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“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.
