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!
He wanted to run out into the road, snatch her off her bicycle, carry her to safety.
He forced himself to stand still, not to distract her. Around him the crowd was cheering her on as she drew closer.
Slowly closer.
Her bicycle wobbled as she crossed the finish line and she almost fell into the arms of a big man who was waiting. The team manager? Adam thought so, having seen him with Stell and her teammates.
He pushed through the crowd until he was no more than ten feet from Stell, then stopped. She was being held up by the tall blonde while a young woman in shorts and a team T-shirt was working on her leg. The redhead was dabbing at her arm.
His every instinct was to go to her, to care for her.
Instead he kept his distance, remembering how enervating it had been when his mother had rushed to him the first time she'd seen him injured in a match. Her smothering sympathy had done him far less good than the impersonal care of his manager and the tournament medic would have.
She was an athlete. World class.
He respected that, and he would treat her accordingly.
Until the race was over.
Chapter Fifteen
FINISH: the end of the race, where all hope is realized (or lost)
Why am I doing this? I must be crazy.
Forcing herself to get out of bed was one of the most difficult things Stell could remember doing. She ached all over. The scrapes on her arm and leg burned, and she was so stiff she could hardly move.
But move she must. Sign-in today started at ten, and Milt got really bent if the whole team wasn't there on time. She stretched and twisted, moving slowly, breathing with each movement. After the feeling that she might break passed, she performed the Salute to the Sun twice, then worked through her usual asanas. Later, as she relaxed, she realized she felt fine. Even the scrapes gave only minor twinges, rather than hot pain.
Stage 9 dipped down into the Hagerman Valley, giving the riders a view of the spectacular Thousand Springs. Stell got one quick glimpse of the many waterfalls pouring down the canyon wall, because she was in the middle of the peloton and didn't dare take her attention away from keeping her place. She finished seventh, not too bad, but not as good as she'd hoped. When she stepped forward as her name and place were announced at the Awards ceremony, she felt a sudden, fleeting pain in her hip. When it didn't return for the rest of the day, she gave it no more thought.
Adam was nowhere in sight. She felt somehow forsaken.
The next day was the longest road race of the Sawtooth Classic, nearly a hundred miles across the sagebrush desert to Boise. As soon as Stell and Becky emerged from their hotel in Twin Falls, they felt the hot, dry wind on their faces.
"I knew the cool weather was too good to last," Becky groused, "but I don't see why summer couldn't have held off for another week."
"You should have been here two years ago," a woman from the Saturn team said as she came up behind them. "One day it was a hundred and two in Boise." She wiped her brow. "I've never been so wiped out in my life as after that race."
"One year we had snow at Galena Summit," another said. "I nearly froze."
"Better cold than hot," Becky said. "I can always add clothes."
There was general agreement as the group separated to go to the warm-up area.
Stell was about to mount her bike when she heard Adam's voice. She turned.
"How are you?" He said, unsmiling.
"I'm fine."
"You did well yesterday. I had to miss the finish, but I saw a video of it this morning."
"Not as well as I'd hoped."
His calm broke. "My God, Stell! Did you expect to win the damn race the day after a bad crash?"
"I... No, but I'd hoped to be in the top five." She'd lost ground with the crash, ground she might never regain. Hearing her name called, she said, "Look, I've got to go. Thanks for caring."
He held her gaze with his. "I do, you know?"
She simply nodded, wondering if she was missing something. He was so serious this morning.
"Good luck today."
"Thanks." She mounted her bike and rode away, forcing her thoughts to the upcoming race. And away from Adam Vanderhook.
I am going to win. I am going to win.
Once, during the warm-up, that curious, sharp pain lanced through her hip again and was gone in an instant. Experimentally she detached her foot from the pedal and stretched her leg out, then pulled it up against her chest. No strain, no hesitation in the hip joint. Her muscles were loose, warm. Clicking onto the pedal again, she picked up h
er cadence. Only a few minutes until the staging and she was still distracted.
Adam watched her join the other riders. If it weren't for the dark scabs on her arm and leg, he'd not have known she'd crashed two days ago. What a superb athlete!
When he heard his own thought, he had to chuckle. When had he gone from bitterness to admiration? From condemnation of amateur sports to total support?
Since he'd fallen in love with Estelle McCray, that's when.
* * * *
The race from Twin Falls to Mountain Home was sheer hell. Already warm at the Start, the day grew hotter with each hour. Riding through Hagerman Valley was not too bad. The Snake River kept the air moist and relatively cool. But when the peloton climbed back out of the canyon, it was like climbing into an oven.
Stell knew she wasn't the only woman suffering from the heat. Requests for water kept all the team and neutral support vehicles busy. At first feed, just coming out of the canyon, she'd taken only a banana and some sports drink. By the time for the second feed, she felt as if she'd used up all her available calories and then some.
What she really wanted was a half gallon of ice cream, not high energy snacks, bland and slightly salty sports drink, and tepid water.
Chocolate ice cream with white chocolate chunks, fudge bits, and ribbons of bittersweet syrup.
While she was eating it, she'd sit in a pool of cool water, shaded by a wide-spreading, densely-leaved maple tree. Her boombox would be playing something mellow. Randy Canon or David Benoit. Maybe she'd take a nap--
"Wake up, McCray!"
She came back to the present to see that she was dangerously close to the edge of the pavement. Carefully she edged her way back into the pack, well away from that crumbling edge, wondering how she could have been so out of it.
And I told Adam he was distracting me.
At the final marker sprint, she reached deep and found one last surge of energy. Using it, she passed first one rider, then another.
Then they were on the edge of town. Stell upped her cadence and moved ahead of the peloton, creeping up on the seven riders in the breakaway group.
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