Ellen Hartman - Calling the Shots

In all his years watching his daughter play hockey, Bryan had never once noticed how good another player’s mom looked in jeans. He’d never wondered how hot she’d look if he had the chance to see her in a skirt—or out of a skirt, for that matter. Now he couldn’t be near Clare for five minutes before his thoughts skated down paths they hadn’t taken since he got married…or since the divorce.

He looked back at the action on the ice. He was not, under any circumstances, going to let himself think about Clare that way again. They had to get along to help the kids through this mediation thing.

And he’d be willing to bet the counselor didn’t expect them to sleep together as part of the deal.

Dear Reader,

I wrote the first scene of this book long before I knew exactly what the story would be about. I had an idea for a dad and a daughter he loved fiercely but couldn’t quite connect with, and from that scene grew Calling the Shots.

I love to write about the complicated, messy side of relationships. In the book Clare says that she can’t trust herself and I can relate to that idea. How do lovers, or even parents and children, move past the fears and doubts that get in the way of satisfying connections? How does anyone have the courage to try again when they’ve been badly hurt in the past? When is it worth taking a risk and when is it smarter to run?

I hope you’ll enjoy reading along as Bryan and Clare wrestle with these issues.

Extras, including behind-the-scenes facts, deleted scenes and information about my other books are on my Web site, www.ellenhartman.com. Look for other Harlequin Superromance authors and readers on our Facebook page at www.facebook.com/HarlequinSuperromance. I’d love to hear from you! Send e-mail to ellen@ellenhartman.com.

Happy reading!

Ellen Hartman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ellen grew up in Pennsylvania where she played many sports including baseball, basketball and track. (Her efforts for the cross-country team were more comical than athletic.) After graduating from Carnegie Mellon with a degree in creative writing, she spent the next fifteen years writing technical documentation. Eventually, she worked up the courage to try fiction and has been enjoying her new career as a romance author.

Currently Ellen lives in a college town in New York. She and her husband spend much of their free time watching their sons play baseball, soccer and, of course, hockey.

This book is dedicated to the parents and volunteers who share their time, talent and enthusiasm with kids through youth sports, especially my brother, Jerry.

In his first outing as a stand-in coach, he led our sister’s basketball team to their only “almost-win” of the season. The story of that game is a family favorite!

I would also like to thank the parents of the Ithaca Youth Hockey Squirt travel team who answered my questions about hockey terms and technique. Chris Thomas was especially helpful, and I regret that I wasn’t able to include some of his hilarious cheers in the book.

Finally, I continue to rely on the expertise and support of my critique partners, Diana, Harriett, Leslie, Liz and Mary. They were particularly helpful at the beginning of this project when Tim underwent a much-needed personality makeover.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

BRYAN WAS BEYOND LATE. He’d missed Allie’s entire practice. He just hoped she was still at the rink. He’d texted her, but she hadn’t replied. His sister, who watched Allie when he was gone, wasn’t picking up, either.

Not good.

So not good. People weren’t almost an hour late to pick up their thirteen-year-old kids from hockey. At least not people who were good at being parents.

He was going to have to arrange a backup plan for the nights he was coming from out of town. One more arrangement to get this whole precarious mess he and Allie were calling a family under control.

He sure as hell hoped Erin’s new life was worth it.

He pulled into the drop-off circle at the front of the rink. It was past nine o’clock—no one was going to complain if he left the Lexus there for a few minutes.

He took the stairs three at a time, his bad knee twinging as he landed on the icy top step, but he ignored the old pain. Bryan yanked the doors open, the blast of warmth hitting him hard after the bitter cold air. He was already scanning the lobby, checking the worn, tweed couches for his daughter when Danny Jackson, the rink manager, popped his head out of his office.

“Bryan,” Danny said. “I need to talk to you.”

Bryan glanced over but kept walking toward the locker rooms. “I’ll be back in one sec. I’m late picking up Allie,” he called. She wasn’t in the lobby but she had to be here somewhere. She wouldn’t have asked someone to drop her at the apartment. Not when she knew he was out of town.

“There was a fight, Bry,” Danny said. “That’s what we need to talk about.”

Just that quick there was no air in his lungs. No spit in his mouth. “Is she hurt?”

“No.” Danny looked uncomfortable, pulling his wrinkled golf shirt down over his gut as he opened the door wider. “Allie’s fine.”

“A fight?” He’d already started for the office, even though he hadn’t entirely processed what the guy meant. Allie took her hockey seriously, and yeah, she was still playing in the coed league at an age when most girls opted for the single-sex, no-contact league, but a fight? A hockey fight? At practice?

That was when he noticed the mess around the skate shop on the opposite side of the lobby. The display in the front window was knocked to pieces, and the glass from the window glinted on the floor. A rack of jackets was overturned near the entrance door. Allie’s stick with the distinctive fluorescent purple tape lay partially under the collapsed sandwich board advertising current sales.

He looked back to Danny who tugged at his shirt again.

The top of Allie’s head was slightly visible beyond Danny’s shoulder in the office. He tried to push by the smaller man but Danny locked his arm, blocking the doorway, and said in a low voice, “I’m sorry about this.”

“Let me see her.”

Danny stepped back and Bryan was past him and kneeling next to Allie. He barely registered that there were other people in the room as he put his hands on either side of his daughter’s chin and raised her head. Allie. His girl. For a second he couldn’t focus, he was so relieved that she was in one piece. He stroked her jaw with his thumbs, happy to have her there so close, and then he blinked and her features became clear. Her lip was split, a thin line of blood where the skin was cracked. Her small, upturned nose, with the exact same smattering of freckles his ex-wife had always hated on her own nose, was fine. She had a scratch on one cheek but nothing looked too bad except her eyes. She wouldn’t look straight at him, had her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder. Allie was scared. Not hurt scared, but scared scared in a way he hadn’t seen since those first panicked days three months ago when Erin had told them she was going on tour with Lush and Allie would be staying with him full-time.