“Sometimes I feel like
I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Keri recognized her mistake almost as soon as the words left her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that. Especially to you.”

“Why especially to me?” Grady leaned closer to her. He smelled clean and masculine.

“You’ll think I don’t know how to handle Bryan. But that’s not true. He never gives me any trouble. He’s a very good kid. I wish I could make you see that.”

Grady’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “I see a woman two kids are very lucky to have in their lives,” he said softly, touching her cheek.

The interior of the car created a cocoon containing just the two of them, their warm breath already starting to fog the windows. The air was a heady smell of warm skin and man. He moved imperceptibly toward her. He was going to kiss her. And she was going to let him.

Dear Reader,

How can a book that takes place in the world of high school basketball not be about sports? I hope Anything for Her Children answers that question.

Yes, the hero’s a basketball coach. And yes, the heroine’s son is the team’s star player. But what happens off the court is so much more important and character defining than any of the games athletes play.

Anything for Her Children is about honor and integrity and doing the right thing. Those are the invaluable qualities that can be imparted through sports, qualities I hope both of my basketball-playing children are developing.

But most of all, the book is about love. Because, in the end, nothing is more important.

All my best,

Darlene Gardner

Anything for Her Children
Darlene Gardner

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

While working as a newspaper sportswriter, Darlene Gardner realized she’d rather make up quotes than rely on an athlete to say something interesting. So she quit her job and concentrated on a fiction career that landed her at Harlequin/Silhouette Books, where she’s written for Harlequin Temptation, Harlequin Duets and Silhouette Intimate Moments before finding a home at Harlequin Superromance. Please visit Darlene on the Web at www.darlenegardner.com.

To my teenage son Brian for his invaluable input

on the basketball scenes—and his suggestion that

I name the heroine’s son Bryan. Also, because

I love him even more than he loves basketball.

CONTENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

I F THE FANS PACKING the Springhill High gymnasium had known about the Carolina State College scandal, they might have given Grady Quinlan an even icier reception.

They greeted the basketball players who ran single file onto the court with raucous cheers worthy of an undefeated team, but the ovation abruptly quieted to a murmur when Grady walked onto the hardwood.

Grady kept his expression carefully blank, a triumph considering he’d already weathered the resignation of his assistant coach earlier that evening.

“You got nothin’ on Fuzz,” Dan Cahill had said, referring to the longtime Springhill coach who’d suffered a heart attack over the Christmas holiday. “I can’t work with someone I don’t respect.”

Grady had only taken over the job as the Springhill Cougars’ head coach two weeks ago, but the crowd about to witness his debut didn’t think much of him, either.

All because word had spread that Grady had suspended Bryan Charleton, the best player to come through Springhill High in a decade.

Grady looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Bryan bringing up the rear. The seventeen-year-old junior had shown up for the pregame talk wearing khaki pants and a dress shirt, demonstrating he knew the drill. A suspended player couldn’t suit up but was expected to support his teammates from the bench.

“You know where Bryan is?” Grady asked the short, skinny ninth-grade boy acting as the team’s manager.

The boy’s eyes darted away from Grady’s. “No,” he said, then went back to filling a tray of paper cups with water.

Rap music from the school’s PA system blared. Grady’s head pounded and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He fiddled with the tie he wore with one of the suits he’d bought after being named an assistant coach at Carolina State. The tie felt like a noose.

On court the Springhill players and their opponents went through layup and shooting drills. The illuminated numbers on the overhead scoreboard clock counted down the minutes remaining in the allotted warm-up period.

Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen.

And still no Bryan.

“I’ll be right back,” Grady told Sid Humphries, the very young junior-varsity coach he’d asked to act as his bench assistant during the game. “Have them do passing drills next.”

Ignoring the panicked look in Sid’s eyes, Grady hurried back in the direction of the locker room, the heels of his dress shoes clicking on the wood floor.

“Grady. Wait up.” Tony Marco, the school’s athletic director, caught up to him in the corridor that led from the gym to the rest of the building.

Nearly a half foot shorter than Grady’s six-four, Tony had a stockier build, a mustache and the dark coloring he’d inherited from his Italian father.

Nobody ever guessed Grady’s mother and Tony’s mother were sisters.

“Is it true you suspended Bryan Charleton?” Tony sounded as though he’d be more likely to believe aliens had invaded the White House.

“Yeah, it’s true.” Grady fought against taking offense at his cousin’s tone. If not for Tony, Grady would still be driving an eighteen-wheeler instead of coaching basketball and teaching high school students. “I caught him cheating.”

“Cheating?” Tony’s thick black eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “In PE?”

“Not in PE. I teach a nutrition and exercise class, too.”

“Isn’t that an elective?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Grady said tightly. “Cheating’s cheating.”

“But…” Tony’s voice trailed off, though not before Grady guessed he was thinking about the regrettable circumstances that had led Grady to Springhill High.

“Suspending Bryan Charleton wasn’t smart,” Tony said in a hushed tone.

Grady straightened his spine. “I don’t agree.”

“Listen, R.G.” Tony placed a hand on his shoulder and used the nickname nobody but family called him. Grady’s full name was Robert Grady Quinlan. “Next time something like this comes up, run it by me before you do anything.”

Grady had to unclench his jaw to respond. “You asked me to coach this team, remember? You said I was the best man for the job.”

Tony had approached Grady in a panic after Fuzz Cartwright, who’d coached at Springhill for more than two decades, collapsed during a holiday tournament game. Tony claimed Dan Cahill, the first-year assistant, didn’t have enough experience to lead the team. Grady initially refused, telling Tony he couldn’t support himself on a high school coach’s stipend. Tony’s second offer included a teaching job at Springhill High taking over Cartwright’s health and PE classes.

Sick of driving a truck and missing coaching so much it was almost a physical ache, Grady relented and moved to western Pennsylvania. But now he remembered the real reason he’d been reluctant to return to coaching: the ripple effects of the scandal. Even his cousin was second-guessing him.

“You are the best man to coach this team,” Tony said.

“Then let me do my job.” Grady moved away, his cousin’s hand dropping from his shoulder, the sensation of isolation even more acute as he continued to the locker room.

Silence and the smell of dried sweat greeted him, followed by the clank of a metal locker closing. Grady turned a corner around a bank of lockers and spotted Bryan Charleton with one foot on a bench, lacing up his size-fifteen Nike basketball shoes. He was already dressed in the black-and-gold Springhill colors, the snarling Cougar on the left leg of his shorts seeming to mock Grady.

“What are you doing in uniform?” Grady asked.

Bryan had strong regular features, close-cropped brown hair and dark, soulful eyes that gave off the impression it would take a lot to rattle him. “Getting ready for the game.”

“You’re suspended. You’re not playing in the game.”

Bryan straightened to his full height. Six foot five with a lean, muscular build and the wingspan of a pterodactyl, the boy had been born to play basketball.

“Aw, Coach, you don’t really mean that,” the kid said in his soft, unhurried voice. “We’re playing a tough team. Everybody knows I’ve got to play if we’re gonna win.”

Grady couldn’t dispute that. It was still early in his junior year, and Bryan was already attracting interest from college coaches, making it likely that scholarship offers were on the horizon. The undisputed star of the team, Bryan had already led Springhill to an 11-0 record. Many believed he was good enough to propel the team to a state championship.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Bryan.”

“But, Coach, why have me sit out the game? You made your point. I learned my lesson.”

It would have been so easy for Grady to give in. To his cousin Tony. To the Springhill fans who clamored to see the team’s star on the court. To the players who wanted to win. And to Bryan, whose passion for the game had never been in question.

But giving in wouldn’t help Bryan, who needed above all to learn there were consequences for his actions. It would be like handing the boy a free pass to do whatever he pleased, no matter how wrong.

“Change out of that uniform and go home, Bryan,” Grady ordered. “I don’t even want you on the bench tonight.”

“What? You’re not serious.”

“I’m dead serious.” Grady looked directly into the boy’s shock-filled eyes, hardening his resolve so he wasn’t tempted to change his mind. “Here’s another lesson you can learn. Defy me again and you’re off the team.”

Grady didn’t wait for Bryan’s reaction. He walked out of the locker room and into the fray, questioning why he’d let his love of the game prevail over his common sense, propelling him to take this coaching job. Because once again the atmosphere in the stuffy gym was as chilly as the January night.

It was going to be, he thought, a very long basketball season.

K ERI C ASSIDY RUSHED TO the foot of the stairs in the cramped ranch house she shared with her two teenagers, wishing she didn’t feel as though she’d never catch up.

She was always hurrying. To her job in the advertising department of the town’s newspaper. To the grocery store. The bank. The high school. The gym. The doctor’s office.

Today was no exception. She and Rose barely had time to eat the egg rolls and shrimp fried rice she’d picked up on the way home before it was time to get ready for Bryan’s basketball game.

She wondered if other single mothers couldn’t quite get all aspects of their lives running smoothly or if her age and relative inexperience put her at a distinct disadvantage. At twenty-five, she felt more like a kid herself than a mother.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and called, “Rosie, hurry up or we’ll be late for your brother’s game.”

“But I can’t find my black boot,” Rose yelled back. The distress weighing down the fourteen-year-old’s syllables sounded as real as if she’d lost something really important. Like her homework.

“Wear your brown shoes, then,” Keri shouted.

“I can’t wear brown with black,” Rose exclaimed, sounding horrified.

Keri ran lightly up the stairs and down the narrow hall. She longed to believe it was a healthy sign that Rose strived to look good.

Keri rounded the corner to Rose’s bedroom. Clothes, books and piles of paper littered every surface, as though a strong wind had swept through the room, which was pretty much the way Rose’s room always looked.

Rose stood at her closet door, wearing a black top, chunky necklace and belted, low-waisted blue jeans on her tall, thin body. Her long golden-brown hair was brushed to a shine and streamed down her back. She’d obviously taken pains with her appearance, but her shoulders were slightly hunched, her body language giving away her lack of confidence. The same as always.

The girl glanced at Keri, her large brown eyes mirroring her distress. “I don’t know where it is.”

Rose knelt somewhat awkwardly in front of her closet and haphazardly rummaged through it, her jeans drawing up to reveal the difference between her two legs.

The left one was covered with smooth plastic instead of skin.

“Did you try under the bed?” Keri asked.

Rose got to her feet, moved to the bed, then carefully lowered herself before continuing the search. The prosthesis slowed her down even though it had been three years since a car accident had claimed her leg—and her mother.

Keri swallowed the sadness that always rose inside her when she thought of Maddy Charleton.

She could still picture the way Maddy had looked in the break room at the Springhill Gazette on Keri’s first day of work nearly four years ago. A shocking head of dyed red hair. A voice a few decibels too loud. An infectious laugh.

“What are you waiting for, girl?” Maddy had demanded from her seat amid a group of their advertising department coworkers. “Get some caffeine and get your butt over here.”

Their friendship had blossomed from there. It didn’t matter that Maddy was nearly fifteen years Keri’s senior. With her blunt manner and outrageous sense of humor, Maddy breathed life into every gathering.

So much had changed, Keri thought. Maddy was gone, the victim of a patch of ice that had sent her compact car sliding into a tree. Keri had adopted her two children. And the original reason for Keri’s move to western Pennsylvania had married someone else.

“You were right. It was under the bed.” Rose held up a black leather boot with a two-inch heel, her young, unlined face lit by one of her too-rare smiles.

“Then put it on, girl, and let’s go before we miss the entire first quarter. You know Bryan likes to see us in the stands.”

Rose sat down on the bed and yanked on the half boot over her prosthetic foot, which she’d covered with a black sock dotted with gray stars.

“I don’t know what your rush is,” Rose said. “Bryan’s not even playing tonight.”

“Of course he’s playing,” Keri refuted. Chances were a couple of college recruiters would be in the stands to watch him. “Why would you say that?”

“I heard at school that new coach suspended him.” Rose, two and a half years younger than her brother, was a freshman at Springhill High.

“Heard from whom?”

Rose shrugged her thin shoulders. “Some senior girls. They weren’t even talking to me.”

“Then maybe you misunderstood,” Keri said. If the team’s new coach had suspended Bryan, which seemed far-fetched to say the least, Bryan would have told her.

“Come on. Let’s get going.”

Rose kept pace with Keri as they hurried down the hall, a testament to how far the girl had come since the accident. Sometimes it was hard to tell her left leg had been amputated from above the knee, but Keri wasn’t so sure Rose believed that.

“Is it okay if I sit with you at the game?” Rose asked in a small voice when they stopped at the hall closet. She pulled out a black pea coat and put it on.

“Sure.” Keri tried not to let it show she was worried about Rose’s lack of friends. “I like having you with me anytime I can get you.”

Turning this way and that to view herself from different angles, Rose gazed into the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. “Do I look all right?”

She sounded so unsure of herself that Keri ached for her. Why couldn’t Rose see what Keri saw? A lovely, sweet girl who looked even better on the inside?

“You’re beautiful.” Keri tucked a hand under Rose’s arm. “Let’s get to the gym where everybody can see you.”

Rose didn’t speak again until they were in the driveway on opposite sides of the ten-year-old Volvo Keri had bought because of its superior safety record. Her words were so soft Keri almost didn’t hear her. “You didn’t have to say I was beautiful.”

“I said it because I believe it,” Keri assured her over the roof of the car. “But this taking an hour to get ready thing is driving me nuts.”

Rose cracked a grin. “Teenagers are supposed to drive adults nuts. Bryan doesn’t do it, so it’s my job.”

Headlights lit a swath of road in front of the house as a two-door Honda Civic pulled up to the curb. Keri’s reply died on her lips. It was the same Civic Bryan had gotten a fabulous deal on from a local used-car dealer.

The car’s engine cut off, and the driver’s-side door opened. Bryan unfolded his tall, lanky frame from inside the car and slammed the door. Hard.

Keri went to meet him at the foot of the driveway, concern compelling her forward. “Bryan, what are you doing here?”

He moved away from his car with jerky steps, the glow from a nearby streetlight shining on his face and revealing the glisten of…tears?

“Coach Quinlan suspended me until further notice,” he said gruffly, his eyelids blinking rapidly.

The gossip Rose had heard at school had been right.

“Why?” Keri asked.

“Something about my grades,” he said in the same uneven voice.

“I just got your report card,” Keri said. “Your grades are fine.”

“I know,” Bryan replied.

“Then what’s going on?”

“You’ll have to ask Coach Quinlan.” Bryan trudged past her up the sidewalk to the front door and disappeared through it, leaving Keri completely confused.

“Told you so.” Rose’s voice seemed to come from a distance. “Guess this means we’re not going to the game.”

“Oh, yes we are.” Keri headed back to the car and got in, pulling the door shut and waiting until Rose was seated before shoving her key in the ignition. “Coach Quinlan has some explaining to do.”

A LL BUT ONE OF THE PLAYERS in the locker room sat on the benches with their legs spread, their hands dangling between their knees, staring down at their high-tops as Grady delivered the postgame talk.

The exception—a tall, barrel-chested kid named Hubie Brown who was easily the second-best player on the team—openly glared at him.

The game had gone about as well as Grady expected. Springhill stayed close until the other team pulled away in the last two minutes of play, handing Springhill its first loss of the season.

Close, Grady was quickly discovering, wasn’t good enough at Springhill.

“Practice is tomorrow morning at nine, so think about what I said and be ready to go.” Grady spoke with authority, one of the many things he’d learned while on the coaching staff at Carolina State. Before his future had blown up in his face. “The harder we practice, the better we’ll get. Okay, everybody up.”

The boys reluctantly stood. Grady put his hand in the middle of an imaginary circle. A few seconds ticked by before the hands of the boys joined his.

“Let’s say this together. One…” Only Grady’s voice rang out in the quiet locker room. He stopped.

“Try it again,” he ordered, looking at each boy in turn, few of whom looked back. “One, two, three, team.”

This time all of their voices joined in, even if some were so soft they weren’t audible. Grady let his hand fall, signaling the players were free to go. They pulled on black-and-gold Springhill sweat suits and picked up gym bags before filing out of the locker room. Hubie moved more slowly than the others, his silence speaking the loudest.

“Hubie, come over here,” Grady said.

The boy grudgingly complied, moving toward Grady as though his feet fought quicksand. Hubie wasn’t quite eye to eye with Grady but probably had fifty pounds on him, most of it muscle.

“You got something to say?” Grady asked.

The boy compressed his lips, his struggle to hold back his thoughts obvious.

“Go ahead.” Grady didn’t break eye contact. “We’re the only ones here. I won’t bench you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’d have won with Bryan on the floor.” The words burst from Hubie like water from a geyser.

“Might have won,” Grady corrected.

“We lost by six and Bryan’s averaging twenty. We need him, Coach.”

“Then tell Bryan he’s letting the team down. Tell him it’s up to him when he comes back.”

“You’re the one who can lift the suspension. Bryan doesn’t even know what you want from him.”

“He knows.” Grady turned away, effectively ending the conversation. He wasn’t about to go into the details of his beef with Bryan with one of Bryan’s peers.

Too many of Grady’s own peers, from teachers at the school to fans in the stands, were demanding answers.

Grady pulled on his fleece-lined jacket, stuffed his clipboard into his gym bag and left the locker room. The game had ended thirty minutes ago, but the gym wasn’t empty. The custodial staff picked up trash from the bleachers. Some parents remained, either talking to players or one another. As did a couple of cheerleaders and other girls who’d waited around for their boyfriends.

Everybody seemed to look up at once when Grady emerged, giving him the uneasy feeling that he’d be walking the gauntlet to his car.

He half expected to be accosted by an overzealous booster, but the only person headed in his direction was a young woman with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair who couldn’t have been much more than twenty-one or twenty-two. She dressed older, though—in dress slacks instead of blue jeans, and a three-quarter-length brown wool coat that hid her shape. She didn’t bother to hide her emotions.

“I need to talk to you.” Her voice, like her manner, screamed urgency. Her color was high, somehow highlighting the freckles sprinkled across her small nose.

She was too young to be a parent of one of the players and too old to be a girlfriend. Grady couldn’t figure out what her business was with him. A girl came and stood just behind her.

Everybody else in the gym seemed equally curious. Conversation had ceased, with all eyes on them.

“Yes?” he asked expectantly.

She perched a fist on each hip. “Are you happy?”

A weird question. “My team just lost, ma’am. I’m clearly not happy.”

“You’d have won if you’d played Bryan. I want to know what right you had to suspend him.”

Grady should have guessed. This was about Bryan Charleton, as everything else had been this night. He curbed an urge to walk away without answering.

“Being the head coach gives me the right.” He kept his voice smooth and even, betraying none of the irritation percolating inside him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He moved quickly toward the exit, his long strides eating up the ground until he was through the gym door and in the parking lot. He unlocked the driver’s-side door of his car with his remote, looking forward to sliding inside and turning the radio way, way up. When he got home, he’d pop open a beer, put up his feet and watch Sports Center. After the train wreck today had been, he deserved to relax a little.

“Hey, wait a minute.” The tap of heels on the pavement of the parking lot followed the sound of the woman’s voice. “I’m not through talking to you.”

After casting a brief, longing look at his car, he stopped and turned. She was coming so fast, she would have slammed into him had he not put out a hand to stop her.

Beneath the coat, her shoulders felt surprisingly delicate for somebody with such fierce determination on her face. He dropped his hand, but she didn’t step back.

“Did you know there were college recruiters from Temple and Villanova in the stands tonight? Because of you, Bryan didn’t get a chance to show them what he can do.”

Grady had known about the recruiters, but in his opinion Bryan was the reason Bryan hadn’t gotten to play in front of the scouts.

“You’re wasting your time. I don’t care if you’re Bryan Charleton’s biggest fan, I’m not talking about him with you.”

“You think I’m a fan?” Her eyes, as dark as the night around them, flashed. He noticed she had the thinnest of spaces between her two front teeth.

“You’re not his mother,” Grady stated.

She stood up straighter, which still put her at eight or nine inches below Grady’s height. “Oh, yes I am.”

He took a closer look at her, noting her youngish face and smooth skin. “You can’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two.”

“I’m twenty-five,” she snapped. “Bryan’s my adopted son. And you owe me an explanation.”

He’d rather hear the story of how she’d come to adopt a teenage boy only eight years her junior, but she appeared in no mood to satisfy his curiosity.

“You’d already have had an explanation if you’d introduced yourself before you lit into me,” he said. “I’m Grady Quinlan, by the way.”

“I know your name.”

“Yet I still don’t know yours.”

For the first time since she’d approached him, she looked uneasy. “Keri Cassidy.”

He hadn’t expected to recognize the name, but he was sure he’d heard it before. He searched his mind but couldn’t place where or when.

“Well, then, Keri Cassidy, I’ll tell you what I told Bryan. I don’t care how good he is, if he cheats at school, he gets suspended.”

“What?” The early January air was cold enough that her breath came out in a frosty puff. “Bryan doesn’t cheat.”

“I say he does.”

“He doesn’t need to cheat. He’s a good student. He’s getting at least a B in every class.”

“Those aren’t necessarily the grades he deserves.”

“That’s for his teachers to decide.”

“I am one of his teachers.”

He could tell the information surprised her. Bryan must not have told her he’d had a teaching as well as a coaching change.

“Which class?” she asked.

“Nutrition and exercise. I took over Coach Cartwright’s classes. The students are required to write papers. I have information that Bryan didn’t write his.”

She angled her head, and he felt as if she was trying to see inside him. “Information? From whom?”

“From the girl who wrote the paper for him, which I understand happens in his other classes, too.”

“Did Bryan admit to this?”

“No.”

Her head shook, rustling her hair. “Then you can’t possibly know for sure it’s true.”

“I wouldn’t have suspended him if I didn’t believe it.” He stamped his feet. The temperature felt to be in the twenties and dropping. His hands were cold, and he no longer had sensation in his ears.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but he stopped her. “Go home and talk to Bryan. If you have more to discuss, I’ll be in my office after practice tomorrow. Noon.”

She seemed about ready to protest, then a squall of wind whipped across the parking lot, blowing hair into her face. She brushed the strands back. “Oh, I’ll still want to discuss it. You can count on that.”

She hurried off. Despite the cold, he stared after her, noticing the same girl he’d seen with her earlier now waited in the lighted lobby of the gym. A younger sister? Another adoptive child?

He craned his neck, expecting to see a man with them, but they were alone when they emerged from the building. Keri Cassidy put her arm around the girl, as though shielding her from the world. They headed for a dark-colored Volvo across the lot from where he was parked.

Halfway there, the girl looked up and stared at him. Keri Cassidy’s head lifted. He couldn’t see her expression or hear what she said but knew by her body language that it wasn’t good.

The wind gusted again, this time carrying a few snowflakes. Grady became aware that he hadn’t moved since she left his side. He fought to keep his chin up as he walked through the wind-whipped parking lot to his car.

After what he’d been through at Carolina State, he should be used to people thinking the worst about him. But somehow, he wasn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

K ERI FOUND B RYAN LYING on his bed, his earphones blotting out all noise except the songs on his MP3 player.

She knocked on the open door, but he didn’t sit up until she stepped into his field of vision. His eyes were no longer red, but a few balled-up tissues littered the floor near the wastebasket. He wore a Springhill High basketball T-shirt and team sweatpants.

She didn’t yet have all the facts, but her heart already ached for him. She hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, which wasn’t usually the way she felt around Bryan. It was how she always felt when dealing with Rose.

“Springhill lost by six,” she finally told him.

Bryan indicated the sleek black cell phone beside him on the bed. “I know. Hubie text messaged. He told me about the college scouts.”

Keri nodded. The verification seemed to make him feel worse. He hung his head, his expression dejected. Keri had never seen Bryan like this before.

If not for basketball, Keri might have worried that the easygoing Bryan would let life pass him by. But on court, he turned into a fierce competitor.

“Can I sit down?” she asked.

He moved over, making room for her on the extralong bed she’d special-ordered so his feet wouldn’t hang over the end.

His bedroom couldn’t have been more different from Rose’s. Everything had a place, from the neat rows of books on his bookshelf to the stacks of CDs behind his bed. He’d replaced the posters of NBA stars that used to adorn his walls with an assortment of excellent photographs he’d taken himself, but left in place shelves crowded with basketball trophies.

“I talked to Coach Quinlan after the game,” Keri said.

Bryan let out a harsh sound, making it very clear what he thought of his basketball coach. Keri was still making up her mind. Aside from his height, the coach hadn’t looked the way she’d expected him to. With short brown hair that sprang back from his forehead in thick waves, high cheekbones and clear hazel eyes, he resembled a grown-up version of the All-American boy. But she had enough sense not to judge the caliber of a man by the strength of his good looks.

“I didn’t know Coach Quinlan was one of your teachers,” she continued.

“Lucky me,” Bryan muttered under his breath, his sarcasm heavy and uncharacteristic.

“He said he suspended you because someone else wrote the paper you turned in.”

Bryan spun toward her, his dark eyes wide. He looked so much like his mother at that moment that Keri’s breath caught. “And you believe I’d do something like that?”

She didn’t. Rose hadn’t been far off when she’d remarked that Bryan didn’t drive Keri crazy. In the three years since she’d become their guardian and later their adoptive mother, Keri had few complaints. Oh, Bryan sometimes forgot to phone and let her know where he was. And he’d arrived home after curfew more than once. But overall, he was a very good kid.

“I didn’t say I believed it,” Keri said slowly, “but I would like to hear your side of the story.”

“I wrote my own paper. That’s my side.”

“Then why does Coach Quinlan think someone else wrote it?”

“Because Becky Harding is mad I didn’t ask her to the Snowball Dance.”

“Becky Harding?” Keri tried to remember if he’d mentioned the girl before but couldn’t place her name. So many girls congregated around Bryan that Keri couldn’t even recall the name of the tall, willowy blonde he’d taken to the dance. “Who’s she?”

“Some cheerleader who has a thing for me. We hung out a couple of times, sure, but she made too much of it.”

“So this Becky Harding, she told Coach Quinlan she wrote your paper?”

“Yeah, but she can’t prove it. It wasn’t handwritten or anything.”

“So why didn’t you offer to show him the saved document on your computer?”

“Becky told him she sent it to me electronically, then erased it.”

Bryan had given the impression he’d just found out about the suspension when he showed up at the house before game time, but he seemed to know an awful lot about the details.

“Bryan, when did Coach Quinlan suspend you?” Keri asked.

He answered her immediately. “At school today.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Because the charges are bogus. I thought Coach would realize that and let me play. I just don’t get him.” Bryan made a noise and shook his head. “Must be on some kind of power trip.”

Keri tried to make sense of that. “But if the story’s not true, what motive would he have to suspend his best player?”

“To prove he’s a hard-ass,” Bryan retorted.

Keri slanted him a look rich with disapproval.

“Sorry,” Bryan said quickly. “I meant he’s one of those tough guys who won’t change his mind no matter what.”

“And you think he’s made up his mind about you?”

“He believed Becky Harding, didn’t he?”

“Did you tell him your side?”

“Hell, y—I mean, yes, ma’am. But he wouldn’t listen. He has this chip on his shoulder, like he has something to prove.”

“What can he possibly prove without his best player on the floor?”

“That he’s such a good coach he can win with anybody in the lineup.”

The logic seemed skewed to Keri, but then she couldn’t relate to the Grady Quinlans of the world. “I’ll talk to him again tomorrow after practice.”

Bryan didn’t say anything for a few moments. “How ’bout if I ask Mr. Marco to be there, too?”

At the name of the school’s athletic director, Keri felt her muscles tense. “I didn’t realize you and Mr. Marco had that close of a relationship.”

“Me, neither,” Bryan said. “But he told me at the beginning of the season to come to him if I needed anything. He even gave me his cell number.”

“I don’t think—”

“Please, Keri,” Bryan pleaded, leaning closer to her. She smelled the body spray he’d started to use when he noticed girls noticing him. “Mr. Marco will be on our side.”

She hesitated, but Bryan gazed at her so beseechingly that in the end there was only one answer she could give. “Okay.”

She tried to return Bryan’s grateful smile, but her mind was already preoccupied with tomorrow’s meeting. She couldn’t say which of the two men she looked less forward to dealing with.

Grady Quinlan, the basketball coach who thought he had the right to ruin Bryan’s future. Or Tony Marco, the man to whom Keri might have pledged her own future if he hadn’t unexpectedly broken their engagement.

H ANDS LOCKED BEHIND HIS back, Grady watched the Springhill High players finish the last of the line sprints that usually signaled the end of practice.

The more free throws they missed during the two hours of practice, the more they ran.

Bryan Charleton, the best free-throw shooter on the team, usually loudly urged his teammates to follow his example as he sank shot after shot.

Bryan hadn’t shown up for practice today.

The soles of basketball shoes squeaked over the court, then silenced, the only sounds the harsh inhales and exhales as the players fought to get their breathing to return to normal. Some of the boys bent at the waist, sweat trickling down their faces and dripping to the floor. Others, their arms folded above their heads so their elbows angled outward, started to file toward the locker room.

“Not so fast.” Grady’s voice rang out in the gym. “Give me one more. Hubie and Sam, touch every line this time or we’ll do it again.”

Groans drowned out the heavy breathing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hubie groused.

“Make that two more,” Grady said. “Anybody got anything else to say?”

Nobody did. Eleven of the twelve members of the Springhill High varsity lined up shoulder to shoulder on the baseline, some of them red-faced, all of them damp with perspiration. Grady ignored the internal voice that told him to give the kids a break.

Coaches used to refer to the drill they were about to repeat as “suicides” before the term was deemed politically incorrect. The players were required to sprint to the near foul line, the half-court line, the far foul line and the far baseline, bending to touch each line in turn before returning to their starting place.

This time every player touched every line, although a couple of the boys looked ready to collapse when they finished.

“We’ve got tomorrow off so I’ll see you Monday,” Grady said, then left the court before another team member had a chance to say something Grady would have to make him regret.

Only then did he notice Keri Cassidy, who lingered near the door that led to the athletic offices.

She’d dressed more her age today, in blue jeans and a quilted blue jacket, her hair falling to her shoulders in loose waves. She appeared to be wearing little or no makeup, a fresh-faced look he found appealing.

“Did you have to be so hard on them?” she asked when he was close enough that she didn’t have to shout.

She might not look like a mom, but she sure sounded like one.

He considered telling her that, contrary to popular opinion, he didn’t enjoy being the bad guy. That he’d embraced the roll for the good of the young men on his team.

But she wouldn’t understand, not if she’d come here to defend Bryan Charleton.

“Yeah,” he said, and walked past her to the door. He held it open, nodding across the wide hallway to his office.

“We can talk there.”

The office was the same one Fuzz Cartwright had used for the twenty-two years he’d been head basketball coach at Springhill. Grady watched Keri’s eyes travel over the interior walls—painted gold, of course—that Cartwright had decorated with photos of district championship teams and Coach of the Year plaques.

“Have a seat.” Grady indicated one of two chairs across from the worn wood desk. He sat behind the desk. His usual style was considerably less formal, but he had a strong feeling that Keri Cassidy was about to challenge his authority.

Deciding it was to his advantage to get in the first word, he asked, “Any idea why Bryan wasn’t at practice?”

“Because you suspended him.” She seemed to think the answer was obvious.

“He’s part of the team. He’s supposed to come to practice.”

“Did you tell him that?” He wouldn’t call the narrow-eyed way she regarded him a glare, exactly, but it was close. Grady seldom noted eye color but her eyes were green. “Because how’s a kid who’s never been suspended before supposed to know the rules?”

“Everybody knows the rules.”

“I don’t. Bryan obviously doesn’t.”

Grady wasn’t ready to concede that Bryan’s absence had been innocent, but this line of conversation wasn’t getting them anywhere. “What did Bryan say when you asked him about the paper?”

“He says he—”

Three short raps on the frame of the open door interrupted her reply. His cousin Tony entered the office as though he’d been invited. In chinos, a long-sleeved black polo shirt the color of his hair and a fresh shave, he looked far better than he did most Saturday mornings. He turned to Keri with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry I’m late.”

Grady addressed Keri, not hiding his surprise. “You asked Tony to be here?”

“Bryan asked,” Keri replied, eyes on Grady instead of Tony.

Tony sat down, inching his chair marginally closer to Keri’s. “I’m happy to help you anytime I can, Keri.”

Two against one, Grady thought. His cousin had already made it known how he felt about the suspension. Grady’s eyes fell on his cousin’s hand, resting on the arm of Keri’s chair. But how did Tony feel about Keri?

“K—” Grady stopped himself from using her first name, realized he didn’t know whether or not she was married and glanced at the ring finger of her left hand. Bare. “Ms. Cassidy was about to tell me what Bryan said about cheating.”

“He said he didn’t cheat.” Her reply was immediate, her tone sharp.

No surprise there.

“He said the girl who accused him has a grudge against him.” She firmed her chin. “And I believe him.”

“I think the issue is why Grady believes the girl,” Tony said, as if his was the voice of reason. When his cousin confronted him about this very issue before last night’s game, Grady got the distinct impression Tony didn’t care why Grady believed Bryan was guilty. Or even if Bryan was guilty.

“The girl told me what Web sites she used as source material,” Grady said.

“That’s it?” Keri asked, expressive eyes wide and disbelieving. “That’s all the proof you have?”

“That’s not all.” He leveled her with the stare that caused his players to flinch. She didn’t move a muscle. “I asked Bryan questions about what was in the paper, and he couldn’t answer.”

“Now, I don’t want to take sides here,” Tony said, “but isn’t it possible Bryan didn’t retain the information? The paper was about nutrition, right? I can’t even remember the five food groups.”

Grady crossed his arms over his chest. “You didn’t just write a paper about them.”

“True. But you haven’t been teaching at Springhill long. I know the personalities better than you do.”

Unswayed, Grady said nothing.

“C’mon, man,” Tony said. “I’m telling you Bryan’s all right. You and me go back far enough that you can trust my judgment.”

Keri turned her head to gaze at Tony, the first time she’d looked directly at him since he entered the office. “You knew Coach Quinlan before he started teaching at the school?”

“Remember I told you I had a cousin who played college ball?” Tony phrased the question as though he’d told Keri a lot of things. As though they had the type of relationship where they shared confidences. “Grady’s that cousin.”

“Isn’t there some rule against hiring a relative?”

“Not that I know of,” Tony said. “Even if there was, this is a special case. We needed somebody fast after Coach Cartwright had the heart attack. We’re lucky Grady was available.”

It sounded to Grady as though Tony was trying to justify his decision. The knowledge rankled, but not as much as the disapproval would once the relationship between Grady and the athletic director got out. Grady wondered if Keri Cassidy would be the one to spread the word.

“Where’d you play?” Keri asked.

Grady didn’t usually avoid direct questions, but since the scandal he preferred not to talk about Carolina State.

“I didn’t play. I sat the bench and watched.”

“Perfect training for a coach,” Tony interjected.

“A good coach knows as much about his players as he does basketball,” Keri said. “Did you know Bryan lost his mother in a car accident? Playing basketball got him through it. It’s his dream to play in college.”

Grady hadn’t known about Bryan’s mother, but he’d only been coach of the Springhill varsity for a little more than two weeks. In truth, he had as many questions about how Keri had ended up adopting Bryan as he did about Bryan. Steeling himself against the plea in her eyes to go easier on her child, he said, “Then he shouldn’t have cheated on that paper.”

She opened her mouth, probably to leap again to Bryan’s defense, but Tony spoke first.

“We seem to have reached an impasse,” Tony said. “But since the team needs Bryan as much as Bryan needs the team, why don’t we compromise? Grady, how about letting Bryan play if he turns in another paper?”

“If Bryan doesn’t turn in another paper—handwritten, so I know he did the work himself—he’ll flunk the class,” Grady said.

Keri edged forward in her seat. “What about the suspension? Is it indefinite?”

“He turns in the paper, he can play in the game this coming Friday. That was my plan all along.”

“Friday? What about Tuesday?” Keri asked. Springhill typically played twice a week, and the Cougars’ next game was at home Tuesday night.

“Friday,” Grady repeated. “I want to impress upon him how serious the offense is.”

“You can’t even be sure he cheated!”

“I’m sure.” He clenched his jaw. “And I’m not going to discuss it anymore. I’ve made up my mind.”

Her face flushed. “But you—”

“You heard the man, Keri,” Tony interrupted. “Take it from me. When Grady digs in his feet, there’s nothing that’ll unearth him.”

In other words, Grady thought, Tony didn’t agree with him, either. Too bad. Tony had entrusted Grady to do what was right. Standing firm on Bryan’s punishment was right.

Tony got to his feet and smoothed down the front of his chinos. “You’ll tell Bryan what we decided. Right, Keri?”

She waited a few sullen beats before she replied, “Right.”

“Then let me walk you to your car,” Tony offered.

Keri sat rigidly in the chair, saying nothing. Grady supposed he could attribute her stiff posture to simmering anger toward him, but he didn’t think that was the only reason.

After a lengthy pause, Keri stood up and preceded Tony out of the office. Tony touched her on the shoulder as she passed by. Had Grady not been watching carefully, he would have missed Keri subtly shrugging off Tony’s hand.

Something was going on between Keri and his cousin, he concluded. And he was curious to know what it was.

K ERI LEFT THE COACH’S office, barely conscious of placing one foot in front of the other, her mind on the thing she most wanted to say to the almighty Coach Grady Quinlan.

You’re an ass for not believing Bryan. Bryan had been through so much—he and Rose—surely he’d never lie about something like this.

“That went okay,” Tony said.

“Which part?” Keri retorted. “When he called Bryan a liar? Or when he said Bryan couldn’t play in the game Tuesday?”

“Look at it this way. It’s not a district game, so it won’t hurt our play-off chances.” Tony didn’t need to explain that only games against district opponents counted in the standings. “And it’s only one more game.”

“A game your cousin could let Bryan play if he chose.”

“True,” Tony said. “I see you’re not a fan of Grady’s.”

“I don’t imagine he has many of those. Arrogance isn’t an attractive trait.”

“He’s not so bad.”

“He’s worse,” Keri muttered.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell him that. You’ve never been one to hold back your opinions.” He made the observations casually, as though he knew her inside and out. The way he had three years ago.

Before he’d dumped her.

They were nearly to the door leading to the parking lot. She stopped. “I don’t need you to walk me to my car, Tony.”

“I know that.” He smiled at her in the way that used to set her heart racing. “But I want to. You’ve said more to me in the past five minutes than you have in the past few years.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Springhill had a population of fifteen thousand, small enough that town residents ran into one another from time to time. Especially when the basketball player living in the house of one of the residents starred at the school where the other person served as athletic director.

“I’ve never tried to avoid you, Tony,” Keri said.

“You haven’t gone out of your way to talk to me, either.”

“Do you blame me?” As soon as she asked the question, she wished she could take it back. She’d gotten over Tony Marco a long time ago. “Forget I said that. What’s past is past.”

“That’s just it. We never did resolve things. We shouldn’t have left it the way we did.” Tony positioned his body between Keri and the door, then lowered his voice. “Meet me for a drink tonight, Keri. Please.”

Once upon a time Keri couldn’t have refused Tony anything, but she’d grown up in the three years since he’d cast her off. Becoming a mother to two children who depended upon her and her alone had taught her she couldn’t afford to spend time on somebody like Tony.

“No, Tony. I won’t meet you,” she said.

He was already standing too close, but moved a step closer, as though his very presence could convince her to change her mind. He smelled of the same aftershave he’d used when they were dating. Unaffected by the familiar scent, she moved a step back.

“I won’t stop asking until you say yes,” Tony said.

“Then your voice will get hoarse.”

He moved forward again. “C’mon, Keri. You don’t mean—”

“Tony.”

At the sound of his name, Tony sprang away from her. Grady Quinlan strode toward them, stopped a few paces away and slowly slid his gaze from Keri to Tony. She fought to keep from squirming under his inspection. She wasn’t the one who had anything to feel guilty about.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Grady said.

“Of course not.” Even to Keri, Tony’s denial sounded unconvincing. Tony cleared his throat, then addressed his cousin. “What is it?”

“Mary Lynn just called looking for you. She didn’t get an answer when she tried your cell.”

Mary Lynn, Tony’s wife. Whom he’d married six months after he’d broken things off with Keri.

Keri watched Tony’s throat muscles constrict as he swallowed. “Reception’s bad in this building.”

“That’s what I told Mary Lynn,” Grady said. “Anyway, she wants you to call home.”

“I will,” Tony said, then nodded toward the exit. “I was just leaving. Keri? Are you coming?”

She hesitated, reluctant to subject herself to more of Tony’s company.

“Before you go, Tony, I need to talk to you,” Grady said, saving Keri from dreaming up an excuse not to walk out of the building with his cousin.

“Uh, sure.” Tony’s syllables were thick with reluctance.

“Then I’ll be going,” Keri said, before moving quickly toward the double doors and escape.

Before she reached the exit, she glanced over her shoulder. Tony stood with his back to her, but she had an unimpeded view of Grady, who seemed like the more commanding of the two men even though he wore gym shorts and a T-shirt. He gave her a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

She could have sworn in that moment that he realized she’d been having trouble getting Tony to take no for an answer and had come to her aid.

She dismissed the fleeting thought. She wasn’t ready to give Grady Quinlan the benefit of the doubt.

About anything.

CHAPTER THREE

M ONDAY MORNING ARRIVED far too soon for Keri, the same way as always. Bryan, true to form, got ready for school in about fifteen minutes flat.

“I’m leaving, Rose,” she heard him call up the stairs to his younger sister. “Want a ride to school?”

“Can’t you wait?” Rose yelled back. She could be heard dashing about her room.

Bryan stuck his head into the kitchen, where Keri was packing a honey-ham-and-Swiss-cheese sandwich into a brown paper bag. Rose didn’t like the school cafeteria food but was running too late to make her own lunch. Keri didn’t mind doing it for her, and she wanted to be sure Rose wouldn’t skip eating altogether.

“Bye, Keri,” Bryan said.

“Do you have that paper for Coach Quinlan?” She had little doubt the coach would not be forgiving should Bryan forget it.

“In my backpack,” Bryan said, already moving toward the door. A few moments later, she heard the engine of his car start and the slide of tires over pavement as he pulled out of the driveway.

Keri finished packing Rose’s lunch, checked the clock, then yelled, “Rosie, you’ll miss the bus if you don’t hurry.”

“Can you drive me?” Rose called back.

The high school was across town in the opposite direction of the newspaper, which meant Keri would get to work a few minutes past the time she preferred to arrive.

None of her coworkers cared if she came in a few minutes late, but Keri did. To assuage her conscience, she’d either eat a quick lunch at her desk or stay late.

“Okay,” Keri hollered. “But I still want you to speed it up.”

Keri didn’t sit down in front of her computer in the advertising department of the Springhill Gazette until fifteen minutes past the hour, not entirely due to Rose.

A reporter, a security guard and one of the mailroom staff had stopped her on the way to the elevator to complain about Bryan’s suspension.

“New coach don’t have much sense.” Chester, the security guard, was a big burly man who’d played basketball for Springhill fifteen years ago. “Everybody knows Bryan’s cool.”

Everybody except Grady Quinlan.

Keri had swallowed her resentment and formed a diplomatic response. “It was just an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Then Bryan’s playing tomorrow night?” Chester asked.

“Friday night,” she replied.

“Damn fool coach.”

She relegated Chester’s astute comment to the back of her mind and navigated her mouse until her twenty-one-inch flat-screen monitor showed a page from the special advertising section she’d started to lay out last Friday.

The biggest sale of the year, she typed into a text box. Wasn’t that the way of the world, she thought. Everything cost less after the holiday shopping season.

“Morning, Keri.” Jill McMann approached from behind her and set a fragrant cup of cappuccino on the desk next to Keri’s computer. Mocha, her favorite flavor.

Keri breathed in the familiar scent, then smiled at her friend. “You’re too good to me.”

“Then it’s your turn.” Jill swept a hand down the lime-green sweater dress that looked great with her short black hair and pale skin. “Tell me you still can’t see my baby weight.”

“What baby weight?”

“Good answer.” Jill sank into her seat at the computer in the cubicle across from Keri’s.

Because Jill had filled Maddy’s position after Maddy died, Keri hadn’t been prepared to like her. But Jill had slowly won Keri over with her wry wit. It helped that Jill didn’t like sports and never talked basketball, two things Keri got enough of at home.

“I’ll deny this if you repeat it, but I’m glad I don’t have to change any more diapers until tonight. I swear Amy’s going for a world record.” Only a year older than Keri’s twenty-five, Jill had packed a lot of living into the past three years. She’d fallen in love, gotten married and had a baby girl who was now five months old. “So now that you’ve heard what I did this weekend, what did you do?”

“The usual. Laundry. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. Oh, and I helped Rose with a history project. She remembered on Sunday that it was due today.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jill said as she logged on to her computer. “Did you do anything for you? ”

“I saw a movie.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Jill gave Keri her full attention, her amber-colored eyes sparkling. “Which movie?”

“Romancing the Stone.”

Jill groaned. “That movie’s twenty years old. I thought you went out to the movie theater. Possibly with a man.”

“I don’t have time to date,” Keri said.

“You don’t make time to date.” Jill swiveled in her seat and crossed one long leg over the other. “Why, even Bryan’s dating. Did I tell you I saw him at Mario’s Pizza double-dating with Becky Harding and her boyfriend?”

Keri snapped to attention. “When?”

“Let’s see.” Jill tapped the end of a pen on her desk. “Over Christmas break. The Saturday before last.”

That didn’t make sense. The Snowball Dance had been before the break. If Becky was upset about not going with Bryan, why would she be hanging out with him? “Are you sure?”

“Positive. That Saturday was Kevin’s birthday. He got to choose the restaurant. Last year he picked La Fontaine, that fabulous French place about an hour from here.” Jill carried on, unaware she’d temporarily lost Keri’s attention.

“But this year we had Amy so he settled for Mario’s. Good thing, too, because she started screaming bloody murder when the waiter brought the food. Probably because she doesn’t have teeth yet.”

“Are you positive it was Becky Harding?”

Jill seemed taken aback by the question. “Yeah. I know Becky. The Hardings are neighbors of mine.”

“And Bryan was with her?”

“Not ‘with her’ with her,” Jill said. “Bryan was with some blonde. Becky was with her boyfriend. Jeremiah something or other.”

“Jeremiah Bowden,” Keri supplied. She didn’t know the boy personally but had heard Bryan mention his name several times.

“That’s it. Jeremiah Bowden. I remember Becky’s mom saying he’s on the football team.”

“What’s Becky like?” Keri asked.

“I couldn’t say, really. But I like her mom and her younger sister’s a sweetie. Her sister babysits Amy sometimes.” Jill slanted Keri a probing look. “Why all the questions?”

“No reason.” Keri squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable at the suspicious direction her thoughts had headed. Bryan would have a perfectly logical explanation for hanging out with Becky Harding. “I just like to know who Bryan’s dating.”

“You’re the one who should be dating. Have I told you that you need to get out more?”

“Hmm, maybe once or twice,” Keri joked. “And I do get out. I’m going to Bryan’s basketball game tomorrow night.”

“Like you’ll find an eligible man there,” Jill complained.

Keri pictured Grady Quinlan and wondered if a female had laid claim to him. Disgusted with herself, she shook off her curiosity. So what if the coach was good-looking enough to stop hearts? If Keri were to start dating again, she’d choose a man whose character she could admire.

That wasn’t Grady Quinlan, even if he had extricated her from that awkward situation with Tony.

“I don’t go to Bryan’s games to find men,” Keri said.

“I know. I know. You go to watch Bryan.”

Usually Jill’s comment would have been spot-on, but Bryan wasn’t even playing Tuesday night. Keri would go to the game, though, and not only to support the team.

She intended to get to the bottom of the Becky Harding mystery and to find out exactly why the girl had made so much trouble for Bryan. Even if she had to ask Becky herself.

M ARY L YNN M ARCO EXITED the kitchen of the split-level house she shared with her husband carrying two dessert plates with extralarge pieces of tiramisu.

“Here you go.” The smile she’d worn the entire evening didn’t waver as she put dessert plates decorated with showy flowers in front of Grady and Tony.

“Thanks,” said Tony without much enthusiasm.

“You’re welcome,” Mary Lynn answered in kind.

Grady picked up a fork and tried to look like he wasn’t about to burst from the extra helpings of rigatoni, bread and steamed vegetables she’d kept offering. “Is this the recipe you got from Uncle Vinny?”

Mary Lynn had phoned Grady over the weekend to invite him to dinner, claiming the single day he’d spent with the extended family in Johnstown over the Christmas holidays hadn’t been enough. She told him she’d be using recipes she’d talked Tony’s father into surrendering.

“Yes,” Mary Lynn said. “It’s layers of Italian sponge cake and mascarpone cream, although Tony’s dad’s tiramisu looks a lot better than mine.”

“Looks pretty good to me,” Grady said.

Mary Lynn adopted an even bigger smile, then sat down at the end of the table across from Tony and next to Grady. “I’m so happy you came tonight, Grady. Any cousin of Tony’s is always welcome here.”

Tony caught Grady’s eyes and raised his eyebrows. “You already told him that, Mary Lynn. Three times.”

Mary Lynn’s smile wavered, but only slightly. She was such a champion smiler she would have done well on the beauty pageant circuit. With her long curly blond hair, blue eyes and delicate features, she was certainly pretty enough. She was twenty-four, but seemed younger, partly because she was about five foot two.

She made an odd couple with the much more serious Tony, but Grady didn’t know how they’d hooked up. He and Tony had grown up on opposite ends of Pennsylvania, seeing each other at the occasional family get-togethers as children and even less frequently as adults.

“I’ll never get tired of you saying I’m welcome here,” Grady told Mary Lynn. “I like hearing how much you two enjoy my company.”

“Mary Lynn’s speaking for herself,” Tony said, his fork full of tiramisu suspended halfway to his mouth. “You made my life a living hell this past week by suspending Bryan Charleton.”

“You’re not going to start talking about that basketball player again, are you?” Mary Lynn even smiled when she was complaining. “Isn’t it enough that he’s back on the team?”

“Not when R.G. won’t let him play Tuesday,” Tony said.

“If Grady won’t let him play, he probably wants to make real sure the boy learns his lesson,” Mary Lynn said.

Grady slanted Mary Lynn a grateful look. “Exactly right.”

Tony’s dark eyebrows arched as he addressed Grady. “The way you learned a lesson from what happened at Carolina State?”

Grady felt as though Tony had cut into his flesh, then taken the shaker from the table and liberally sprinkled salt into his wound. “The two have nothing to do with each other.”

“Sure they do,” Tony said. “Right about now Bryan thinks life isn’t fair. Isn’t that how you felt when you couldn’t get another job coaching basketball?”

Did Tony honestly think Grady had tried to get another coaching job? Grady assumed Tony knew he’d been driving a truck by choice. Well, maybe choice was the wrong word. It certainly hadn’t taken much convincing for Tony to talk him into applying for the teaching position at Springhill.

“I didn’t look for another coaching job,” Grady said.

“You came to me when Fuzz had the heart attack, remember?”

Mary Lynn laid a hand on Grady’s forearm. “And he’s told me a dozen times how lucky Springhill is to have you. Isn’t that right, Tony?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “But I still wish he hadn’t suspended Bryan.”

Tony brought the tiramisu the rest of the way to his mouth. Grady dug in, too. The bitter, grainy taste of strong coffee hit him at the same time Tony reached for a half-empty glass of water beside his plate and drained it.

“What’s the matter?” Mary Lynn asked. “Did I mess up the recipe?”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, although it obviously wasn’t.

“I think you used coffee grounds instead of brewed coffee,” Grady told her.

“I’m so sorry.” She stood up and gathered up their plates with the barely eaten tiramisu. She blinked a few times, Grady thought to keep from crying. “I’ll clean up.”

When Mary Lynn was gone, Grady asked Tony in a quiet voice, “Don’t you want to make sure she’s all right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Tony said.

Grady wasn’t so sure, an observation that was proved true when he carried some dirty dishes into the kitchen and found Mary Lynn wiping tears from under her eyes.

He patted her awkwardly on the back. “Don’t cry, Mary Lynn. It’s only dessert.”

“That’s not why I’m crying.” She blinked a few times.

“Did you hear how polite Tony is around me? He couldn’t even tell me the tiramisu was awful.” Mary Lynn took a tissue out of the box and dabbed at her eyes. “Listen to me. Blabbing to you about my troubles. And you being Tony’s cousin.”

Grady’s desire to help Mary Lynn overrode his vaguely uncomfortable feeling at hearing her private business. “I’m family. Anything you tell me stays with me.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she said, blinking up at him through damp eyelashes. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to get pregnant for almost a year, and I can’t get Tony to go to an infertility clinic.” She sniffed. “Sometimes I think it’s because he doesn’t want to have a baby with me.”

Grady would have issued a consoling statement if he hadn’t gotten the distinct impression that Tony had been hitting on Keri Cassidy, not the sign of a happily married man.

“I’m sorry.” Mary Lynn covered her mouth, her hand trembling, her expression miserable. “You’d think that after being married two years, I still wouldn’t be so jealous of her.”

“Of who?” Grady asked.

“Tony’s ex. You know he was engaged before he married me, right?”

Grady nodded, although he’d never met Tony’s fiancé. He’d been too busy trying to build a successful team at Carolina State.

“It’s hard living in the same town as her,” Mary Lynn said on a heavy sigh.

The same town…

“What’s her name?” he asked.

Mary Lynn took a shuddering breath before she replied, but Grady already knew what her answer would be. It was why the name had seemed familiar to him.

“Keri Cassidy,” she said.

K ERI STOOD ABOUT TEN FEET from the baseline Tuesday night, close enough to the Springhill High cheerleading squad that she had to guard against getting whacked in the face by a black-and-gold pom-pom.

At a few minutes past game time, every seat in the gym seemed to be taken. Keri’s only hope was if the group of parents she usually sat with saved her a seat.

“Watch out!” The tiny, dark-haired cheerleader at the end of the line shouted a warning.

Keri turned toward the court to see a player in black-and-gold valiantly trying to save the basketball from going out of bounds. He caught his balance before she could move out of the way, nimbly stepping between Keri and the cheerleader.

That’s when Keri realized who he was: Bryan.

He winked at her before running back on court, leaving her staring openmouthed after him. Against all odds, Coach Quinlan was letting him play.

The cheerleaders continued with their go-fight-win cheer, nearly deafening Keri. She looked toward the bleachers again and spotted an upraised hand waving wildly. It belonged to Lori Patterson, the mother of the senior point guard.

She headed up the aisle that cut through the bleachers, with fans craning their necks to see around her. Lori sat on the end beside the center aisle. She scooted over, creating nearly enough space for one person. Keri sat down, a portion of her right hip hanging over only slightly into the aisle.

“Hey, there.” Lori squeezed Keri’s knee. Short and compact with a fabulous complexion, she was about fifteen years older than Keri. But then, so were all the other parents, a fact that had once made Keri uncomfortable. Now she was used to it. “Where’s Rosie?”

“I couldn’t get her to come,” Keri said.

Lori nodded, her heart-shaped face full of understanding. Lori was divorced so usually came to the games alone, a reason Keri had gravitated toward her. They only socialized at basketball games but had become friends, sharing stories about their problems and triumphs with their children.

“She’s missing a show. Bryan already has six points,” Lori said, her face bright with excitement. Keri did a quick check of the scoreboard, noting that Springhill was up 10-8.

“Great steal, Garrett,” Lori yelled at the top of her lungs, calling out her son’s name. On court the wiry point guard had a two-on-one break, with Bryan running the lane adjacent to him. The defender committed to Garrett, who bounced a pass to Bryan. Bryan caught the ball in stride, took a long step and elevated over the rim. Holding the ball in one large hand, he thrust it through the rim.

The crowd went wild.

From the home team’s bench, Grady Quinlan, in a black dress shirt and gold tie, yelled something at Bryan. By the coach’s expansive gestures, it wasn’t something positive. The guy probably thought dunking was equivalent to showboating.

Unbelievable.

Maybe more mind-boggling was Keri’s expectation that reversing his decision to play Bryan would turn Grady into a kinder and gentler coach.

Yeah, right.

“It’s gonna be a close game,” Lori said breathlessly. “Westlake’s supposed to win their district, too.”

Lori’s comment proved prophetic—Springhill was leading by only two points at the half.

“Good thing for Springhill Bryan’s playing tonight,” Lori said, a huge smile wreathing her face.

“He should have played Friday night, too.” The speaker was Hubie Brown’s mother, Carolyn, who sat on the other side of Lori. A large woman who always dressed in bright colors, she never kept her opinions to herself. “I bet Coach Quinlan feels stupid for losing that game after what happened in school today.”

Lori’s head bobbed in agreement, as though whatever happened was common knowledge.

“What happened?” Keri asked.

Carolyn smoothed the sleeve of her orange sweater and widened her eyes. “Didn’t Bryan tell you?”

“I haven’t talked to Bryan since this morning,” Keri admitted. Her son left for the gym before she arrived home on game days because he liked to watch the junior varsity, which played before the varsity.

“Wait till you hear this.” Carolyn leaned closer, nearly knocking Lori over. “Becky Harding admitted she lied. Just came straight out and told Quinlan she made it all up.”

That explained Grady Quinlan’s uncharacteristic change of heart. He’d been forced to soften his stance.

“That’s great,” Keri said, but something didn’t add up.

“But why would Becky admit to that?”

“Guess guilt was eating her up,” Carolyn suggested.

“Maybe embarrassment, too. Everybody found out she had a thing for Bryan.”

“That’s something else that doesn’t make sense,” Keri said. “I heard she’s dating one of the football players.”

Carolyn slanted Keri a significant look and patted her on the hand. “You’re so young sometimes, Keri. If you can’t have the one you love, you love the one you’re with.”

Maybe, Keri thought. But if Becky was so resentful of Bryan, why had she been hanging out with him a few days after the Snowball Dance? Keri had asked Bryan that very question last night, and he’d shrugged it off. A chance meeting, he’d called it.

“Oh, look!” Lori pointed to a group of lithe young girls in black unitards who were running lightly onto the court, their toes pointed like ballerinas. “The dance team. I just love watching them.”

Loud music with a rap beat sounded over the public address system. Before Lori could get too entranced with the dancers, Keri leaned over and asked close to her friend’s ear, “Do you know which of the cheerleaders is Becky?”

Her attention focused on the smiling, dancing girls, Lori answered, “Sure do. The shortest one. Long, dark hair. Bangs. Sets up on the end.”

The very cheerleader who’d given Keri a heads-up when Bryan had come flying out of bounds. Keri scanned the gym for black-and-gold uniforms, locating the majority of the cheerleaders near the doors leading to the snack bar.

“Save my seat,” Keri told Lori, then descended the bleachers and walked directly to where Becky chatted with one of her squad members.

“Becky.”

The girl turned around, a puzzled expression on her pretty face as she tilted her chin to gaze up at Keri. Keri was of average height, but Becky wasn’t much more than five feet tall. Keri smelled the peppermint scent of the gum Becky was chewing.

“Yes?” Becky asked expectantly, a half smile on her face.

“I’m Keri Cassidy.” Most people in Springhill knew Keri had adopted Bryan and Rose after Maddy’s fatal accident, but Becky didn’t seem to be one of them. “Bryan Charleton’s mom.”

Becky’s smile vanished, her jaws stopped working on the gum and her posture turned rigid.

“If you’re here to ask me about that nutrition paper, I already took care of it,” she said in clipped tones.

“I heard you told Coach Quinlan you lied about writing it.”

Becky’s wary expression didn’t change but she said nothing.

“Why did you say you wrote the paper in the first place?” Keri persisted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Becky said, chomping down on her gum. “Bryan’s playing tonight. Isn’t that what everybody wanted?”

“Of course it mat—” Keri said, but Becky had already turned away, obviously having said all she was going to say.

Taken aback by the girl’s rudeness, Keri clenched her jaw. She thought about tapping the girl on the shoulder again, but creating a scene wouldn’t get her answers. She started back to her seat, nearly bumping into a woman with long, curly blond hair who was holding a foil-wrapped hot dog and a bottle of water. Mary Lynn Marco, Tony’s wife.

Their eyes met. Before Keri could say hello or even smile, Mary Lynn walked quickly past her, as though being chased by a hellhound. So much for letting the other woman in on the long-overdue fact that Keri wished her only the best of luck with Tony.

The half started almost as soon as Keri reached her bleacher seat, giving her little time to dwell on either Becky’s comments or Mary Lynn’s coolness. The two teams played at a breathtaking pace, exchanging baskets and the lead.

Keri had seen Bryan play basketball many times, but still marveled over how a boy who was so laid-back off the court could be so intense on it.

When Bryan got the ball at the three-point line with thirty seconds left and Springhill trailing by four, Keri knew the shot would be good even before the ball left his fingertips. The three-pointer brought Springhill within one, sending the crowd into hysterics.

“I can hardly stand how exciting this is,” Lori said, literally on the edge of her seat.

Westlake successfully inbounded the ball to its point guard, who dribbled up the court. From two seats away, Carolyn yelled, “Steal the ball.”

When the opposing point guard attempted to get the ball to a teammate, Bryan did exactly that, swooping into a passing lane out of seemingly nowhere to grab the ball out of the air. He raced down court, with two Westlake players hounding his every stride. The crowd roared as the clock ticked down to ten seconds.

Instead of forcing a shot when he was well defended, Bryan alertly passed to a teammate open under the basket. Joey Jividen. One of the younger boys on the varsity, Joey had entered the game when another player fouled out.

With nobody guarding him, Joey had an easy two points. The ball left his hand with plenty of time to spare. It banked off the glass, rattled around the hoop and rimmed out.

One of the opposing players grabbed the rebound but lost his footing and stepped on the end line. The referee blew the whistle, signaling possession would go to Springhill. The clock showed five seconds left to play.

“Time-out,” Grady yelled, forming his hands into a T.

The Springhill side of the crowd was silent, seemingly in shock. “How could you miss that gimme, Jividen?” A guy with a booming voice yelled from somewhere behind Keri.

“I’ll tell you how,” Carolyn Brown muttered. “Joey’s not very good. He shouldn’t even be on the court.”

“I think Joey does fine,” Keri said.

Carolyn harrumphed.

The Springhill players walked back to the huddle, with Joey at the rear, hanging his head.

Keri expected the hard-nosed Grady to go ballistic. He ignored Bryan and the other three players who’d been on the floor, walking past them to meet Joey.

Leaning his head close to the boy, he put his arm around him and said something meant for Joey’s ears alone. Keri got a glimpse of Grady’s face when he let Joey go and saw not anger, but determination.

He directed the five players who’d play the last five seconds to sit down so they could go over the strategy for the last play. Joey Jividen was one of the five.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the man behind her groused loudly, while on the sidelines Grady pointed to his clipboard. Murmurs went up from the rest of the crowd.

“He needs to bench Joey,” Carolyn said. “That boy’s gonna lose us the game.”

That boy, Keri thought, had just gotten a much-needed boost of confidence from his coach.

“I think Coach Quinlan’s doing the right thing,” Keri said.

“Bryan will take the last shot,” Lori predicted. “The best player always does.”

Everybody in the gym, including the opposing team, seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. Two Westlake defenders shadowed Bryan, clearly having been directed not to let him catch the pass.

Joey Jividen was the inbounder. He threw the ball not to Bryan, but to Lori’s son Garrett. Because the defender who should have been assigned to Joey was double-teaming Bryan, Joey had an unimpeded lane to the basket.

Garrett passed Joey the basketball at the same spot where Joey had just missed the shot. Joey caught it, arching the ball toward the basket and victory before time expired.

This time there was no doubt. The ball banked off the backboard and dropped straight through the hoop.

The crowd went wild, the Springhill players mobbing the boy who had gone from goat to hero in a matter of seconds. Keri joined in the cheers. Grady walked onto the court to where his joyous players congregated, but not to partake in the celebration. In an eye blink, he had the Springhill team lined up single file to shake the opponents’ hands.

It was only when the winning Springhill players were leaving the floor that Keri saw Grady pat young Joey Jividen on the back.

CHAPTER FOUR

W ITH A SIGH OF RESIGNATION , Grady snagged a couple of pepperoni pizzas from the freezer section of the Food Mart and added them to a grocery cart that already contained the half-dozen frozen dinners that looked most edible.

He didn’t have the healthiest diet around, but considering his grab-and-go style it was a step up from eating at a fast-food restaurant.

Grady had come to the grocery store straight from Wednesday’s basketball practice, which had begun directly after school. Later, at home, he’d heat one of the dinners while watching game film of Springhill’s next opponent.

He was busier on game days, and he preferred it that way. The whole coaching life suited him. It always had, which was why it had hurt so much to leave Carolina State. Leave? That was a mild word for it. He’d practically been chased out of town.

Shoving the thought from his mind, he steered his cart around the heavy freezers that showcased bags of mixed vegetables and packaged breakfast foods, then turned the corner. The same tall, thin girl he’d seen a few nights ago with Keri Cassidy stood in front of the ice cream, her slender index finger tapping her chin.

“Get the double chocolate fudge,” Grady said.

She took a step backward, a guarded expression on a young face that reminded him of Bryan’s. Same general shape, same big dark eyes, same olive complexion. Her hair was brown, too, but a few shades lighter than her brother’s.

“You’re Bryan Charleton’s sister, right?”

She nodded. Her shoulders were slightly stooped, her posture a far cry from the way her self-assured brother carried himself. Bryan always looked him straight in the eye; his sister didn’t lift her chin.

“I’m Coach Quinlan, Bryan’s basketball coach,” he said.

A hint of recognition crossed her face, followed by more silence.

“What’s your name?” he prompted.

“Rose,” she replied, the name barely audible.

He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “So you gonna get the double chocolate fudge? It’s my favorite.”

She mumbled something unintelligible, opened the freezer door, snatched a carton of French vanilla ice cream and hurried away. He could have chalked her up as another in the growing line of Springhill citizens who disapproved of his coaching methods, but he didn’t think that was it.

Rose Charleton’s behavior seemed to have more to do with her own demons than with his.

He continued shopping, searching for Keri down every long, well-lit aisle. Rose wasn’t old enough to drive, and he seriously doubted Bryan would hang around with his younger sister.

“You’re Coach Quinlan, aren’t you?”

The middle-aged lady in the long black coat asking the question had dark circles under her eyes and deep lines bracketing her mouth. She looked sad—and unfamiliar.

“That’s right,” Grady said.

“I’m Ruth Cartwright, Fuzz’s wife.”

He called up an image of her husband from the photographs hanging in his office. A broad-shouldered dynamo of a man with white hair short enough to earn him his nickname. Fuzz had been synonymous with Springhill basketball for as long as most people could remember. Grady would have shaken his wife’s hand, but she kept a firm grip on the shopping cart handle.

“How is Mr. Cartwright?” Grady asked. The last he’d heard, Fuzz was recovering from quadruple bypass surgery.

“Impatient to get home,” she said. “Angry that he can’t coach.”

“The boys miss him.” Grady spoke the truth. If he polled his players on whether they wanted their old coach back, the vote would be unanimous. It wouldn’t be in Grady’s favor.

“He misses the boys, especially Bryan Charleton.” Ruth Cartwright’s tired eyes focused on him and came alive.

“Fuzz says Bryan’s good enough to lead the team to a state championship. He says you need to keep Bryan on court.”

Frustration tugged at Grady, but he fought to keep his expression neutral. “It was nice seeing you, Mrs. Cartwright. You be sure to tell your husband I’m wishing him well.”

Retreat seemed a better option than explaining that Bryan Charleton needed suspending, no matter that Becky Harding had retracted her story. Becky had lied to Grady, but in his opinion it hadn’t been when she claimed to be the author of Bryan’s paper.

His grumbling stomach alerting him it was time for dinner, he groaned inwardly at the human logjam at the checkout counters. Until he noticed Keri Cassidy at the rear of one of the lines.

She stiffened enough for him to realize she’d seen him. Although one of the other lines was slightly shorter, he pulled his cart directly behind hers. “Hello, Ms. Cassidy.”

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