Crossing the Goal Line

by Kim Findlay

  Icebreaker or endgame?

  Can two devoted athletes make room in their lives for love?

  Mike Reimer knows from experience that hockey and relationships don’t mix. And hot-tempered swim coach Bridget O’Reilly couldn’t be more wrong for the widowed pro goalie, aka the Iceman. As the playoffs approach, Mike’s growing feelings for her could melt the hardest heart. But what if being with Bridget means letting down his team...and, worst of all, himself?

  “Go get some gear on,” Bridget ordered.

  “Seriously?”

  “Chicken?” she asked.

  Mike laughed. He felt like a seven-year-old being dared.

  “So what position am I supposed to play?”

  “I thought you were a goalie,” she taunted.

  Challenge accepted. He wasn’t sure what she thought she was trying to prove, but he could handle a girl in road hockey, even if his game had been off lately.

  “So what are the rules?” he asked once they’d strapped on their pads. He tapped his stick on the pavement.

  “I’m going to score. You’re going to try to stop me. Play to five?”

  “We’ll need to stop before that. You’re not going to score.”

  She was good. He had to give her that. Much better than he’d expected. Mike, however, was better than good. He was one of the best. He was soon in his zone, watching her every move and expression. She didn’t score, though she came close.

  After fifteen furious minutes, Bridget called time. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

  Mike looked down at her. “It’s okay. I admit to provoking you. And this was actually a lot of fun. You’re not bad—for a girl.” He grinned at her.

  “You’re not bad, either—for a...for a guy from Quebec.”

  Dear Reader,

  I’m so excited you’ve joined me for my first Harlequin romance!

  The sports world offers compelling stories. There’s the athletes’ dedication and the amazing things they can accomplish. There are the fans who live and die with their teams, a loyalty that transcends geography and success or failure. It doesn’t hurt that athletes are by necessity in top physical condition. Combine all that and you get some great settings for romance.

  In this story, Mike Reimer is a successful hockey goalie, but past experience has convinced him that his commitment to his sport makes relationships untenable. Since he’s dealing with a crisis of confidence in his play, that has to be his first priority. Still, he can’t help but notice Bridget O’Reilly when she dives into his life...and falls in love with his car. Bridget is a former competitive swimmer now channeling that drive into coaching. She understands the passion it takes to win because she shares it. As Mike gets back to his championship form, his future is leading him out of Toronto. Bridget, however, has her family and her own dreams in the city. Is either of them willing to risk it all for the other?

  To share your own love of sports, the people who play them and the stories they generate, please find me at kimfindlay.ca, on Facebook at kimfindlayauthor or on Twitter, @missheyer74.

  Kim

  Crossing the Goal Line

  Kim Findlay

  Kim Findlay lives in Toronto, Canada, with her husband, two sons and the world’s cutest dog. When she can get time away from her accounting business, she can be found sailing, reading or writing, depending on the season, time of day and her energy level. You can find her at kimfindlay.ca, @missheyer74 or on Facebook.

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  For my parents and sister, who let me read, and my husband and sons, who let me write.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM MARRYING THE WEDDING CRASHER BY MELINDA CURTIS

  CHAPTER ONE

  NOT EVERYONE WHO had red hair was short-tempered. That was just a cliché. Bridget knew she was pretty even tempered, despite having bright red hair. Of course, she wasn’t perfect. There were a couple of things that could set her off. One of those things was Wally the Weasel, and he’d done it again.

  Bridget shoved open the door out of the pool area and stalked down the hallway with all the authority one could muster in a swimsuit and flip-flops. She reached the Weasel’s office at the far end and, of course, he wasn’t there. Bridget shoved her glasses back up her nose with her finger, and huffed a breath. She had no doubt he’d carefully timed his morning activities to miss her. She’d have loved to stay and wait him out, but she had her own timetable.

  She glared at his desk, and then turned and stomped out. Fortunately, this was the quiet time of day at the exclusive athletic club, so she didn’t meet anyone. Making nice to the members was never her strongest suit, and was close to impossible when she was angry.

  Once she returned to the pool, she began to relax. She was back in her world. It might feel claustrophobic to some, but she was perfectly comfortable here. The chlorine-infused air was moist and the place echoed with the slightest sounds of the water’s movement in the pool. But in this world, she was confident, and one of the best at what she did.

  Tad, the pool assistant, had finished setting up the lane swim markers that had sparked Bridget’s fit of temper, and was sitting on a bench, looking at his phone. She’d swear that kid would expire without that gadget. He was living dangerously: water would destroy it. She never had her phone in the pool area for that very reason. One had only to lose a couple, or five, and the lesson sank in.

  “Tad, get the boys,” she called across the pool. Tad looked up guiltily, nodded and scurried into the men’s changing room. Bridget went into the women’s room, and found her four female charges. They were small, and very nervous. Bridget squatted down to look at them at their level.

  “Hey, there, I’m glad to see you all got into your swimsuits. We can come out to the pool now, but you can be near the water only when there’s an adult around, okay?”

  They nodded, but no one started moving. They were a little hesitant, which wasn’t surprising. She smiled reassuringly, grabbed two little hands, and led the way.

  Tad had brought out four little boys. Three were looking at her apprehensively, while one was staring around like he owned the place. It had been years since Bridget taught beginners, but she recognized the signs. He was going to be one of those.

  Bridget noticed someone swimming in the lane Tad had set up, but that was not her focus now. These eight kids were. The pool was supposed to be used only by her for the next forty-five minutes, so the Weasel, snob that he was, was up to something. He’d been opposed to the idea of this class from the beginning.

  She had the kids sit on one of the benches, and again squatted in front of them so she could look at them eye to eye.

  “I’m Bridget, and I’m going to be teaching you to swim. Has anyone here taken swimming lessons before?”

  Bridget knew they hadn’t. She’d helped with the selection process and these eight had been chosen for the pilot project because they had no exposure to swimming instruction. But it was a good way to get started. Seven little heads shook, while one kid shrugged, like it was no big thing. />
  “I think it’s important that everyone knows how to swim. We live in a country with a lot of lakes and rivers, and lots of swimming pools. Also, swimming is fun. It’s really good exercise. It’s a sport, too. Have you seen it in the Olympics? I used to compete for Canada, and I’m now coaching the swim team at the club here to race in swim meets. Maybe someday one of you can represent Canada as a swimmer.”

  Bridget wanted to inspire them if she could. She’d loved competing, and she thought it taught a lot of life lessons.

  “Were you any good?” It was that boy. Bridget mentally reviewed the attendance sheet in her mind. Ah, yes. His name was Tony. He’d apparently decided to challenge her from the start.

  Bridget looked him in the eyes. “Did you have a specific lap time in mind?” There was a pause. Tony wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I won a lot of races,” Bridget continued, “but I was never good enough to make the Olympic team. However, I’m pretty sure I can still swim faster than anyone you know.” Bridget wasn’t boasting. She knew what she could do.

  Tony crossed his arms. “You can’t beat a guy. My dad says girls can’t beat guys.”

  And just like that, Tony had pushed Bridget’s biggest button. She had spent her entire life trying to prove that girls could do everything guys could do. It was a never-ending task. “I think your dad is mistaken, Tony.” Bridget indicated the man swimming in the lane. “He’s swimming pretty well. You think I can take him?”

  Tony hesitated. He hadn’t expected that. He wanted to save face, but wasn’t sure what to do.

  The other kids were impressed. “Can you really swim faster than him?”

  Bridget assessed the swimmer. Adult male, tall, good physical shape, but yeah, she could take him.

  Bridget called to Tad to look after the class. She pulled off her heavy glasses, bane of her life, pulled on her swimming goggles, and strode over to the end of the pool. The goggles didn’t help much with her vision, but she knew this place like the back of her hand, and she could navigate blindfolded.

  The man in the lane may have been swimming pretty well, but he wasn’t a racer. There was wasted movement: technique issues she could see even without her glasses.

  He was about halfway up the lane, swimming away from her, and she paused, caught her breath and pushed off in her starting dive.

  The pool was Bridget’s element. When she was a kid, she had wanted to be a professional hockey player just like her brothers had, but her poor vision messed with her depth perception and limited her ability to play a fast-moving game on the ice. Instead, she’d channeled that drive into swimming, and she’d excelled.

  She surfaced, having picked up half the distance the other swimmer had on her. She started her smooth, sure stroke, slicing through the water with precision and power. She was within a couple of body lengths by the time he hit the wall, and she knew she had him.

  Recreational swimmers don’t train on turns, and she had.

  She came out of her turn another length ahead of him. She could sense he’d become aware that this was a race, and increased the tempo of his strokes, but she made it to the end of the pool with lengths to spare.

  She hoped her temper hadn’t led her astray. In her experience, men could get upset if a woman beat them. Her focus was supposed to be on her class, but maybe she’d earned some respect from her students, especially Tony. That should make him willing to listen to her. She wanted to continue with that momentum, so she lifted herself out of the pool, no longer aware of the other swimmer, until he spoke.

  “That was impressive. Do you take private students?”

  Bridget had pulled off her goggles, and when she turned, the man was a blur. She looked at him fuzzily.

  “Sorry, no. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was making a point for my class.” She nodded her head toward the blurs that were her students. Perhaps the hardest part of this job, other than the Weasel, was being nice to members who were not always nice themselves. She added a perfunctory smile. At least he hadn’t pitched a fit about losing to her.

  And the rest of the class did go smoothly. Tony was silenced, and the other students were suitably impressed. It wasn’t until all the kids had been returned to the changing rooms that she became aware that the lane swimmer had finished and left. She shrugged. She wasn’t sure if she’d see him again. Her plans for the Weasel included terminating the lane swimming during her class, so she hoped she wouldn’t.

  Bridget’s position as swim coach involved being at the club early for morning practice, and again after the kids were done school for fitness training and more practice. Weekends would often involve traveling to swim meets. Since they were in Toronto, the traveling was often just across town, but at times she was gone for entire weekends.

  Her hours were irregular, but she loved her job and didn’t mind that her time off was out of sync with most people’s. She was determined to get to the Olympics, this time as a coach. She had a couple of swimmers who had tons of talent, and she found helping them was becoming as fulfilling as racing herself.

  She was teaching this swim class in what should have been her free time. She got her charges safely off to the teacher’s aide who was returning them to school, and changed into shorts and a T-shirt to do her own training. One of the perks of the job was using the facilities, and midmorning there was no one using the machines in the weight room. She liked to keep almost as fit as she required her swimmers to be.

  After she’d had a shower she would make another attempt to track down Wally.

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T FIND him until just before her afternoon practice. When she appeared in his doorway, he flinched.

  “Hello, Wall-ter,” Bridget corrected herself. He insisted on being called by his full name, and Bridget was sure it wouldn’t be wise to let him know her nickname for him. He’d freak out over Wally, let alone Weasel.

  “I don’t know why you have so much trouble with my name,” he responded peevishly.

  Bridget ignored his comment. “I’ve got a question for you.”

  “I’m very busy.”

  “Oh, this will take only a moment. You see, the pool is booked at nine for a class I’m teaching, but somehow there was a lane swimmer there this morning.”

  Wally shuffled some stuff around his desk. “Yes, well, it’s like this...the management committee asked if I could make that arrangement for this new, ah, associate member.”

  Associate member? Bridget thought. That was a new one. But if the request came from the management committee...

  “Perhaps you could have notified me?” she asked.

  “Ah, sorry, I thought I had.” They both knew better.

  “Are you expecting any more ‘associate members’ to be wanting the pool at nine a.m.? Maybe enough to take up the entire pool?” Nine had been chosen specifically because it was after the morning swim training and lap swims for those going to work or school, and before the water aerobics classes began. It was the quietest time in the pool, except after closing.

  Nobody was being put out by her beginner class, except Wally, who didn’t like having these “freeloader” kids in his precious club. He was more concerned about maintaining the club’s reputation than any of the members were.

  Bridget and Wally were at cross-purposes in respect to this class.

  Wally seemed to be enjoying a little joke. “No, I don’t think we’ll have any other members like him.”

  “If any others should come up, please let me know and make sure I actually respond. Otherwise...” Bridget left the threat hanging, partly because she wasn’t sure just what she’d do, and partly so that Wally could imagine the worst.

  Bridget headed out to change for her afternoon coaching. There was something funny about this, but she had places to be, and couldn’t take the time to shake Wally down any further.

  * * *

 
SOMETHING WASN’T QUITE RIGHT. Mike was sure of it. He’d done his second morning lane swim, and the instructor who’d raced him the first day was there with her class. She hadn’t raced him this morning. Instead, she had ignored him. He was getting the feeling that she wasn’t happy with him being there.

  He’d been getting that feeling a lot in Toronto.

  Hockey fans weren’t happy with him, and he couldn’t blame them. He was one of the best-paid goalies in the league, and when he arrived last spring he was supposed to make the team better. Instead, he’d played badly; as badly as he’d ever played as a professional.

  Although Mike hadn’t been thrilled at the trade to Toronto, he had pride, and he was not happy with his performance. He hoped that he could bring the fans around by playing up to his level this year, but training camp had just begun. His time to prove himself hadn’t arrived, so he was still living with last year’s reputation.

  The hockey team wasn’t happy with him, either. After a “prank” had damaged his watch while he was swimming laps at the team facility, he’d come up with this alternative. Swim here first, then practice with the team.

  The athletic club management committee had been welcoming, and the club manager almost too welcoming, but now that he was here, he realized something was going on. So after he’d showered and dressed, he stopped by the office of the club manager, “Call me Walter,” to check.

  Mike knocked on the door frame.

  He thought he saw a wary look on the manager that was replaced by a worried one once Walter recognized him.

  “Come in, come in!”

  Mike stayed in the doorway. The office wasn’t that big, and he didn’t plan to be there long. “Are you sure there’s no problem with my using the pool for laps in the morning?” he asked.

  Walter paused for just a moment. “Of course not! We’re so pleased to have you here. And, of course, normally there’s nothing going on in the pool at that time.”