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."
She ignored the edict. "Did you write today?"
"Write?" he asked incredulously. "Stevie, I've been stalking the corridors of this hospital like a wild man waiting for you to come out of the anesthesia."
"You should've been home writing. Chapter seven needs work."
"Yeah, I know. It's dragging in-" He broke off. His eyebrows formed a fearsome V. "How in hell do you know what chapter seven needs?"
"I've been reading your novel."
"Since when?"
"Since you started it." She wanted to touch him badly, but couldn't find the wherewithal to raise her hand. "It's wonderful. Truly."
She felt the postoperative medication luring her back into oblivion. Before she succumbed, there was something she had to say. "Judd, I love you."
He took her hand and held it against his lips after pressing a fervent kiss on the backs of her fingers. "I figured that out when you decided to go for life instead of the Grand Slam. Want to know the real corker? I love you, too."
Smiling wryly, he realized that she'd drifted back to sleep. He regretted that she hadn't heard his first profession of love, but that was okay.
He would still be there when she woke up.
Thank you.
"Thank you," the attractive young woman gushed. "I can't wait to read it. If it's half as good as your picture on the dust jacket, I'll be thoroughly entertained."
Judd glanced up at his wife, who was glaring at the gum-popping, high-strutting, miniskirted ingenue through slitted brown eyes. When they ventured back to her husband, he gave her a helpless shrug that was at odds with his smile, which defined masculine complacency.
"Mrs. Mackie, the line outside the door just keeps getting longer," the manager of the Manhattan bookstore said. "Mr. Mackie is going to be busy signing books for quite some time.
Would you care to sit down?'
'I'm fine for now, but thank you."
He glanced at her shyly. "Would it be presumptuous of me to ask for your autograph, too."
"Not at all," she returned with a smile.
He produced a pad and pen. "I saw you play at the U.S. Open once."
"Did I win?"
"You lost in the quarter finals, but it was a close match."
Stevie only laughed.
"You're semiretired now, isn't that right?"
"I don't play competitive tennis anymore, but I'm busy organizing some instructional clinics."
"So I've heard. For underprivileged children, aren't they?"
After six months of recuperation following her surgery, her gynecologist had given her the go-ahead on any project she wanted to tackle.
Her brainstorm, which she had considered from every angle during her convalescence, had won Judd's hearty approval. He'd helped publicize the idea locally through his column in the Tribune. As a result, donations to support the project had poured in. .
The original clinic in Dallas had received so many accolades that other cities had approached Stevie to organize similar programs for them. There were now Stevie Corbett Tennis Clinics nationwide, catering specifically to players who couldn't afford club memberships.
"The clinics are community supported and open to anyone who shows up wanting instruction," she said in response to the bookseller's question.
"Doesn't your husband mind sharing you with such a time-consuming undertaking?"
"Not at all. He understands my need to work.
Besides, he's been busy himself."
"I understand that his daily column is now in syndication and that he's already at work on a second novel."