The Thrill of Victory

by Sandra Brown

  "I'll be the judge of that." Her lips nibbled at his chin, her teeth making scratching sounds against his stubble. Her hand became even more persuasive, her thumb lazily inquisitive. "Please, Judd," she breathed against his lips.

  Moaning, he clasped her around the waist and pulled her on top of him. "Well, since you asked so nicely '

  Insects gave up their lives against the windshield of Judd's stolen car. The gooey smudges they created made little difference to the thief who could barely see the markings on the interstate highway through her tears.

  Stevie wiped her nose on her sleeve. After seventy-five miles she would have thought her supply of fresh tears would be exhausted, but it wasn't. Each time she thought of what she had left behind and the ordeal that she was facing, another hot, salty batch filled her red, swollen eyes.

  She had left him and he'd been furious.

  Even now, her heartache was overshadowed by the fear that Judd might somehow catch up with her. Glancing once over her shoulder as she had sped away from the farmhouse, she had glimpsed him, wearing only his underwear, running down the porch steps. His fist had been raised. He was cursing her and the rock that had gouged his bare heel.

  It could have been a comic sight; it hadn't been. It had broken her heart, and it was still broken. She rather imagined that it would remain broken for a long time.

  The skyline of Dallas was glittering and glitzy against the western horizon, deep indigo now in the waning dusk. In an hour she would be at her condominium, she calculated mentally. Allow an hour to make necessary phone calls and pack.

  Then…

  She refused to think beyond that. The only way she would get through this alone, without jeopardizing her sanity, would be to take it one step at a time. First things first. Getting home was first.

  As she took the exit in the concrete labyrinth that connected one expressway to another, she permitted herself to reflect on their afternoon of lovemaking.

  Judd, speaking softly and sexily. Judd, his hands instructive and sensuous, guiding her hips down over him. Judd, hard and full and smooth, filling her. Judd, his lips hungry, yet tender, on her breasts. Judd, Judd, Judd.

  She dashed tears out of her eyes as she switched lanes cautiously, unaccustomed to driving a sports car with an engine powerful enough to fly an airplane. He would never forgive her for "borrowing" it without his permission.

  He would never forgive her for leaving him stranded, either.

  The farmhouse's old-fashioned bathtub had become a shrine in which they'd worshiped each other's bodies. Hands covered with soapy lather were the sexiest instruments ever employed to give carnal pleasure. Or was it that Judd just knew how to use them?

  It had been a delight to discover that the undersides of her upper arms were particularly susceptible to open-mouthed kisses and that kisses to the backs of her knees left her weak.

  Judd had a ticklish spot midway between his lowest rib and his right hipbone. He had a birthmark on his left shoulder blade, and he'd grown misty-eyed when she traced every inch of the ugly, jagged scars on his leg with her loving lips.

  This has always been an object of fantasy for me, he had confessed, tugging lightly on her long, single braid.

  Really?

  Really.

  How? He had only smiled mysteriously and demurred from telling her. Then show me.

  Her seductive suggestion had turned his eyes smoky. When he acted out his fantasy with her full cooperation, their harmonious cries of fulfillment had echoed off the walls of the house.

  That was the instant she knew unequivocally that she loved him, and her decision had dawned crystal clear. The solution to her dilemma had unexpectedly risen out of the murky depths of confusion and despair.

  Life, in its simplest, most basic form was far more precious than any amenities it could afford, such as prizes and fame, respect and riches, the acceptance of either peers or strangers.

  While Judd was still dressing, she had gone downstairs, ostensibly to prepare them a light supper. Instead she had grabbed her purse, taken his car keys, and left the house at a dead run, not so much because she feared his wrath over her deception and desertion, but because she feared that given time to think about it, she would change her mind.

  She had got as far as the edge of the clearing before he ran out onto the porch, shouting after her, "What the hell? Stevie, come back. Where are you going?" Then, when he realized that she was escaping in their only means of transportation, he'd become furious.

  "Damn you, what kind of stunt is this? Ouch!

  Hell!" Livid, he had cursed when he stepped on the stone. "When I catch up to you, I'll strangle you for this. Dammit," he had sworn, slamming one fist into his other palm.

  Her condominium was dark. She was relieved to see that there was no one lurking about. Either the news hounds and merely curious had tired of their siege or had given up on Stevie Corbett altogether.

  Her plants needed her immediate attention.

  She chided herself for forgetting to call the service that took care of them in her absence and vowed to do so at her earliest convenience, though God knew when that would be.

  Her first telephone call went to her gynecologist, who was so glad to hear from her that he was nearly incoherent with relief.

  "If I don't do it now, I might change my mind." She spoke so quickly that the words stumbled over each other. "I can be there in an hour. Can you make the arrangements that soon?"

  He promised he could and would. The next call she made was to her manager.

  "Stevie, thank God. I've been frantic."

  "I needed time alone to think." She hadn't been alone, but Judd was too complicated to explain, even to herself. "I'm checking into the hospital tonight. The surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning."

  A significant pause ensued. "It's your decision, of course," he said.

  "Yes, it is. My life is in the balance. That's more important than a career."

  "Hey, it's only Wimbledon," he said with false cheer. "They have it every year. Next year it belongs to you."

  They both knew better, but Stevie tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice when she said,

  "You'd better believe it."

  He promised to notify everyone concerned and to issue a statement to the press, which had been having a field day speculating on her whereabouts.

  "That's fine, but hold off until tomorrow after the surgery, okay? No matter what the outcome, we'd just as well tell them everything at once." He agreed before hanging up.

  After the connection was broken, Stevie felt terribly alone. The silence in her house was depressing, so accustomed was she to hearing the pecking noise of Judd's typewriter in the background.

  The framed photos on the walls, picturing her holding aloft trophies of victory, seemed to jeer at her. Memorabilia of her career mocked her from bookshelves and etageres. The prize from The French Open, so recently acquired, no longer seemed to belong to her.

  "Too late to reconsider now," she reminded herself as she went into her bedroom and began packing a small suitcase. Then, like a prayer, she whispered, "Stevie, your life is in God's hands."

  God had a lot of helpers.

  At least there were innumerable people who got their hands on her before she ever made it to the operating room the following morning. By then she had been stripped of all dignity and privacy.

  Leaving Judd's car locked in her garage-it wouldn't do to have it stolen twice in one day- she was conveyed to the hospital by taxi.

  In Admittance, she had to attach her signature to an endless number of insurance forms, as well as to a note to Jennifer. "My twelve-year-old daughter wants to grow up and be exactly like you," the star-struck receptionist told her.

  From there she was taken to be x-rayed.

  Wearing nothing except a paper poncho, she was placed in a room as cold as a meat locker and instructed to wait, which she did for over an hour before an unapologetic technician came in to x-ray her lungs.

&nbs
p; "There, that wasn't that bad, was it?" another technician asked as he slipped the syringe from her vein, from which he'd drawn what looked like a quart of blood. "You can relax now," he said, working her fingers out of the tight fist she'd formed. "Did I hurt you?"

  "No," she replied gruffly. "I just don't like needles."

  She was finally placed in a private room, but was granted little privacy. A stiff, no-nonsense nurse came swishing in with a sheaf of yet more forms to be signed. "They showed you the video tape downstairs?" she asked dispassionately.

  "Did you understand it?"

  "Yes." The tape had explained all the things that could go wrong during abdominal surgery, each possibility more terrifying, irreversible and deadly than the last.

  "Sign here, here and here."

  The hospital chaplain came in next. "You're the celebrity in our midst," he said, flashing a glorious smile. After discussing the best remedy for tennis elbow, they bowed their heads over their clasped hands. He prayed for the skilled surgeon and her full, rapid recovery.

  Stevie prayed for Judd's stone-bruised heel, forgiveness for stealing his car, protection from strangulation when he caught up with her and for a lawsuit against the hospital on her behalf if she should die on the operating table. She thought somebody should hold the institution accountable even if she'd signed forms absolving it of responsibility.

  Her gynecologist came in next and explained the surgical procedure. "If the tumors are be nign, and I have every reason to believe that they are, we'll remove them and you'll be as good as new." 'And if they're not?"

  "Probably a complete hysterectomy, followed by treatment."

  "What kind of treatment? Radiation?"

  He patted her hand. "Let's get through the surgery first. Then if we have to discuss options, we will."

  The anesthesiologist, who disturbingly reminded her of Count Dracula because of his steep widow's peak, came in and sat down on the edge of her bed. "First thing in the morning, you'll be given a sedative. We'll put in two IVs, one in your arm, the other on the back of your hand."

  "I don't like needles," she said in a choked voice.

  "I promise to send in my painless assistant. By the time you reach the operating room, you'll be drowsy. Sleep well tonight."

  Sleep well? What a joke. She was cleansed from the inside out-a humiliating experience- and given a shot to make her sleepy. She refused anything to eat, even though it had been lunchtime that day since she'd had a bite.

  Didn't any of these efficient ghouls realize that she couldn't possibly go to sleep without the distant and reassuring sound of Judd's typewriter?

  But he was miles away, stranded in the farmhouse.

  What if it caught fire and he couldn't get away? What if it began raining hard enough to cause a flash flood and he had no means of escaping high water? She tortured herself with hideous possibilities.

  She must have slept, however, because when she was awakened by a smiling nurse, she was dreaming that Judd was chasing her with a foot-long hypodermic needle that was shaped like a tennis racquet, laughing maniacally and sneering that he'd teach her the consequences of stealing his car.

  In a remarkably short time, she was prepped for surgery and, feeling like a pitifully abused pincushion, wheeled into the operating room.

  Where last night the hours had seemed to drag by, now everything accelerated to a rapid clip that panicked her. The surgeon squeezed her hand reassuringly and smiled from behind his mask.

  "Everything is going to be fine, Stevie. Just relax now. Take deep breaths and start counting backward from ten."

  Ten. She wanted to halt things. Nine. She needed more time to think. Eight. She needed Judd. Seven…

  She weighed ten thousand pounds and these morons were ordering her to scoot across the bed. "That's it, roll to your other side, Miss Corbett. No, don't pull on your IVs. Just relax your arm. That's fine. Right there. Your operation is over."

  "Is her catheter in?"

  "Yes."

  "Isn't her hair pretty?"

  "Hmm. Ever seen her play?"

  "Are you kidding? I can't afford the tickets."

  "I meant on TV. Miss Corbett, did you hear me? Your operation is all over."

  Clatter and clank of metal. Jarring motion.

  Light. So much light. Too bright. Telephones and activity and racket. Why didn't they just be still and quiet and let her sleep?

  "Time to turn over again, Miss Corbett."

  A groan. Her groan. No, don't make me move. A monster in green scrubs was insisting that she cough.

  "Cough, Miss Corbett. Come on now. You've got to cough to clear your lungs." Let them stay clogged. "Miss Corbett. Cough."

  She made a feeble attempt just so they'd leave her alone. Her reward was to have something very cold crammed between her thighs. "… to keep the swelling down." Someone jarred her bed again. Klutzes. They were all klutzes.

  Her hand was tucked beneath the nurse's arm while she pumped the bulb of the blood pressure gauge. "That's good." The binding pressure around her arm was removed. "Miss Corbett, we've got to change your ice pack now."

  "A drink?" Her mouth was sprouting cotton.

  "You can have an ice chip."

  A spoon, cold and hard, was crammed against her teeth, jarring her whole body. Precious ice.

  She sucked greedily.

  "There, just that one. Turn over."

  "I can't."

  "Sure you can. Cough for me again."

  "No." 'Cough,' She did. "Good girl. And here's a fresh ice pack.'

  Thanks for nothing. My thighs are already numb.

  "… can't come in here!! "I'm in."

  Stevie was aroused by the familiar voice, but opening her eyelids was nigh to impossible. Had they weighted them down with something, fifty-cent pieces like they did corpses in Western movies?

  "Visitors are only allowed in Recovery every odd hour at ten till. That's the rule."

  He told her what she could do with her rule and his suggestion wasn't very nice. "I'm going to see her whether you like it or not."

  "I'm calling security."

  "Stevie?"

  "Judd?" she croaked.

  "I'm here, baby."

  A strong, warm hand clasped hers. She whispered,

  "Are you going to strangle me?"

  "There he is, officer. He's not supposed to come in until ten till the hour."

  "Later, baby."

  A soft whisk of his lips across her forehead then he was gone.

  It was probably just another bizarre dream.

  "You're sure?"

  "Positive."

  "You took out everything even potentially dangerous?"

  "Everything."

  The doctor noticed that his patient's eyes were open and that she was solemnly regarding him and her disheveled visitor.

  "You're doing fine, Stevie," he told her with his bedside smile firmly in place. "I know the recovery room is rough, but they'll be moving you to your room soon. Are you up to having a visitor?" She nodded. The doctor touched Judd on the shoulder. "Remember, only ten minutes.

  Don't get thrown out again."

  Judd wasn't listening. His gaze was fixed on Stevie's face. He bent over her, careful not to dislodge any of the tubes. "I had to fight my way in here. I hope you appreciate it."

  "How'd you find me?"

  "I put Addison on your trail. I phoned him from a truck stop on the interstate. Ramsey wouldn't accept a collect call from me, the s.o.b., so I had to borrow change from the trucker I had hitched a ride with. He even felt so sorry for me that he bought me a cup of coffee, too. Turned out that he's based in Dallas and is an avid reader of my column. For his trouble, I promised him a season pass to the Mavericks' games."

  She tried to follow the explanation, but it was far too complicated. "Addison?"

  Smiling over her confusion, Judd said softly,

  "I'll tell you about it later. There's almost enough material there for another novel."

 
She tried to moisten her lips with her tongue, but her mouth was still too dry even though she had been allowed a few more ice chips. "Judd, what about my operation?"

  He drew a more serious expression, leaned in closer, and when he spoke, it was in a raspy, confidential voice. "I might have known you were just showing off, pulling one of your cuteisms for the benefit of the crowd. Much ado about nothing."

  "What was?"

  "Your tumors. All those headlines and hoopla over a bunch of benign tumors." His tone was chastising, but there was a telltale moisture in his eyes.

  'Benign?" 'Harmless little critters. Every last one of them."

  She closed her eyes. Tears leaked from them.

  He brushed them away with the pad of his thumb. "They're sure?" she asked.

  "If your gynecologist and the finest pathologist in Dallas know their stuff, it's a sure thing you're cured."

  "Then they didn't have to do a hysterectomy?"

  "If you discount your right ovary."

  "They had to remove an ovary?"

  He shrugged. "Inconsequential when you consider that everything else is intact and functioning.

  Oh, and while they were there, they took out your appendix. I told them I didn't think you'd mind."

  "Judd," she whispered, tears of gladness bathing her cheeks.

  "Hey, stop blubbering or that bitch of a nurse will have me kicked out again for disturbing the peace."

  "You shouldn't have come."

  "Those proverbial wild horses couldn't have kept me away."

  Stevie sniffed back her tears. "I'm sorry I stole your car."

  "What the hell? It really belongs to the bank more than it does to me anyway. Are you feeling okay?"

  Laughing was out of the question, but she smiled. "I've got needles in my arm and hand, metal clamps holding my belly together, I can't even tee-tee on my own and I'm straddling an ice pack. They make me cough every so often, though I'm sure it rips out all my stitches. In short, I feel terrible."

  "Not as terrible as I felt before I found out where you had gone. If you ever run out on me without an explanation again, I'll tan your hide."