The Glory Game (6 page)

After a small hesitation, she shrugged. “Seventeen. I suppose you think I'm too forward.”

“No. Too young.” And Raul had twenty years on her. There was a degree of flattery in the fact that she found him attractive, but long ago he had learned wisely and well not to get mixed up with pretty young daughters from wealthy families.

Her steps slowed as they reached the stables and the horses bunched close to her. “Our trailer is parked over there,” she said, indicating that here they parted company. “Would it have
made a difference if I'd told you I was eighteen? I will be in two months. I'm attracted to you, and I'd like to see you again.” It was an outright challenge of his decision, not a plea to reconsider.

“Nothing is wrong with that.”

“In that case, my parents are having a party next Saturday night. Will you come?” Her head was tipped to the side at a provocative angle, her dark eyes gleaming.

“I am a professional,” Raul reminded her. “Next week, I will be playing with a team at Boca Raton. I may not be here.”

“
If
you are, will you come?”

“We'll see.”

“I'll expect you.” One of the horses nudged her from behind, urging her to continue to the barns.

“You could be disappointed,” he warned.

“No, I won't. You'll be there.” After that confident statement, she turned and led the horses toward the parked trailers.

For the last fifteen years, Raul had lived among the rich, and during the last ten, the scope had been international. He had dined at their tables, slept in their houses, played polo with or for them, ridden to hunts with them, driven cattle and sat in bars with them. He'd held clinics to teach them the finer points of polo and sold ponies to them. He'd met their friends, children, grandparents, and hired help. And he had learned they were no different from other people. They had their braggarts and misers, spoiled brats and painfully shy children; some were good and decent and fair, and there were others you didn't dare trust. So he avoided putting a label on Trisha, not classifying her as spoiled or wild or headstrong. At the moment, he didn't know if he even wanted to see her again.

That was the advantage of being among the best polo players in the world. People came to him for the privilege of having him play with them. He didn't have to be nice to their daughters or sleep with their wives—or the men either. Polo had given him independence and freedom from want. He rode his own horses now and came and went as he pleased.

It was a far cry from those hungry days on the Pampa when he'd been a scrawny kid too short to climb on the horses he watered at the
estancia
. From that he'd graduated to mucking out stalls and grooming horses. Later he'd worked as a groom and exercise boy at the Palermo Race Track in Buenos Aires.
Then a horsebreeder had hired him—a horsebreeder and weekend polo player. He'd had his first taste of the game as a last-minute substitute for one of the players. He had filled in for others on several occasions after that, practicing in the meantime while he exercised the owner's horses.

It had been a long way, Raul realized. Yet the dream was still before him—the ten-goal rating that would make him a master of the game. That had thus far eluded him. He tapped the padded helmet against the side of his leg and headed toward the section where his horses were stabled, the blood-red bay pony in tow.

Cars and trucks towing horse trailers hummed steadily along the road that bordered one side of the polo field. Some players remained at the picket line, their voices punctuating the drone of vehicles as they talked with family and friends. Here and there a groom led a group of horses to the stables while their snortings and whickerings mingled with the other sounds. All of it combined to prevent Rob from hearing Luz approach.

She paused a minute to study him as he wiped down the sweat-damp sorrel pony. He appeared absorbed in the task, but Luz noted the forceful pressure in his strokes. His thoughts were far from what he was doing. She wished that she knew what she could say to console him that wouldn't sound banal or preaching. When he'd been a youngster with troubles, she could hold him on her lap and assure him it would all work out all right, and he'd believe her. But not anymore. He had reached the age of reason, and she was no longer the final authority. Being the mother of an adult—or near adult—was so frustrating, because they no longer listened.

The sorrel Thoroughbred turned its head, pricking its ears in her direction, and whinnied in recognition. Luz saw Rob look up and fixed a quick smile in place as she strode forward.

“Hi,” she offered warmly and watched his head dip in a mute rejection of any sympathy. Hurt by the unintentional rebuff, Luz lowered her chin slightly so the wide brim of her straw sunhat shaded more of her face. She walked to the front of the horse, transferring her attention to it. “How's my baby?” she crooned and rubbed its poll. It nuzzled the knotted sleeves of her sweater in front, responding to the caress of her voice and hand. “Sorry, but I don't have any sugar for you this time,
Copper.” Gently, she scratched the top of its satin nose and glanced sideways at Rob. “He played well today.”

“Yeah.” He didn't look at her, his face smooth of any expression.

“It was a tough game.” Luz eyed him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. It's over and we lost.”

But she knew it wasn't that cut and dried emotionally. “Where's Trisha?”

“At the horse trailer. She should be back soon for the rest of the horses.” He cast an absent glance over his shoulder as if expecting to see her.

Luz gave the sorrel one last pat and moved away to saunter closer to Rob. She thrust her hands in the side pockets of her slacks, assuming a casual stance. “I suppose right now you're wishing we had accepted your Uncle Mike's invitation to spend the midterm break at their chalet in Gstaad. You could be skiing in Switzerland instead.”

“No, I'm not,” he denied in a voice flattened of feeling. He made one last swipe over a sleek flank before folding the chamois in half.

“Why not? If we'd gone, you wouldn't have played in the tournament, and you would have missed feeling as miserable and rotten as you do now. Why would you want to go through all this when you could be having a good time on the slopes?” Luz reasoned.

“Because I wanted to play!” Rob flashed her an impatient look at what he saw as a lack of understanding on her part.

Luz smiled faintly. “Remember that. Regardless of the outcome, you wanted to play.”

His head came back sharply as a deep furrow pulled his light brows together. “Yeah,” he realized. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“I'm glad.” Her smile deepened in compassion. “Although I know it doesn't make you feel any better.”

“No.” He admitted that, too, as he glumly tipped his head down.

A horse cantered toward them. Luz recognized the fat pinto on which both Rob and Trisha had learned to ride. It was now a family pet relegated to the easy life of stable pony. Trisha
reined it to a halt beside them and slid off its bare back. Her glance skimmed Rob before it swung to Luz.

“I see you had the same success I did, Luz, trying to cheer up laughing boy,” Trisha remarked dryly.

“It hurts to lose something you want very much.” Luz was tactfully appealing for a little display of understanding.

Trisha cocked her head to the side, frowning curiously. “What have you ever lost, Luz?”

Her mind went blank. “Nothing that seems very important now.” In truth she couldn't think of anything. She'd always had whatever she wanted. She couldn't very well include deaths in the family. And she hadn't known any heartbreaks or unrequited love.

The answer gave Trisha nothing to pursue, and she shrugged aside the topic to move on to something else. “I met Raul Buchanan. He had his own opinion on why you lost the game, Rob.”

“What was that?” His interest in the answer was wary and skeptical.

“He claimed you spared your ponies the minute they showed signs of tiring, and said you should have switched to a fresh mount if your horse couldn't go the distance.”

“He's probably right,” Rob admitted grudgingly. “I thought about it a few times, but I was afraid I'd find myself going into the last chukkar without a fully rested horse.”

“At least you've learned something, Rob,” Luz said.

“Yeah, I'll know better next time.”

“Maybe Raul can give you some more pointers,” Trisha suggested. “I've invited him to the party Saturday night.” Belatedly, she turned to Luz. “I didn't think you'd mind if I asked him.”

First Drew had extended an invitation without her knowledge, now Trisha. She felt a stir of irritation. “What about you, Rob? Have you asked someone that I don't know about, too?”

“No.” He appeared taken aback by her tautness.

Luz sighed heavily. “It doesn't matter. You know you're both welcome to invite people to the house anytime.” She made a determined effort to put aside her annoyance. “Do you need any help with the horses?”

“No,” Trisha answered. “Jimmy Ray is at the trailer looking after them.”

“He is?” Rob stiffened, tension knotting the pit of his stomach.

“Yes.” Suspicion gleamed in the narrowed look Trisha gave him. “I thought you said he was going to be out of town this weekend.”

“He was,” Rob said. “I guess he got back early.”

“I don't like him,” Trisha announced flatly.

“Trisha.” Their mother's voice was reproving. “Jimmy Ray Turnbull is the best handler and groom we've ever had. I don't think you could find anyone more knowledgeable or conscientious in the care of the horses.”

“I don't care. There's something about him I don't like,” Trisha insisted while Rob carefully kept silent. “Every time I see him, he's wearing those same khaki workclothes. And I'll bet he wears that slouch hat all the time because he doesn't have any hair on the top of his head. What really gets me is the way he goes around all the time with that weak smile and that pipe drooping out of the corner of his mouth. He never lights it.”

“I'd fire him if he did,” Luz stated. “Smoking around the stable is dangerous.” She shook her head in a gesture of mild confusion. “I don't see how you could dislike such a kind, gentle man.”

“I don't know. He's just too quiet.” Trisha placed condemning stress on the final word.

“Maybe people like you have talked him to death,” Rob suggested, some of his apprehension fading.

“I guess he reminds me of Ashley Wilkes,” Trisha decided. “I always thought he was such an insipid character.”

“You have made your opinion of the man very clear, Trisha, so I suggest you drop the subject,” Luz warned. “Now, since Jimmy Ray is here to take care of the horses, why don't you two shower and change and have dinner with the rest of the family at the restaurant?”

“Count me out,” Trisha said. “A bunch of us are thinking of trying out that new health-food restaurant.”

“A bunch of us. A bunch of what? Bananas?” Luz demanded icily.

“The usual crowd—Jenny Fields, Carol Wentworth, and the rest.” She was irritated at being questioned, and she didn't try to hide it.

“And where are you going afterward?”

“I don't know.” A smile unexpectedly widened her lips, the kind Rob never trusted. “I was thinking it might be fun to crash Chet Martin's party tonight, but don't worry, Luz. I wouldn't want the Martins to acquire a reputation for giving fun parties. We'll probably come back to the club and dance or play tennis.”

“What time will you be home?”

“Ten or eleven.” Trisha shrugged.

“You be home by eleven o'clock,” Luz ordered, then turned to him. “What about you, Rob? Shall we expect you for dinner?”

“I'd rather not. I couldn't stand the thought of people coming up to me all evening to say how sorry they are that we lost the game.”

She contained her disappointment that neither would be joining the family for dinner. “All right. See you two later.”

“Come on.” Rob urged his sister into action as their mother walked away. “Let's get the rest of the horses and this equipment back to the trailer.”

“I'll bring the horses.” Trisha looped the reins over the neck of the spotted horse and moved to its side. “Give me a leg up, Rob.”

Stirred by agitation, Rob crossed to the horse and cupped a hand for her foot to step in, then boosted her onto the animal's wide back. After she had settled into position, she looked down at him with troubled eyes. “Be honest, Rob. Do you like Jimmy Ray?”

He couldn't hold her look. “As long as he does the job he's paid to do, it isn't essential that I like him.”

“I suppose not.” But she didn't appear satisfied, and Rob wondered if she had any concrete reasons for her dislike.

O
utside the roomy stall, the winter sky darkened early. All was quiet in the stable. The only sounds were the odd stamp of a horse and the rustle of hay. Rob stood at the head of the steel-gray horse, tied by two lead ropes fastened to opposite sides of the lighted stall. His hand absently rubbed its forelock while he watched the tan figure crouched beside the horse's front legs. The faded brown hat blocked the man's face from his view, so Rob couldn't watch his expression while he conducted the tactile examination of the swelling in the pony's leg.

After interminable minutes had passed, Rob could stand the waiting no longer. “Does it look serious?”

The man rocked back on his heels. “No.” Teeth clenched to hold the pipestem muffled the answer. Unhurried, Jimmy Ray pushed himself upright and took the dead pipe out of his mouth to offer a more complete answer. “The legs are filled up some from running on the hard ground. I've got a paste I can smear on them. Stony'll be fine.” His voice had a low and soothing pitch to it, almost hypnotic in its softness. The loose-fitting clothes gave the impression of a tall, spare man, but Jimmy Ray Turnbull was shorter than Rob and wider in the shoulders.