"You’re a champion," Spencer said softly.

"Yeah." Madison laughed again. "Yeah, by God, I am, and I like it. But you know what? When I looked at the snapshot of Ashley’s nephew I realized that I wanted a baby, The Dean’s baby, more than I’d ever wanted a Wimbledon plate. Isn’t that wild?"

She let the statement hang in silence a moment as both women absorbed it. "This is going to be my last tournament, and even while that’s hurting, I keep wishing it was over so I could go home and start knitting booties."

"You don’t know how to knit," Spencer murmured.

"Well, The Dean can knit them then. I’ll just sit around and get fat." Twisting her head to grin at Spencer, Madison saw the tears. "Hey, what’s this?"

"I’m happy for you," Spencer muttered. She could remember her own feelings on learning of her pregnancy—the fear, the joy, the nausea and elation. She’d wanted to learn to sew. Then it had been over so quickly.

"You look overjoyed," Madison commented, brushing a tear away.

"I am really." She caught Madison to her in a viselike hug. "You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you? Don’t overdo or take any chances?"

"Sure." Something in the tone had the seed of a thought germinating. Spencer, did you… Did something happen when you were married to Eric?"

Spencer held her tighter for a moment, then released her. "Not now. Maybe someday we’ll talk about it. How does The Dean feel about all this?"

Madison gave her a long, measuring look. The non-answer was answer enough, so she let it lay. "He was all set to take out a full-page ad in World of Sports," she stated. "I’ve made him wait until I officially retire."

"There’s no need to retire, Madz. You can take a year or two off, lots of women do."

"Not this one." Stretching her arms to the ceiling, Madison grinned. "I’m going out a winner, ranked fifth. When I get home, I’m going to learn how to use a vacuum cleaner."

"I’ll believe that when I see it."

"You and Ashley are invited to my first home-cooked dinner."

"Great." Spencer kissed her cheek. "We’ll bring the antacid."

"Not nice," Madison mused. "But wise. Hey, Face," she continued before Spencer could rise. "I wouldn’t want this to get around but"—her eyes were suddenly very young, and she looked very vulnerable—"I’m scared right out of my socks. I’ll be almost twenty-eight by the time this kid makes an appearance. I’ve never even changed a diaper."

Firmly Spencer took Madison’s shoulders and kissed both of her cheeks. "You’re a champion, remember?"

"Yeah, but what do I know about chicken pox?" Madison demanded. "Kids get chicken pox, don’t they? And braces, and corrective shoes, and—"

"And mothers who worry before there’s anything to worry about," Spencer finished. "You’re already slipping right into the slot."

"Hey, you’re right." Rather pleased with herself, Madison rose. "I’m going to be great."

"You’re going to be terrific. Let’s get a shower. You’ve got a doubles match this afternoon."