TWICE VICTORIOUS (23 page)

He was staring at her, his eyes cold and piercing, his lips pulled into a thin line.
The deep creases she had loved to trace along his cheeks were incised even deeper, harsh
parentheses beside his mouth.

She stared back, filling her eyes and her memory with the sight of him, knowing
in that moment just how empty her life would be from now on.

Oh, Adam,
her heart beseeched,
why couldn't everything have been
different for us?

Adam couldn't keep his eyes off of her. All through dinner he'd kept looking
toward the table where Stell was sitting, her back to him. Willing her to turn around,
willing her to meet his eyes, to read the need, the loneliness there.

"Adam? Adam, I know you're bored to distraction, but could you at least pass the
cream?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Harriet. I was wool-gathering." He turned to look at his
companion, a beautiful woman, an elegant woman. "What did you say?" An old friend of
his parents', Harriet was here tonight representing her family's sporting goods store, the
largest in Oregon. He'd offered to escort her when he heard her husband, Justin, was back
East at a funeral.

"I asked you for the cream. If it's not too much trouble." Her voice held contained
laughter.

"No, of course not. Sugar?" He handed her the heavy silver containers. "More
wine?"

"Adam, they took the wine away with dinner. And you know I never use sugar."
She tipped the pitcher, let a meager three drops slip into her cup. "Why didn't you bring her
tonight?"

"Her? Who?"

"The woman you've been watching all through dinner. If she's so fascinating, why
did you bring me instead of her? I could have come alone." Her dark blue eyes studied him
over the rim of her coffee cup. "Who is she?"

"She wouldn't have come." Not in a million years. If he'd had the guts to ask her,
she would probably have hung up on him before he finished saying hello.

"She's quite attractive," Harriet said, "in an athletic sort of way. Is that how you
met her?"

"Um-hmm." Adam's attention returned to Stell, who was smiling up at a tall man
who'd bent over her chair. The smile she was bestowing on him was brilliant, full of
affection, the same sort of smile she'd warmed him with not so very long ago.

Damn! Why couldn't he forget her, put her out of his mind as he'd put her out of
his life? Stell turned around as the tall man left her, looked along the head table. Before he
could react, their gazes locked.

Hers were green tonight, matching the forest green of her velvet dress. She was
beautiful, enchanting, the woman of his dreams. She'd been his and he'd lost her.

"Adam, I asked you who she is." Harriet's insistent voice broke the spell and
Adam found himself able to look away from Stell's compelling stare.

"Her name's Stell McCray," he said, hoping his pain wasn't evident. "She's the best
woman cyclist in the world."

PELOTON: the pack, the field, the main
group of riders

"I'm here at last!" Stell stood on the balcony of her hotel, looking at a view she'd
wondered if she'd ever see again. The Boise skyline had changed since the last time she
raced here. There were more tall buildings downtown, but the mountains were still the
same.

"You sure are," her roommate agreed, "and if you don't hurry, this is all you'll see
before they send you home."

Sighing, Stell turned away from the view and went inside. "I guess you're right,
but the least Milt could have done was give us a day to see the sights before we started
work."

"You think you're here for a vacation? Think again." Laughing, Becky tossed Stell
her cycling helmet. "C'mon. The team meeting starts in five minutes and you know how
Milt growls if we're not all in our seats before time." Stell followed her roommate to the
elevator, thinking how fortunate it was that everyone on the team had become friends.
She'd only known one of the other four women before arriving in Colorado. She liked them
all.

She'd been on a team about three years ago where one woman was the kind of
person who had to be the center of attention. She'd been mildly irritating in the beginning,
but before long she'd alienated everyone. Tempers had flared more than once, and Stell had
found that her riding suffered each time there was a squabble.

The next few days were hectic, training, meeting members of other teams,
training, orientation, training, and more training. The day they rode up to Bogus Basin,
Stell found that even her stay in Colorado hadn't been enough to acclimate her completely
to the altitude, although she certainly had more wind than she'd had when she left Portland.
All those rides across the shoulder of Mount Hood this spring had paid off.

She used the Jacuzzi at the hotel religiously, as well as availing herself of the
masseuse's services daily. Her leg was, for all intents and purposes, healed. But she wasn't
taking any chances. Pacing herself in her training, she kept careful watch on the contestants
who were, according to her coach, serious competition.

The one who posed the greatest challenge was Truda Neibauer, a seemingly
tireless young woman from Germany who held several stage records in the Sawtooth
Classic. One of the Australians, Marian Waters, was almost as fast, although her record
was erratic, as if she had good racing days and bad. A dozen other cyclists were Olympic
veterans, winners of previous years' races, or World Cup contenders. Stell was going to
have a fight on her hands, no doubt about it.
I am going to win.
Each day she
repeated those words a hundred times. Like a mantra.

The actual route to be traveled during the cross-country stages of the Sawtooth
Classic was off limits for training, but there were other roads equally challenging. Stell
was barreling down one of them, drafting the pack leader, a week before the race was
scheduled to begin. The pavement turned to gravel and she felt her wheels lose traction
ever so slightly. She touched the brakes. Again...again, slowing gently. Becky, just off her
rear wheel, let out a yell, but Stell was giving all her attention to making it through the
patch of gravel without mishap.

She almost did. If it hadn't been for that one rock, bigger than the others and
angular, she would have come out of the situation unscathed. But it caught under her wheel
and she went into a slide, not quite out of control. She kicked free of the peddle, caught
herself on her left leg, twisted, and managed to stay upright at the cost of excruciating
agony in her hip.

Becky was sitting beside the road, crouched over a leg already covered with
blood. Kat Thompson, who'd been several lengths behind them, managed to traverse the
patch of gravel and came to a stop just beyond.

Stell gripped her handlebars with all her might, willing herself to remain upright.
The pain in her hip was worse than it had ever been before, so intense that she felt reality
waver, wasn't sure where she was or what she was doing.

The pain gradually retreated, letting her become aware of someone's arm around
her waist, someone speaking softly near her ear. It was Kat, sounding concerned. Milt
Cohen, their coach, was kneeling beside Becky, wrapping gauze around her knee. Jeanne
and Linda, the backup members of the team, were checking Becky's bike over.

"I'm okay, Kat," Stell managed to gasp. She wasn't sure if her leg would hold her
without help, but this was not the time or place to admit her weakness to anyone. "I...ah, I
jammed my ankle when I stopped, and it scared me." She smiled. "Too much of a reminder
of what a close call I had last year, I guess." With every bit of will power she had, she
forced her foot off the ground, her ankle into a rotation. "But it's okay. See."

Kat wiped perspiration from her forehead. "I know what you mean about being
scared. I had a vision of all three of us piling up and not being able to race."

"Don't even talk about it," Stell said, shuddering. "Becky, how bad is your
leg?"

Milt looked over his shoulder, his hands still busy wrapping gauze. "Scratches,
and one good gash on her knee. She'll be fine."

"Thank God," Stell whispered, and Kat nodded in agreement.

Milt used his handset to call for transportation and within an hour they were back
in their hotel. Stell managed to talk her way out of a checkup by the EMT attached to the
team, afraid he would decide that her painful hip was evidence of an injury. "I just need to
soak in the Jacuzzi for a while," she told Milt. "I'm still buzzing from the adrenaline."

Since she was walking normally and hadn't fallen, he didn't push the point. As
soon as she was outside his field of view, Stell relaxed and allowed herself to hobble the
rest of the way to the elevator.

God, but she hurt!

* * * *

The figures blurred before his eyes. With a growl, Adam slid the folder aside and
reached for the telephone. He'd call Steve, try again to convince him to give up his
impractical dreams and make a decent living for a change.

The number half-dialed, Adam stopped. Was he doing it again?

He sat, immobile until an angry blatting reminded him that his phone was still in
his hand, waiting for the rest of a Denver phone number.

He was! Just because Steve had admitted to a mild envy for his more affluent
existence, he'd decided his friend should forsake the culmination of years of work and
come to work for KIWANDA.

Adam, the Great Benefactor. Saving his mother from poverty. Feeling a model of
philanthropy because he contributed generously to an assortment of sports-related
charities. Cheapening his parents' sacrifice to justify his own cowardice. Ready to create a
corporate slot for one of the world's great fencers so he'd never have to envy Steve
again.

Talk about arrogance.

Telling a woman with a dream that she suffered from an obsession, that she should
do something worthwhile with her life. Arrogance again.

As if being best in the world wasn't worthwhile.

He reached for the phone again, and this time his fingers were sure as they
punched out a number.

It might be too late to get into a hotel anywhere near the race, but he could be
somewhere close in case she needed him.

He could be waiting at the finish line.

* * * *

Stell did all right the first day. The stage was almost seventy miles long, and over
a mountain pass, but the pass wasn't too high and the weather was cool. She finished
thirteenth, not as good as she'd have liked, but nothing to complain about, either. There
were ninety-seven women in the race and all of them made it to the first finish line.

After the awards ceremony, they were taken by van to Stanley, where the next
stage would end. She rode with her leg stretched out, propped on her dufflebag, and
pretended to sleep. Her hip throbbed. Not a sharp pain, but a steady, dull ache, robbing her
of the mental peace and after-race high that kept her believing in herself.

I am going to win.

As long as she could convince herself that she had a chance, she did.

There was no Jacuzzi at the hotel in Stanley. She dosed herself with ibuprofen and
did as little walking as possible. The next morning, there was no time to ride before they
traveled back to the start line, for which she gave thanks. Right now all she could think of
was conserving her strength and pampering her hip.

"How are you doing?" she asked Becky, after the warmup. They were lined up to
sign in for Stage 2, and she noticed that her teammate was limping.

"Sore," Becky admitted. "My knee stiffened up last night, even though I put ice on
it. But I'll be fine, as soon as we get started."

Since Stell knew that no racer ever admitted she was hurting
before
a
race, she nodded. If her knee had been ready to fall off, Becky would have claimed to be
fine. So would Stell. Her hip hadn't given a twinge this morning, but even if it had, she
would have raced. She felt alert and filled with energy.
I am going to win.

Today's stage started out uphill and stayed that way for almost thirty-five miles.
Stell started off conservatively, knowing that on long climbs she was probably the equal of
anyone in the race. Portland might be low elevation, but there weren't many cities in the
U.S. with more opportunities to ride steep hills. She had spent hours every day in the West
Hills since February, pushing herself to climb, climb climb.

She got through the first sprint in good time, although she refused to worry about
where she placed in it. She was staying with the peloton, and that was all that mattered.
Truda was beside her when they passed the pylon marking the mountain sprint. Stell shut
out everything else and concentrated on going as fast as she could. At the end of the sprint,
she and Truda were side by side and well ahead of the rest of the pack. They exchanged a
grin, then returned to competition.

From there on the route went downhill. Stell and Truda were joined by half a
dozen other riders, including Kat Thompson. The pace picked up, until the rest were left
far behind. When they approached the finish line, Stell, Truda, and Kat were side by
side.

With all her energy, all her determination, Stell pushed, until she pulled ahead of
Truda a wheel's length, then a bike-length. The finish line was a hundred yards ahead, then
fifty. Kat was behind her now, and the way was clear. The crowd was screaming her
name.

She lifted her arms, coasted across the finish line nearly two meters ahead of
Kat.
I won!

Unbelieving, she slowed and circled around to return to the finish line. The
peloton was crossing it now, strung out over nearly a half mile. She stayed on her bike
until the crowd started streaming into the road, then dismounted. Immediately she was
surrounded. She smiled and said, over and over, "Yes, thank you. It was a good race.
Thank you. Thank you."

She doubted if anyone heard her.