But neither Stevie nor Judd noticed these changes in the weather.
"All his big plans were shot to hell," Judd continued. "One dumb move and the course of his life was changed forever. The seven-figure offer was revoked after the doctors told the team management that he'd never be pro material even if they did their best for his leg."
"He never got to play major-league baseball.
After a year of reconstructive operations on his busted tibia, he went to work writing about the sports he could no longer play."
It began to rain. Fat, splattering drops fell onto the flowers that Stevie had so painstakingly cultivated. Rain splashed against the open windows.
The curtains were driven into the room by the gusty wind. Lightning crackled and thunder crashed. The air turned noticeably cooler, a welcome relief from the humid heat.
Stevie was unaware of the storm, unaware of everything except Judd. She brushed back the strand of hair that had fallen over his forehead and smoothed out the frown between his eyebrows.
He gave her a twisted grin. "You won't want to read the book. I don't think it's going to have a happy ending."
"Why not?"
He slipped his finger into the neckline of her nightgown and slowly traced the edge of the material around the base of her neck. He did it without really thinking about it.
'For years after his accident, the protagonist was mad at the world, even madder at himself for screwing up his life. He went through the motions of living, but just like Rhett Butler, he didn't really give a damn. He worked hard at making everybody around him as miserable as he was himself. He got drunk often, slept with nameless women, picked fights."
"Fights?"
He shrugged, now toying with the buttons on her gown again by lightly plucking at them. "To prove to himself that the accident hadn't emasculated him. He wasn't a strutting jock any more."
"Athletic prowess has never been the true measure of a man."
"Sell that theory to your average American male."
She lifted her shoulder in semi concession, a move that caused his knuckles to make a dent in the inner slope of her breast. "How will the story end, Judd?"
"Ah, that's what's hanging me up. I'm up to the part where he finally settles into a well-paying job, which he goes through the motions of doing, expending as little effort as possible. He's got everybody but himself buffaloed into believing that what he's doing has merit. But what eventually becomes of this guy, who still resents like hell that he blew his one big chance in life?
'I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit," Stevie remarked in a soft, sympathetic voice. "It takes a tremendous amount of talent to turn out a newspaper column every day. Being prolific is certainly no small thing when journalism is your occupation. Your columns haven't always pleased me, but they're never stale or… What's the matter?"
He was no longer touching her with subconscious, intimate familiarity. His eyes had turned as stormy as the night sky. "Have I said this story is about me?"
His sudden mood shift stunned her. "Well, no, not specifically," she stammered, "b-but I… assumed…"
"The character in my book is dissatisfied with his life. Do I look like a guy who's dissatisfied with his life?"
He stood up, practically dumping her onto the floor. She staggered backward in an attempt to regain her balance. When she did, she glared at him with contempt and fury. He had told her his sob story, but when it came time to accept her compassion, he had turned stupidly, defensively macho.
'What you look like is a joke of a journalist, who is finally getting around to hacking out the dreary novel that he's been claiming for years to have burning inside him to anybody dumb enough to listen to that drivel."
"You don't know anything about me, Miss Cute Buns," he said with a dangerous scowl.
"I know that you're too insensitive to write copy for sardine cans, much less a novel about human emotions and life's disillusionments.
Speaking of which," she sneered, gesturing down at the table, "I think the subject matter of your book is self-indulgent and boring."
He took the steps necessary to close the distance between them. Through his clenched teeth he said, "Not if I detail the character's interactions with women."
"In that case, add disgusting to self-indulgent and boring and you've got my critique!"
On that outstanding exit line, she stamped from the room.
It was still raining the following morning, but it wasn't the sound of thunder that awakened Stevie. It was the cramping in her lower abdomen.
The twinges were like menstrual cramps, only more localized and more severe, particularly in her right side.
She got up and took two of her pain pills. Back in bed, she turned onto her side and drew her knees up close to her chest. Eventually the cadence of steady rainfall induced her back to sleep.
She must not have been sleeping very deeply, however. When she awakened again, Judd was speaking her name in gentle inquiry. She felt the mattress dip beneath his weight as he lay down behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Stevie, what's the matter?"
"Nothing." She lay unmoving, her eyes remaining closed.
"I could hear you moaning all the way in my bedroom. You woke me up."
"I apologize."
He swore beneath his breath and muttered something derogatory about the female psyche.
"I don't care about missing out on some sleep," he hissed. "Are you in pain?"
"A little."
"Damn."
"Only a slight cramp. Don't worry about it.
It'll go away."
"Where are your pills? I'll get them for you."
"I already took two."
"When?"
"I don't know. Not long ago."
"Why aren't they working?"
"They haven't had time."
"What can I do?"
"Nothing." ' 'Why are you keeping your eyes closed?"
"Because I'm sleepy." And because she knew, intuitively, that he had come to her bed as he slept in his-naked. "Go on back to bed. I'll be alright."
"Where do you hurt?"
Impatiently she snapped, "Where are my tumors?"
"What would help?"
"My heating pad might."
"Where is it?"
"I didn't bring it."
"Great."
He didn't say anything else, but he didn't go away, either. Stevie could feel him staring down at her. Abruptly, as though he suddenly made up his mind about something that had him in a quandary, he slid his arm around her waist, fumbling through bedding and cotton nightie before his hand found skin.
"Judd! What are-"
"Shh, shh. Lie still. I want to help."
"You can't."
"Maybe not, but I want to try."
"Why?"
"Because I was rough on you last night. I yelled at you and you didn't deserve to be yelled at."
"That doesn't matter. This isn't necessary."
"Look, this Good Samaritan gig is new to me, so give me a break and help me along, okay?
Now, where do you hurt? Here?" He placed his warm hand over her lower body, applying just the right amount of pressure.
"Hmm." A soothing heat spread through her, melting away the pain, ironing out the cramps. It felt wonderful.
"Is that better?" He waited. "Stevie?"
She was already asleep.
When she woke up the third time, the weight of his arm was lying heavily in the hollow of her waist. His hand was still palming the area between her hipbones. The pain was gone.
The fingers of his other hand were ensnared in her hair where it mingled with his on the pillow they shared. If he was going to invade her bed, the least he could have done was bring his own pillow, she thought.