TWICE VICTORIOUS (25 page)

She coasted down the hill one last time. As she rounded the corner at the bottom,
she heard her number over the loudspeaker.
Oh, God! Of all days to get called for the
drug test.
She rode to the medical bus and leaned her bike against the wall. Two other
riders were ahead of her, so she sat on the grass and waited her turn.

"Are you okay?"

Looking up was an effort. "Just tired," she told the EMT who stood at the foot of
the steps. "I had a low energy day, I guess."

"That's tough," he said. "Hope tomorrow's better."

So do I.
She smiled, wondering if it looked as strained as it felt. When her
name was called a few seconds later, she stood, feeling her exhaustion in every muscle and
tendon. The three steps up into the bus seemed like three hundred.

Fortunately the hotel wasn't far from where the medical bus was parked. Stell
walked her bike there, took the elevator upstairs. She should have washed the bike first,
but right now she didn't care how dusty it was. She'd get up early tomorrow and do it.

Becky wasn't in the room. That's when Stell remembered that there was some sort
of local event tonight. She dug out the schedule Milt had given her.
Darn! I've got less
than a half hour to get ready.
All riders were required to attend the local events, to
schmooze with the fans and the sponsors, try to impress the media people, and generally
make themselves agreeable.

As she stripped her sweat-soaked jersey and shorts off, she wondered how much
charm she had left tonight.

* * * *

Adam was worried about Stell. Yesterday her showing in the Circuit Race had
been abysmal. At the finish, he had read pain on her face, exhaustion in her movements.
Would she be able to continue? There were still eight stages to go. Eight days of racing
ahead, without a break. Two of the stages were hill climbs, a couple were almost a hundred
miles long.

Although he was at the start line almost an hour before the race, he didn't see Stell
until she was introduced at the sign-in. Was this the same woman who had been drooping
and haggard after the Circuit Race? She was vibrant! Her smile was easy, her movements
loose and strong. She stood in a crowd of racers, laughing at something one had said,
looking young and carefree.

How does she do it?

No sooner had the words flashed into his mind than the answer followed:
If
you want to be the best in the world, you can't let anything, not fatigue, worries, or
disappointment, nor even the elation of winning, take your mind and your heart off of your
goal. You have to get up every morning believing that today you
will
win. Today
you will be the best in the world.

His father must have said that to him a thousand times. So many times that he
never doubted it. It helped him past the pain when he was injured, the disappointment
when he lost a match he should have won, and the destructive arrogance that could have
come when he started winning the major contests and becoming famous.

She looked toward him, and Adam stepped back, into the dark shadow of the
sponsors' canopy. He distracted her, and she didn't need that.

If he distracted her, she must still have feelings for him.

He watched the start, then walked to his rental car. From here on out, he would see
her at the beginning and end of every race, just to reassure himself that her will to win
wasn't flagging.

If she wanted to win this race, he'd do whatever it took to help her.

As he folded the map to show the route he would follow to the finish line, he
spoke aloud. "When this is all over, Stell McCray, you and I are going to talk about the
future." Sometime in the past few days, it had dawned on him that he loved her. Now he
wondered how something so fantastic, so incredible--so obvious!--could have taken him so
long to realize.

* * * *

Whatever had lowered her energy level in the Circuit Race had gone away. Stell
felt almost as if she were flying in Stage 6. The eighty-mile route was relatively flat, the
weather was ideal, and the wind was at her back for the first half of the race. She did well
in the sprints, and crossed the finish line only inches behind Hilde Frenkel. Since Hilde
was about the fastest woman on two wheels, Stell knew she'd had a fantastic day.

Hearing that she and Hilde had tied for points in the race made her feel as if she
were floating. She stood on the platform, hearing the crowd's cheers, and wondered if she
could possibly be happier. A gold in Stage 2, now a silver. And her overall points were
good enough to keep her close to tenth place, even though yesterday had caused her to
slide back several places.

I am going to win!
The words had become more than a mantra. They
were now a promise to herself.

She searched the crowd for Adam, wanting him to see her triumph. He wasn't
there.

He was at the start line the next morning, though. She saw him, standing at the
back of the crowd, watching her. When their eyes met, he lifted his clasped hands in a
victor's salute, and smiled.

Energy flowed through her. Adam was cheering for her to win.

She finished fourth. Even though she went with the breakaway group early in the
race, and stayed with them all through, both Hilde and Erika Conrad had stayed ahead of
her all the way. Then they hit the second climb and Truda Niebauer had gone out in front,
like the climbing machine she seemed to be.

Her team had done well, though. She, Kat and Becky were all in the top ten to
finish. She exchanged a high five with Kat when the awards were finished. "Are we good
or what?" Kat yelled.

"We're great!" Stell yelled right back.

Becky draped arms over both their shoulders. "Unstoppable!" she said.
"Absolutely unstoppable."

A shiver found its way down Stell's spine, in spite of the heat.

"Stell?"

She pulled free of her teammates' embrace, turned around. "Hello, Adam. Did you
see
?"

He held out his right hand. "I saw. A spectacular race. Congratulations."

For a short moment she stared at his hand, then looked up at his mouth. Without
stopping to think, she slid her arms around his neck, lifted her face to his. "I deserve more
than a handshake from you," she said, "don't I?"

His answer was to take her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss.

Mindlessly Stell leaned into his embrace, opened to his questing tongue.
This--
this
--was what had been missing. Now her triumph was complete.

Then Adam was pulling away, setting his hands on her shoulders until she stood
without swaying. "Sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that."

She stared.

"I understand now," he said, leaning close so she could hear him despite the noise
of the excited crowd that still surrounded them. "You need to give all your attention to
competing. I'll only distract you, and you don't need that." His finger drew a fiery trace
along her jawline. "But I'll be here, Stell. I'll be cheering you on." He dipped his head and
kissed her quickly, a too-brief, too-impersonal touching of lips.

"I'll see you at the final finish line." He stepped back, and someone shoved
between them.

"Wait!" she cried, but he had faded into the crowd.

"Looks like he's back in the picture," Becky said, from behind her.

"I doubt he's ever really been out of it," Kat teased. "Who do you think she's been
watching for, ever since the race started." She led the way as they walked to where their
bikes were standing.

"I haven't either! I didn't even expect to see him."

"Maybe not, but you sure light up whenever you catch sight of him." Kat winked.
"C'mon. Let's get our bikes loaded in the van. I want a nap on the way back. We've got
another darn promo appearance tonight."

"Will I have time to do my nails?" Becky wondered aloud.

"Sure. Just lose the bright blue polish, will you? It looks awful with your
jersey."

Becky held out her hands, fingernails long and well-shaped. "I don't know. I kind
of like it."

"I've got some hot pink in my bag. You can use that," Stell said. She detached the
front wheel from her bike and handed it to the mechanic, who set it in the rack inside the
van. "I don't know how you can keep your nails looking so nice. I can't even keep grease
from under mine." She'd had the bottle for a couple of years. It might be an old fashioned
remedy, but nothing beat fingernail polish for stopping runs in jerseys and shorts. Of
course, she'd never admit that to Becky.

Bikes loaded, they went to the van that would take them back to town. As she
stepped inside, Stell felt a mild twinge in her hip. A reminder that she'd been so tired last
night that she hadn't even thought of her usual half-hour soak in the Jacuzzi.

Stage 7 was another long pull across forty miles of relatively flat country, then a
steep hill climb for the last twenty miles. Stell was again in the breakaway group, running
a good fifteen seconds ahead of the peloton, when her front tire blew, sounding like a rifle
shot. The wheel folded sideways and she went over the handlebars. As if time were
standing still, she felt herself separate from the bike, sail through the air, and slide across
the gravelly shoulder of the road. The peloton went by her in a long flash of color as she
lay inert and breathless, wondering if she'd ever move again.

Then the pain hit.

Get up. Get up now!

Milt jumped out of the team van beside her as she was rolling to her uninjured
side. Behind him, Larry, the team mechanic, was already checking her bike over.

"Did you hit your head?" Milt demanded?

Shaking it, Stell said, "No. No, I slid on my side." She gasped, air hissing between
clenched teeth. "God, it hurts!"

Milt was smearing ointment on her scrapes, while Sandy, his assistant was waiting
with gauze and antiseptic. "Lie still," he said.

"No. Let me up." She struggled to her feet, even as Sandy was dabbing at the
oozing scrape on her upper arm. "I can still finish." Stell wasn't sure whether the open
wounds hurt more or less than the ones already medicated and covered.

Milt paused in his smearing. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Just get the worst of them covered and get me a bike."

"Bike's ready," Larry said. "Yours was toast."

Sandy helped her to slip the gauze net over her leg without dislodging the three
large gauze pads on her thigh.

Stell noticed that she had a big tear in her shorts, but she didn't care. "Enough!"
She pulled free of their ministering hands, took hold of her bike. Lowering it to one side,
she stepped across, feeling the movement in every muscle, tendon and bone of her
body.

I am going to finish.
It wasn't quite her usual mantra, but the vow worked
almost as well. As long as she was within twenty percent of the winner's time when she
crossed the finish line, she'd stay in the race.

I
will
finish.
She pushed off, ignoring the pain in her leg, the
fiery sting of air flowing over her raw scrapes.

* * * *

Adam hadn't been paying much attention to the announcer's frequent updates
about who was in the lead. He supposed he should. One of the members of the
Rozinski-KIWANDA team was making a surprising showing. She'd been in third place at the forty
mile mark.

When he thought he heard Stell's name, he started listening, but the announcer was
talking about the weather. Tomorrow was supposed to be warmer, in the high eighties.

"What'd he say?" he asked the fellow next to him. "About Stell McCray?"

"I dunno. I wasn't listening."

The man's wife leaned around him. "Something about a crash, I think. I couldn't
hear very well."

Oh my God!
He pushed his way through the crowd to the announcer's
platform. "What happened to Stell McCray?"

"She crashed." The announcer held up a hand while he listened to something in his
earphones. "She's back on her bike," he said. "A long way behind the pack, but she may be
able to catch up enough to stay in the race."

"What if she doesn't?"

"That depends on the race officials. Generally if a rider crashes, they're given an
extension of the time limit to finish."

"She'll do it," Adam said, but he was speaking only to himself. He simply could
not imagine Stell giving up. Not while she could still ride.

By the time he'd returned to the sponsor's seating area, the leaders were in sight.
He watched them approach past the ski lodge, the two leading women in the green, gold
and white of the Wagner Cyclewerks team. About ten feet behind them was a third rider,
wearing a red, purple and lime green KIWANDA ActiveWear jersey. Adam looked again.
It was the young woman he'd spoken to at the Ketchum reception. The one in her first
major race.

She had a chance for the bronze if the pack, close on her heels, didn't overtake her.
He cheered, not knowing her name, content to shout, "Go! Go!
Go!
"

The cheering grew louder. According to the program, there was one last points
sprint to the finish line. All three of the leaders were standing on the pedals, pushing for all
they were worth. Sweat shone on their faces, and their jerseys were dark with
moisture.

As they approached the finish line, the pack stretched out, with the strong riders
leaving the others behind.

Then they were flashing past him, one...two...three. The Rozinski-KIWANDA
rider had the bronze! Willa Santiago, that was her name. One to remember for the
future.

But where was Stell? Most of the riders had crossed the finish line. He saw several
of her teammates The redhead--Kat?--and the tall, willowy blonde named Becky.
Anxiously he peered back down the hill, wishing he could see more than the quarter mile
to where the road bent.

Another two riders came into sight, one in blue and white, one in red. A little
behind them, he saw her, hot pink jersey almost glowing in the sunlight. She was bent low
over her handlebars, and even at this distance he could see she was laboring. As she
approached him, he saw the blood on her thigh, on her arm.
My God! She doesn't have
any skin left!