surged left to stop the defensive end from cutting around him. Right as his hands made contact, the defensive lineman that Tomlinson was supposed to help block speared Dalton right at his knee, sending a lightning bolt of pain down the side of his leg and a second Infantry lineman cut through and had Matt sacked in a matter of seconds.
Pain mixed with rage spiked Dalton’s adrenaline and sent him charging after the veteran player that knew the cut block was illegal. Stumbling, his knee buckled as he removed his helmet and swung. The crack from the impact sent the man tumbling back as high pitched whistles echoed around him and yellow flags softly fell to the ground. Ignoring the possible career ending injury, Dalton prepared to swing again only to have Rome step in front of him and hold his hands up. He’d been on the sidelines, but Rome knew he was one of the few members of the Grizzlies with the ability to flip the switch on Dalton when he spiraled.
“Not now, big daddy,” Rome’s firm voice stilled the giant who at one time had been gentle. “We’ll get the son-of-a-bitch between the whistles.”
The promise allowed Dalton to drop to his good knee. “If he took my knee…”
“We’ll take his head,” Rome promised as the other linemen formed a wall around Gresham as he waited for the trainers.
“There are two penalties on the play,” the referee’s voice echoed in the enclosed stadium. “Personal foul, chop block, on the defense number fifty-three. Personal foul, unsportsmanlike conduct on the offense number seventy-seven. Both penalties offset, number fifty-three has been warned one more infraction and he will be ejected. Due to the severity of the second penalty, number seventy-seven is ejected from the game.”
Gresham shook his head and let out a howl as the trainer pushed on his ACL. If that son-of-a-bitch took out his knee he’d gut him. Bad enough Matt had been sacked, but to be injured.
“We need to get him off the field and back to the locker room,” the NFL security officer said as he stood behind the trainer.
“Good for you, he’s only about three-hundred and seventy pounds with a busted-up knee,” Bucky, the head athletic trainer explained in his normal charming, yet gravelly voice. “I’m sure he’ll just skip his way there unless you think you can help him off.”
The security officer waved for a cart to come on field and Gresham put his thumb up after they loaded him and took off for the locker room. Worthington, the second string wouldn’t be able to handle the Infantry’s defense and they knew it. Sure, the player that chop blocked him would get a fine, but it was a cheap play and he knew it especially since it could potentially cause real damage to another player. Hard hits, sacks, being tossed around was football, but every man on a roster knew no game was worth costing a man millions.
Two hours later, every joint ached and burned in the sweetest way. Having been cleared with nothing more than a deep muscle bruise on his calf and a hyper extended knee he would be medically cleared soon. A last-minute hail Mary had saved the Grizzlies from a two-week losing streak and might just let Matt keep his job. The hot spray from the shower helped with Dalton’s joints, but not his muscles. Those would need a dip in an ice bath at some point he was sure.
“Gresham,” his O-line Coach, Tricket yelled in the shower. “You don’t have those long locks any more, finish up the damn bus is almost filled.”
“Blame Bucky, he kept me back here like I was some fucking delicate flower,” Dalton said as the spray from the shower blasted his face.
“Then quit acting like a damn daisy in need of watering.”
Dalton turned in the shower to see he was the only one left in the open shower. “I’m finishing up.”
Having shorn his once infamous shoulder length hair in an attempt to soften his persona, Dalton had gotten nothing but shit from the team since he did. Strange the games he had been tasked to play over the years. Somehow he’d gone from the quiet, but confident man, to an asshat. All in the name of success.
“Willie, any chance you could take a look at my transmission?” Stanley Blume asked as Willeen Fire was on the down swing with her axe. The sharpened edge split the wood with a satisfying crack.
With her axe handle resting on her shoulder, she tossed the two pieces of pine to the side before picking up another log. “Stan, we’re friends right?” she asked right before bracing her hands on the handle, swinging again. This time the axe got stuck about half way and she lifted both the axe and log for a hard swing to snap the log in two.
“Last time I checked,” her boss replied with a bit of skepticism.
“And friends have a trust that matures over time.” Swing, thwack, crack. “So, I trust you won’t take it personally when I say if your truck was a horse I would have shot it three fixes ago.”
“Hey, my truck is going to make it another three-hundred thousand miles. You mark my word.”
“The seats will?” she joked and set the axe down. “Or are we talking about the rearview mirror? Because that thing was wiggling a little bit last time I saw it.”
“It’s a classic.”
“Just because something is close to three decades old does not make it a classic.”
“Are you sure? I think you’re classical.”
“I’m classy, not classical,” she teased the older man, who had been friends with her father when he walked away from the Ho-Chunk tribe in eastern Wisconsin. Between fighting with tribal leaders over gambling, drinking, and drugs, her dad hadn’t been accepted for years before he left. Her mother had been his saving grace, accepting him when he was a mess. Although a few of the older members of the tribe attended his funeral, but by then Willeen had seen herself as a light skinned black girl with fine hair, not a member of the tribe.
“Can you?”
“I can, but at some point it’s cheaper to get a twenty-year-old piece of crap for me to work on.” She batted her long lashes at him. “Can I buy you a new engine?”
“Why? The one I have works.”
“Except for the transmission, piston rings and oil pump,” she said while counting the offending items off with her fingers. “Why don’t you just spring for a new engine instead of piece mealing it?”
“Because I’m supposed to keep you employed,” he reasoned. “If you give me a new engine I won’t have a project for you every few weeks.”
“The cabins keep me plenty busy,” she replied, but knew his heart was in the right place. The cabins at Lost Lake were for tourists with a few people that owned, but they tasked Stanley with the maintenance. He in turn passed the duty off to Willeen, who kept the cabins ready all year long. Fishing and boating brought the tourists in the summer while ice fishing and snowmobiles had them on trails throughout the forest.
“Speaking of which, Bucky Larsen needs his cabin aired out.” Stanley tossed the key to the least used cabin on the lake to Willeen.
“Bucky is actually coming up from Chicago?”
“Not a chance, but he’s lending it to a player for bye-week. Said he’d be coming up later tonight.”
Willeen has been busy closing up the summer cabins with general winterizing. She hadn’t been able to keep a close eye on the Chicago Grizzlies like she wanted too. The lake was located right on the line where the TV stations played the Green Bay Mist instead of the Grizzlies if they were at the same time. She knew the head trainer had owned a cabin on the lake for years, but had met him only once and that was as he was leaving early. Exiling one of his players to the woods must be for a good reason.
“Okay, I’ll head over there now,” she said as she picked up the axe and put it in the back of her truck. Hopefully there would be logs already cut over at Bucky’s place so she wouldn’t have to haul some over. It didn’t matter because eventually she would have to bring some over if he was staying for a whole week.
“Thanks kiddo,” Stanley replied and headed back to his truck. As he pulled out of her driveway she heard the transmission slip as his speed increased. Job security. She couldn’t be mad at that.
Getting in her own beat up F-150 she headed over to Bucky’s cabin. It was directly across the lake from hers. It would take her about ten minutes to go along the road that circled the lake. If only it was winter she could shoot across the frozen water in no time. When she pulled up she noticed the front door was cracked open. No car was around and she wondered if a few of the townies had broken in. It was well known Bucky worked for the Grizzlies and memorabilia sales could fetch some big bucks. Tucking the keys in her pocket, she got out and retrieved her axe from the back of the truck. The townies knew and feared her and that might be enough to scare them off.
Pulling the screen door open slowly with her left hand she stepped in and listened for movement. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as she scanned the open living room, which had the rustic feel of a backwoods cabin even though the thing was far from it. Log walls with a stone-faced fireplace greeted her with a set of recliners flanking a couch. She’d heard Bucky was married, but this was a man’s cabin from the deer antler chandelier to the bar with aging whiskey in the corner. Around the corner was a kitchen and she heard the creak of cabinets. Her hands gripped and released the wood handle as she stepped stealth-fully around the wall and saw a second human wall in the kitchen. The guy had to be close to seven-foot tall and a descendent of Paul Bunyan. With a thick head of blond hair, all she saw from the back was broad shoulders and a massive body. He turned and a flash of ice blue from his eyes sent a chill down her spine. The rough beard he had going on completed the Paul Bunyan look.
“I thought this was Lost Lake, not Crystal,” he said in a deep baritone voice.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked with the axe at the ready.
“I might ask you the same thing,” he replied and leaned his hip against the counter next to the unplugged fridge. With a brace on his right knee she had a bit of an advantage. She’d need it since he didn’t seem phased by the fact she was armed.
“What did you mean by Crystal Lake?”
He pointed to her axe. “You’re missing the hockey mask there, Jason.” He crossed his arms and the t-shirt he wore strained from his biceps. Willeen didn’t know if she should swing her axe or drop it and fall into his arms. At nearly six foot herself, finding a man she could look up at was hard. One who could handle her large frame, well that was a horse of a different color. “I’m Dalton, by the way, Bucky sent me up here.”
“You’re a Grizzly?”
“In more ways than one.” The deep timber of his voice vibrated through her as he waggled his eyebrows and stroked his thick beard. “Dalton Gresham, that thing getting heavy yet?”
Willeen slowly put the axe down, head first, but kept her hand on the handle as if it were a cane.
Dalton eyed her from top to bottom taking note of the axe. “Okay, well Bucky told me to look for a Willie. Any chance you know him? Fat guy, in need of a shower, probably wearing flannel.”
“That how Bucky described him?”
“Nah, anyone named Willie, lives in the woods, probably can rival me for a beard. This is Wisconsin, isn’t it?”
Willeen scowled at him. “Well what should I expect from a dumb ass jock who plows head first into other dumb ass jerks.”
“Your boyfriend? Husband?”
“I’m Willie,” she said as the butterflies in her stomach started to tamp themselves down. “You weren’t supposed to be here until tonight.”
“You’re Willie?”
“Yep,” she said as she stroked her chin. “And I don’t even need to wax to keep this silky smooth.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve been pissy and I would have come later but there was no reason to sit in my house waiting to leave,” he said. “You a Willamena?”
“Willeen, like Eileen but with a W so I can be tormented my whole life.”
“Nice your parents had a plan for you.”
“Where’s your vehicle?”
“My truck got a flat right before I had to turn in. I called for a service. Guess I could have driven it down the road. I just wasn’t sure how far this was from the highway.”
“You just left your truck?”
“The guy said it would be about three hours before he could get to me.”
“Did you not have a spare?” Willeen asked.
“I think I do.”
“Think?” Willeen shook her head. “Show me where it is I’ll get it changed.”
Dalton laughed. “I’m not having a woman change my flat.”
“How do you know a woman isn’t being sent out from your roadside assistance?”
His face scrunched in thought. “I spoke to a guy.”
“You spoke to a dispatcher. Do you ever think before assuming?” Willie stood facing him with her hands splayed and her belly jutted out. Dropping her voice low she decided to challenge the dumb ass jock. “How about I call Willie, big guy, gut flannel shirt.”
Dalton dropped his head. “In my defense, Bucky calls this place a man’s retreat.”
“And women can’t be in a man’s retreat?”
“Not when we want to go around unkempt and scratch ourselves.”
“Women can’t be around for that,” she said trying to not smile. “Because I’m gonna have to tell you. Quite a few guys do that around me.”
“I’d say let’s start over, but I feel I’m too late for that. I thought they said they would send a guy out.”
“He probably did. It’s a pretty common phrase, but for all you know they might page me soon if Randy doesn’t answer, which with it being after eleven in the morning he probably won’t.”
“Why what happens at eleven?”
“The bar opens at ten. How long ago did you call?”
“About a half hour.”
“Yep, I bet before I get you there I’ll be getting a text to go fix it. Dispatch usually tries for about an hour.”
“So, what, you’re the only roadside person in the area?”
“I’m on the short list for all the major companies even though I don’t have a shop like Randy. Now, do you want your tire changed or not?”
Dalton could hear Rome now just give me your man card and walk away like a good little bitch. How had he ended up suspended from his team with a sore knee and dark skinned beauty changing his tire on the side of the road in butt fuck Wisconsin? Somehow the world and person he had been was gone. He didn’t know who to be and when to be it anymore. One moment he’s told to basically be a monster and the next he’s being instructed on how to be a teddy bear. It had been so long since he’d not been a character he forgot who he really was. Was he the man who grabbed a sexy thick thighed woman by the waist and pressed himself between her legs like he felt he needed to as he watched Willeen? Taking her all cave man style with grunts and a deep growl. Or was he a damn pussy holding a purse while his woman beat the shit out of the bad guy?
“I can help,” he offered as he eyed the hips on the deeply tanned beauty crouching by his car. He wasn’t exactly sure of her ethnicity since her hair was thick but appeared soft as it fell from her ponytail. With obsidian eyes and skin that bordered on native or maybe black, he couldn’t decide. She was a mixture of features each more beautiful than the next.
“I’m almost done,” she replied and the wurrrr of a drill she was using to tighten the lug nuts went off. What didn’t she have in the back of her old Ford? Bucky had told him if he needed anything while he was there to find Willie. Had he meant sexually too? Dalton wondered, but saw she was a no nonsense tomboy. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she stared at him and he tried to not get lost. “Now to your cabin. I just found out you were coming so it’ll take me about an hour to get it up to snuff. There’s a bar two miles that way. You might even see Randy there.”
“What needs to be done at the cabin?”
“Flush the lines and get the electrical back up and going. Then I need to make sure you have enough logs and such.” She started walking back to her truck with her large jack and he followed in lockstep. “I’ll have it all comfy cozy when you get back from the bar. Although I don’t supply food, so I hope you have some.”
“I have a cooler with some things. Again, I’d be happy to help you seeing as you changed my tire.”
“I’ll be billing your insurance.” She turned sharply on her heel toward him and snapped her fingers. “Speaking of which, I’ll need a signature.”
Dalton watched as she dug in her glove box for a small clipboard, then began filling it out. “You’re charging me for the tire? I told you I could do it.”
“If you could have done it, you would have,” she stated plainly and passed him the clipboard. “And you pay for roadside assistance, it’s not like the money is coming directly from your pocket anyway. That’s what insurance is for.”
“Can I at least buy you a drink?” he asked as he took out his roadside card and scratched the information on the paper.
“Um.” She tilted her head to the side. “I’m not really a Dry Dock type of gal.”
“Dry Dock?” he questioned.
“The bar I was sending you to.”
“I meant from my cooler, but why would you send me somewhere you don’t go?”
“People know me and are used to me by now in town, but I keep to myself mostly. Cabins are quiet and easy to maintain.”
He wasn’t sure if it was a racial thing or something else keeping her from the Dry Dock. Either way, he knew better than to push. Opening his cooler with his food and drink supplies for a few days, he pulled out a wheat IPA.
“I’m not from the city,” she replied with a crinkled nose. “I’m a bit simpler than that. Thanks anyway. I’ll try to get the cabin all set so you can relax.”
“Either way, I’m not in the mood to be drinking at a bar alone at noon.”
Willeen shrugged her shoulders and hopped in her truck. “Suit yourself.”
He climbed in his truck feeling a slight tweak in his knee, but nothing that would require anything more than another day of light duty. Arriving at the cabin, she got out of her truck and started to dig through the tool box in the back. He noticed her shirt rode up just enough to see a flash of skin. Smooth and dark, he wondered if it would be soft like satin. When she turned, he pretended to be looking at one of the pines in the front yard.
“I promise I’ll be out of your hair pretty quick,” she assured as she lugged a bright red toolbox without even flinching. He stepped toward her to take the box, but her face screwed in a way as if the notion offended her. “I’m good. If you haven’t noticed I’m far from a delicate flower.”
“Oh, I noticed,” Dalton said trying to hold back the growl he felt coming up his throat. “I’ve never been a fan of them anyway. Hulk smash.” He lurched forward like the superhero and a smile crept across Willeen’s lips.
“Is that so.” She walked around the back of the cabin and pulled out a drill. “If I didn’t know better we could be a matched set of mutant freaks.”
“You’re not a mutant.” Sure, the woman had to be close to six-foot tall, but she was perfectly proportioned with just the right amount of hips and ass. Her face was free from makeup with a smooth brilliance and high cheekbones, her beauty was unmistakable. Dalton couldn’t help but wonder if her long black hair restrained by a ponytail could possibly be as soft as it looked.
“That’s not what I’ve heard.” She used the drill to loosen a screw and adjust a pipe. Then she walked to an orange pump that came up from the ground. She lifted the handle and dark water soon ran clear and came out with tremendous pressure before she slammed it back closed to stop the spray. “This is always on. It’s a back up. Since we’re getting close to winter, I’m going to ask that you make sure it’s fully locked closed or the water might freeze in the pipes and if Bucky comes up here in the winter, he’ll have no water.”
“Got it.”
She then went into the cabin through a back door. He followed her as she lit the pilot light for the water heater and flushed all the pipes by letting the water run. With the electricity turned on she closed the fridge doors and headed back outside.
“I’d suggest you wait about thirty minutes before taking your stuff out of the cooler,” Willeen instructed when she found Dalton was once again following her. This is why she liked getting plenty of notice when it came to opening up the cabins. It was awkward to not talk to someone who was in your presence, but what did she have in common with a professional football player? “Don’t you need to unpack?”
Heading to the log pile Stan must have dropped off when he clear cut a few trees that had been damaged in the spring storms, she found a good supply. Still in need of splitting, but more than enough for the week.
“I…um…I’m not in a rush.” Dalton sat on the steps of the porch and looked out toward the lake. He took off his black knee brace and extended his leg fully.
“So whatdja do?” she asked as she placed the first log on top of the wide stump she used when chopping wood at Bucky’s. Pulling on her work gloves she set to the task at hand. With a full swing of her axe a loud thwack echoed among the still standing trees.
“I don’t need you to do that,” Dalton said as he stood, then wobbled a bit.
“I know it’s practically balmy right now here, but the temperature is gonna dip in the evening. Leaving a good fire going will save you from waking up as an ice cube.”
“I’m from Colorado and now I live in Chicago. I’m pretty sure I can handle mid October in Wisconsin.”
With a full swing, Willeen cut through another log. “I’m sure you can. You from the mountains or the city?”
“Mountains. Estes Park to be exact. I spent quite a bit of time in the national forest hiking trails as a kid.”
“Fresh air obviously did you good,” she replied trying not to stare too much at his frame. “What I mean is it didn’t stunt your growth any.”
Dalton ran his hand over the top of his head and looked down at the ground currently littered with orange, red and yellow leaves. “I have a few inches on most men.”
“Nothin’ wrong with that.” She placed another log and continued with her duties trying not to think about where those inches may apply. “Lord knows I spent enough time outside to turn me into a giant too.”
“Not sure about that,” Dalton replied as a dimple appeared on his cheek. “You seem a bit short to me.”
“Your knee?” she pointed to the bruised appendage. “They say purple is a fall color, but doesn’t that clash with the tan and blue of your uniform?”
“Love tap, nothing more.”
“That’s why Bucky gave you a brace. Are you going to need me over here for more than opening up the cabin?” she asked, then suddenly realized she had said a bit much. “I mean to help with carrying and things.”
“The whole wait on me hand and foot thing is nice, but nah, I should be good. And really, I don’t think I’ll need too many logs. I naturally run a bit warm. Joe, our strength guy, says that’s the way it is with guys that lift all the time.”
“Never thought of that,” she said as she split another log. “Guess that’s why I do to. I don’t train every day, but I’m constantly lifting and moving heavy things.”
“Or swinging a what…” Dalton eyed her axe. “That at least fifteen pounds?”
“Give or take.” A small smile crossed her lips as he got up and stepped toward her, taking the implement. She picked up another log and placed it on the stump. “Fine, you chop and I’ll stack.”
“You from around here?” he asked as he swung the axe with one hand and split the log. Willeen watched as his sinewy muscles tightened and flexed around his shoulder and bicep. His chest strained against the t-shirt he wore which rose just enough to see his belly. There was no definition even with all the strength the man had to possess in his core. “Log?”
Willeen stopped ogling and set another piece of wood on the stump. “Sorry, I’ve lived all over really. My dad’s tribe is from here and Stan the guy who runs the cabins always kept a place for him here. It’s kinda been my come home place.”
No reason to go into details with a stranger. Willeen knew he couldn’t be a threat or someone sent by her ex by any stretch of the imagination, but still no reason for him to know she lived pretty much off the grid. Everything was in Stan’s name, even her side businesses all were paid to him and then he made sure she never wanted for anything. It was the safest way now and thankfully Hector Molina never cared to learn about her past, especially her native side.
“Tribe? The Ho-Chunk casinos and stuff I saw. That’s you?”
“That’s my dad and no I’m not a casino millionaire.” She began moving the chopped logs up to the porch and stacking them between Dalton’s chops.
“Aren’t you supposed to get a cut?”
“Probably some amount, I’m only half Ho-Chunk.”
“What’s the other half?” Dalton asked and Willeen put her hand on her hip. As if this man couldn’t tell she was darker than the average native. “I guess it’s supposed to be obvious huh?”
“Black.”
“I can see that,” he said as he continued chopping. After five more logs Dalton switched to using two hands and sweat was creating a V from his neck down. “We done?” he asked after a decent pile accumulated.
“How long are you staying?”
“At most two weeks.”
Willeen’s heart took off in her chest. It was stupid, the man was a professional football player not someone who could hide away with her. Either way she knew better than to follow her hormones. No, her family line would die with her. The bad choices her father made she repeated, only worse and there would be no knight in shining armor to rescue her as her mother had her father.
“It’s a good start, but since you aren’t sure if you’ll be here for two weeks then I can always come back.” She reached for her axe, but he brought it up and rested the handle on his shoulder. Paul Bunyan was back as his broad chest blocked out the sun low in the sky. She pulled out her phone to see what time it was. Somehow the two of them had burned half the day away in virtual silence.
“Things take longer up here huh?” he asked as he spied her phone.
“Seems that way,” she confessed. “I have a rhythm when I deal with the cabins. You kinda threw me off.”
“The tire?”
“Among other things. I tend to work solo.”
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do here by myself.” Dalton let out a laugh. “Team dynamics and all. I’ve had a rotation of brothers since I was little. Even before I started playing.”
“How bad is your knee?” she questioned knowing two weeks off in October didn’t seem realistic.
“Slight sprain and a deep bruise. Really it’s not that bad.”
“Then how are you here for two weeks?”
Dalton’s face reddened. “You don’t watch football, do you?”
“The Mist played at the same time as the Grizzlies Sunday.”
“And you’re a Green Bay fan.” He shook his head a few times.
“More like the TV stations are.”
“I never thought about distribution,” Dalton said with a sigh. “No recap for you either?”
“I’m usually passed out by then.” Now Willeen was getting curious. What had Dalton done? “If I were to Google you right now what would I find?”
“Uncontrollable animal.” He turned toward the lake. “At least that’s the last headline I saw.”
“Guess that’s what you meant earlier about being a Grizzly in more than one way.”
“What can I say? I’m a brute and a monster.” There was pain in his voice as it trailed off. “You’re probably better off staying away.”
“I put my axe down, most people aren’t that lucky.”
“Awe, you wouldn’t have swung.” Dalton stepped toward her and the heat he described radiated from his body to hers.
She took in his size fully. Warmth, protection and the scent of man engulfed her and every instinct told her in his arms she wouldn’t fear a thing ever again. Tilting her neck up she held her breath and for the first time in years, she wanted to taste every inch of a man with more inches than any she’d ever seen before.
The Day Before
“How did you get to be the Blood Thirsty Bear of the Gridiron?” Danika Albright asked as he sat in her office with a damn mop on his lap. Okay, so it was a Maltese puppy but all it needed was a stick on its back and you could clean for hours. Warm and soft, the malleable pup she and Rome had gotten for Rome’s son DeMonte had attached itself to him. A damn purse dog had become a buddy to Dalton and he had to admit he could find himself when it cuddled up on his lap.
“Rome doesn’t know about Floppy and me, does he?”
“He tends to ignore the fact I have this office. You’re the only one I get to see on Tuesdays.”
“You don’t see anyone else from the team?” Dalton reasoned. “Since Tuesday is our only day off.”
“Off?” Danika laughed. “Rome spends half the day at grocery store openings and cancer wards.”
“Football isn’t just three hours on a field.”
“I know.” Danika clicked her pen and let out a sigh. “At least I still have Tuesday nights off for my most important client.” Her bright blue eyes gleamed in the low light of the third-floor office in Rome’s townhouse. Tightening her fingers around the edges of her notebook, a flash flew off her engagement ring from Rome. Part of him worried she would share their meetings since she walked a line from stylist, her former job, and life coach. “Enough about me. Tell me again how did it start?”
“On Sunday?”
“No, your reputation. You say you lost yourself. Let’s see where it started.”
Shifting in the wingback chair, Floppy let out a snuff in annoyance before rooting his nose into the side of the chair. Dalton’s hand covered the puppy and probably weighed three times more. He kept his hand hovering over as he stroked the gray hair. No reason to crush the poor thing. “My first preseason game I was giving the crowd high fives. Some guy grabbed my jersey and yanked so hard I was face to face with him.”
Dalton adjusted again in his seat and closed his eyes. Picking up floppy, he cradled the small dog and stroked it with a gentleness he rarely got to use. Memories of a split second that became the foundation of who and what he was played out like a film students experimental piece in his mind.
“And,” Danika prodded.
“And he head butted me over and over. Three, four, five times.”
“Ouch.”
“Not when I have a helmet on, it just jarred and shocked me.” Dalton brought Floppy back to his lap and the puppy rolled on its back for belly attention. Happily obliging, he used the animal as an anchor while his head swum from memories. “Who the hell grabs a mutant and starts shit? By the time I recovered enough to capture his arms and stop him, the cameras were on me. All they saw was my hands on him and blood streaming down his face.”
“But it wasn’t you that bloodied him.”
“No, it wasn’t, but the news channels ran with the story to the point my agent demanded I keep it up. Offensive linemen are invisible and quiet in many ways. I had become a brand.”
“And a brand can make money.” Danika nodded in acknowledgement.
“Exactly, how many offensive linemen have jerseys for sale besides me? I was supposed to howl, punch and become a monster.”
“You lost yourself on the field.”
“I lost myself everywhere.” Dalton shook his head as tears pinpricked his eyes. “No, it was taken from me by some fucktard fan. All I am now is a brand, not a human.”
“You never seemed brutish to me.”
“We’re one on one usually. And even the most disgusting of men can clean up in high-end stores.”
“What would it hurt if you weren’t a brute?”
“I don’t think coach would like me taking it down.”
“You sure about that?” she replied with a raised eyebrow.
“Penalties are two sided. Trust me a little extra love tap can make a guy second guess his life choices.”
The grin on his face wasn’t matched by Danika. “Dalton, offensive linemen have a reputation.”
“Reputation or stereotype?”
“There’s something natural inside an offensive lineman others don’t have. Defensive linemen are different. O-line is built on protection. If you want to stay the brute, move to defense. Be the aggressor, but if that’s what you really wanted you wouldn’t be torn up inside.”
Dalton took in her words. At one point Danika had been a stylist whose approval he wanted. Never a sexual thing with her, she was beautiful, but a little too polished for him. Even now her auburn hair was perfectly quaffed and her makeup seemed professionally done. Advice from her was gold and when she made the switch from stylist to life coach he didn’t miss a payment. What she said made sense, his agent not so much.
“How free are you?” Dalton asked as Willeen packed up her truck. Strange how he used to like hiking in the mountains when he was younger, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had been alone. His life coach said he should step back and breathe, but how could he do that with the dark-haired beauty in front of him?
“In what way?”
“Would you be willing to give me a tour?”
“Of the cabin?” Willeen’s eyebrow rose as she hitched her thumb toward the cabin. “Because I’m pretty sure I could do that in about a minute.”
“The lake, town, you know I’d hate to go where I wasn’t wanted.”
“Have you ever been somewhere where you weren’t wanted? You’re a hero.”
“Hero or villain.” With a shrug, he continued. “Depends on the crowd.”
“Alright, I’ll give you that.” Willeen rocked back on her heels and Dalton wasn’t sure why her presence made him comfortable, but he wanted to go back to who he had been. That was part of the reason he was sent to God’s country. Take Bucky up on his offer, you need the space and silence to remember who you are. Danika’s words sent red flags of fear because he was successful at being an asshole. People would see him as a fake, a character, an action figure. Who could accept a person after he had lied to them for so long?
Willeen could stare at Dalton’s arms for the next two weeks. Thick, with sinewy muscles straining against his shirt to the point Willeen wondered if any shirt could hold him. Then again, she may just be wanting to explore the great expanse of his chest. Rarely could she find a man large enough to dwarf her and not be out of shape. Dalton doesn’t have a six-pack, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t firm and muscular.
With a quick lick and bite to her upper lip she settled her hormones enough to figure out a plan. “Tour guide huh? Guess I need a safari hat.”
“Seems more like one of those places with a fisherman’s hat.” Dalton smiled side wide. “You know, the ones with all the fly fishing lures.”
“That must be your Colorado showing,” she said. “You guys do that fly-fishing stuff there, huh?”
“What do you do on this lake?” he asked and she stuffed her hands in the pocket of her windbreaker.
She walked toward the lake behind the cabin. “You can dock fish. Maybe I could bring a boat over and pick you up one day if you just need to be alone in the middle of the lake.”
The dock creaked and rocked slightly side to side as they stepped on it. Willeen was used to the motion and kept walking toward the end, which T’d and Bucky had a built-in bench on the horizontal end. Turning around, she noticed Dalton standing stark still with his hands out to the side and his knees bent.
“I wouldn’t dive from there,” she cautioned. “Might want to come out a little to avoid a head injury.”
“I don’t think there’s much left to damage.”
Willeen took a few steps toward Dalton. “Are you afraid of the water?”
“Not sure, I haven’t really looked far enough ahead to see if I could drink it all.”
“Drink it all? As in if you fell in the lake.” Willeen let out a laugh at the mere thought of all the fish flapping around on an empty lake bed with Dalton in the middle.
“I know it’s stupid, and I walk in the rivers all the time in Colorado, but there’s something about a lake.” He looked over the edge of the dock. “This one is clear.”
“Yep, maybe not so much in the middle where it is deeper, but still you should be able to see the bottom for most of the lake.”
Dalton took a few tenuous steps until he made his way to her. She placed her hands on either side of him as if she could somehow catch him if he fell. His eyes slid to the bench on the end of the dock. “It’s beautiful.”
“Well, this is where you fish,” she explained and sat down on the bench with her hands pressed together and between her knees held tight. “You can try from the shore, but if you look over the edge you see the little buggers going crazy down here. I usually come by once a week and drop some treats. It keeps them around the docks.”
“Is this lake stocked?”
Willeen held her index finger and thumb about a half inch apart. “A smidge. Owners like Bucky keep the population up by not vacationing and fishing.”
Dalton peered over the edge of the dock and gave her a half-hearted smile. “I don’t suppose Bucky actually leaves his gear?”
“He might, if not I’m sure I could find some.”
“You live close?”
“Depends on the season.” Willeen looked across the lake and pointed. Her dock was the only visible part of the cabin where she lived. “In the winter, it’s a straight shot over here.”
Dalton put his hand over his eyes to shield from the sun. “You have a boat?”
“My boss does, he docks it at my cabin.”
“Any chance we could go out on it?”
“You’re on vacation, I’m not Dalton, I can call you that, right?”
“I’m afraid to hear what else you would call me.”
Tucking away a smile, Willeen stood up and walked to the edge of the dock with the tip of her shoes right on the steel frame. Going up on the balls of her feet, she wished it was warm enough she could curl her toes to balance on them. It was her favorite thing to do ever since she was little. There was a reason gymnasts were so tiny. Controlling six feet of a person is difficult, but she could on a swaying dock to boot. It was a freeing activity that centered her, brought her back when she felt herself going down the wrong path. Like with Dalton, she had a dozen other projects she needed to get to, instead she was sitting on a bench praying he would sit next to her. She wanted the heat of his body to envelope her. He talks about himself as if he were a brute. Yet she felt safe standing alone on the placid lake with one of the few men she’d met who could actually manhandle her. Turning to look over her shoulder she wanted to take him in, instead their eyes met. He’d been staring at her without shame. The edges of his eyes crinkled when he gave her a small smile setting her off balance.
She felt herself start to go and his arm reached and grasped hers. Her body jerked to a stop before stumbling back on the dock with stuttered steps. Crashing against him, Willeen dropped her head against his chest. The warmth mixed with the crisp scent of his cologne caused her to inhale deeply. Oh, this was bad.
“You just lost three cool points on that one.”
“It could have been ten,” she replied and tore herself away from his firm body. “That lake is already cooling off.”
“Depending on the splash you might have earned points.”
“If it was deeper here I could have pulled off a three and a half twist in the pike position.”
“Let me guess, you’re an Olympics junky?”
“I still have a chance to make it,” she teased. “There were some pretty mature archers.”
“Uh-huh.” The two of them began to walk back up toward the cabin.
Willeen’s face burned still from the embarrassing loss of balance. She couldn’t remember the last time she couldn’t stand on the edge and spin, twirl or even dance without so much as a form break. Maybe Dalton was right, she had watched a few too many hours of Olympic coverage. Walking next to Dalton had her hands trembling as she stuffed them into her jean pockets.
“Um, would you be okay with a hand drawn map to the store?” she asked. “I have a long list of things to do and I know Bucky sold me as a full-service concierge, but I’m more of the person who checks in once a day to make sure you’re not eaten by bears.” The excuses were dropping from her mouth like she was a teenage girl stumbling to find her footing around the starting quarterback.
“I think I could manage with the meals I packed.” He extended his hand and she shook it. The monster still hadn’t surfaced. Nope, large hand that might as well be one of those paraffin wax dips from the spa Angie Bailey started for the summer tourists. Lost Lake was a mix of the traditionalist and the city hipsters that want to commune with nature. Willeen wasn’t sure which one Dalton was at this moment, but she knew whatever he turned out to be, she wouldn’t be disappointed.