Crossing The Goal Line. Kim Findlay

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       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.