Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) by Jami Davenport

were Joe DiMaggio. The ball dropped from her mouth,
unnoticed.
    “Hey, old girl, how are you?” Brett
scratched under her graying chin.
    “That’s Marilyn.”
    Brett raised one eyebrow. “Marilyn. As in
Monroe.”
    “You guessed it. Tyler named her.”
    “Sounds like a name Tyler would pick.”
    “It so is.” Estie gestured toward the
SUV. “Would you like to let Risky out? I can put the kids in the
backyard so they don’t overwhelm him.”
    “Sounds good.” His lopsided smile had her
heart beating against her chest.
    Estie herded her dogs into the back yard
then returned and waited as Brett carefully opened the door to the
SUV and a wiry German shepherd cross slinked out the back door. He
cowered on the ground, his body plastered against Brett’s legs.
Estie’s mouth dropped opened when she noticed the poor thing had no
ears or tail. She lifted her gaze to meet those pale blue eyes that
hid so much, yet said it all.
    Brett knelt down next to the shaking dog and
stroked his fur with a gentle touch. “I found him tied up with a
three-foot chain in Afghanistan, starving and with no water. They
cut off his tail and ears to use him for dog fighting. I
couldn’t—couldn’t tolerate those images in my mind. I’d lost one
companion and friend; I needed to save this one. I traded him for
cigarettes, took him to the base, and he stayed there until I was
shipped to the states. Puppies for Soldiers raised the money to
transport him to the US. He’s been with me ever since.”
    “You rescued him from his fate.” She didn’t
ask about the ones he’d lost, time for that later—if there was a
later for them.
    Brett nodded and looked away, but not before
she thought she caught the gleam of a tear in his eye. She fought
the urge to throw her arms around him and absorb as much of his
pain as humanly possible.
    “Risky, you’re a good boy.” Estie knelt down
next to the shaking pup, careful not to make any sudden or
threatening moves. Instead, she waited for him to approach, even as
her heart bled for all he’d been through.
    Risky wagged his stump of a tail and won
Estie over with that one little action.
    “He wants to be friends, but he’s just never
gotten over the trauma of the abuse he suffered as a young
dog.”
    Estie patted her thigh, and Risky shook his
tail again. Waiting patiently, she talked in soft, gentle tones.
Inch by inch he crawled on his belly until his nose nudged her
thigh. She kept talking, and he crawled forward a few more inches
until he laid his head on her leg and stared up and her with
soulful brown eyes. Oh, God, she’d fallen for this scared little
guy as much as she’d fallen for Brett.
    She let Risky acclimate for a while, let him
sniff her hand until his shaking subsided, then she ran her palm
with a light touch over his wiry coat. He shuddered for a moment
then quieted. It took several minutes but finally he crawled in her
lap and licked her face. Estie glanced up to find Brett watching
her with the utmost tenderness. He managed a lopsided smile, that
same one that’d found a special little niche in her heart and
refused to vacate the spot, even though she’d supposedly hung out
the “no vacancy” sign. Seems that Brett Gunnels had rented an empty
room she didn’t know was there and filled it with his very
being.
    “He never takes to someone that quickly.”
Brett said in a husky whisper.
    “I have a way with animals. I always wanted
to be a small animal veterinarian.” Estie met his gaze and
acknowledged that kindred spirit with sad smile.
    “Why aren’t you?” Brett looked so adorably
interested, more interested than Richard ever had.
    She fought back a lump in her throat. Now
there was a loaded question, and she couldn’t come up with an
honest answer which made sense to anyone but her, because no one
else lived her life or dealt with all the screwy expectations of
her family and friends. “It’s starting to rain. Will he be okay
inside?”
    “Yeah, I’m sure