The Glory Game

JANET DAILEY
CAPTURES THE HEART
OF AMERICA!
LOOK FOR THE SPLENDID
CALDER SAGA:

This Calder Range
Stands a Calder Man
This Calder Sky
Calder Born, Calder Bred

and her spirited novels
The Rogue
Touch the Wind
The Best Way to Lose
Mistletoe and Holly

Now together in one volume!
Western Man
and
Leftover Love

All available
from Pocket Books

 

Praise for the storytelling talents of bestselling author

JANET DAILEY

“[Dailey] moves her story ahead so purposefully and dramatically … readers will be glad they've gone along for the ride.”

—Chicago Sun-Times

“A page-turner.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Bittersweet…. Passion, vengeance, and an unexpected danger from the past add to the mix.”

—Library Journal

“Janet Dailey's name is synonymous with romance.”

—Tulsa World (OK)

“Careful writing and brilliant characterizations create an engrossing read.”

—Booklist

“A master storyteller of romantic tales, Dailey weaves all the ‘musts' together to create the perfect love story.”

—Leisure
magazine

“Dailey is a smooth, experienced romance writer.”

—Arizona Daily Star

Books by Janet Daily

Calder Born, Calder Bred

Stands a Calder Man

This Calder Range

This Calder Sky

The Best Way to Lose

Touch The Wind

The Glory Game

The Pride of Hannah Wade

Silver Wings, Santiago Blue

For the Love of God

Foxfire Light

The Hostage Bride

The Lancaster Men

Leftover Love

Mistletoe & Holly

The Second Time

Separate Cabins

Terms of Surrender

Western Man

Nightway

Ride the Thunder

The Rogue

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1985 by Janbill, Ltd.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 1-416-58877-9 ISBN: 978-1-416-58877-1

eISBN-13: 978-1-45164-043-4

First Pocket Books printing April 1986

15 14 13

POCKET STAR BOOKS
and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Cover illustration by Mark Gerber

Manufactured in the United States of America

“L
adies and gentlemen,” the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeaker, resonating beyond the sparse crowd in the stands to the players and their ponies on the turf. “I want to welcome you to the final match of the Jacob L. Kincaid Memorial Cup here at the Palm Beach Polo Club. Most of you knew Jake Kincaid, a seven-goal player in his prime and a loyal supporter of polo throughout his life. He was a worthy competitor and a true ambassador of the sport. His presence will be missed.” The announcer paused before continuing, the tone of his voice lifting from its serious level. “I'd like to direct your attention to the front box seats, where the Kincaid clan has gathered.”

“Not the whole clan, George!” The shouted correction came from a stylishly slim woman seated in the Kincaid box, her ash-blond hair protected from the Florida sun by a white straw hat. Even shouting to carry to the announcer's roofed stand atop the stadium, her voice had a cultured sound, smooth and dry, like an excellent Bordeaux. “If all of us were here, we'd fill half the stands.”

Smiling spectators who knew the family chuckled. By anyone's standards, the Kincaids were a large family, six children in all, three boys and three girls. They'd always been a boisterous, energetic group, obviously spoiled yet possessing an engaging charm that maturity enhanced. Time had thinned the ranks of that generation; Andrew, the oldest, had died tragically in Vietnam when his helicopter landed in a minefield; and Helen had been killed two years ago in a drunk-driving accident. Of
course, Andrew and Helen had left their parents a brood of grandchildren to raise, and the rest had added to the number.

Informality was part of the essence of a big family, so it seemed right that the formality of this occasion should be broken by a Kincaid. And polo, for all its prestigious facade, was an informal sport, enjoyed by an elite few who considered themselves to be part of one big polo-loving family.

“You should have brought them, Luz. We could have had a full house today,” the announcer responded.

“Next time,” the elegant woman responded. Luz Kincaid Thomas had been christened Leslie, but no one called her that anymore, and hadn't for years. She looked thirty; an unkind eye might guess thirty-seven, but people were always surprised when she admitted she was forty-two. Her skin had a fresh and youthful glow, lightly tanned by the Florida sunshine, never overexposed to be browned into leather. Many discreetly looked, but there were no scars near the hairline to betray nips and tucks taken to correct sagging flesh.

When she was a debutante, her features had been too strikingly defined, but she had matured into a beautiful woman. Age had softened the distinctive Kincaid jaw while time brought her natural brows into style to draw flattering attention to lively brown eyes, her most attractive asset.

Her shoulder-length hair, presently tied at the nape of her neck with an Italian designer silk scarf, was that indefinable natural shade between pale blond and light brown. If her hair stylist used a rinse to enhance the lighter streaks or mask the odd strands of gray, few were the wiser.

Over the years, Luz Kincaid Thomas had acquired her own sense of style and the confidence that went with it. She had everything, not just beauty and poise, but financial security, a close family, a stable marriage, and two grown children. There were minor annoyances and vague yearnings from time to time, but basically her life had an order and meaning that she found satisfying.

“Audra Kincaid is with us today—Jake's widow,” the announcer continued, reading from his prepared notes on the proceedings. “At the conclusion of the finals match, she will be presenting the trophy, named in her husband's memory, to the winning team. I'm glad you could be with us today, Audra.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Luz caught the motion of her
mother's hand lifting in a casually regal acknowledgment. A scattering of applause from the small crowd followed the gesture. Audra Kincaid was very much the respected and admired matriarch, and a very handsome woman even at sixty-nine. She carried her age well; Luz supposed she had inherited her own youthful appearance from her mother.

Luz turned slightly to study her mother, seated in the canvasslung lawn chair beside her. Always so impeccably dressed for the occasion, never over- or underdoing it, this time Audra Kincaid had on a short-sleeved green sundress trimmed with white piping, with a matching jacket. It was suitable for the occasion as well as for her age, yet sufficiently sporty so that others in slacks or bermuda shorts would feel comfortable around her. And the green was the color of growing things that says life goes on—even for a woman mourning a husband dead these last three months.

Did Audra mourn him? Luz felt a twinge of guilt for even wondering. No one could ever accuse Audra of not being a devoted wife and mother. But Luz couldn't remember the last time she'd called Audra Mother. She remembered Audra had cried in her arms when the heart specialist informed them Jake Kincaid hadn't survived the second stroke, but had it been with relief? Some said it was a blessing that he had died and not lingered, constantly needing care, but Luz wasn't thinking of it in those terms. Had Audra been glad he died, glad she was at last free of all pretense? It seemed impossible that she still could have loved him.

Jake Kincaid had been the best father any girl could have; she'd been father-spoiled and mother-disciplined. He loved as he lived, generously. He loved power, polo, and women—not necessarily in that order. His various affairs with other women were never a secret for long. The Kincaid name was too well known, too socially prominent. What was hinted at in society columns was elaborated on by gossips.

Luz had learned what assignation meant when she was eleven years old, and not long afterward, she had understood the hurt and humiliation her mother suffered. Through most of her teen years, she had hated her father for what he was doing to her mother, then she had hated Audra for letting him do it, and maybe for being to blame.

She remembered the advice Audra had offered before her
marriage to Drew Thomas: “Marriages are based on trust. A man will have his peccadilloes, even Drew, but you must trust he will always come back to you—his wife.”

Even though she had come to understand Audra's reasoning, Luz still wondered how her mother truly felt, especially now that he was gone. She couldn't ask. Any mention of Jake Kincaid's indiscretions was forbidden, and his death hadn't changed that. It was not discussed then, and certainly not now.

“… and now, I'd like to introduce the players who will be riding for the Black Oak team in the championship game.” The announcer's voice intruded on Luz's thoughts, and she shifted her attention to the huge, thickly turfed polo field, four times the size of a football field. Her glance skipped past the four helmeted riders in black jerseys and white breeches and scanned their four opponents in blue jerseys. Her pride swelled when she found the lanky rider wearing the numeral 1 on the back of his jersey: long hair, the same shade as her own, curled well over his collar, and his mallet held upright in a position of readiness.

“Where is Drew?” The question from Audra briefly distracted Luz's attention. “He's going to miss the start of the game.”

“He's waiting outside for Phil Eberly and someone else from his office. They must be late.” Luz glanced in the general direction of the stadium entrance, but the familiar silvered head of her husband wasn't in sight. “If they don't show up soon, I'm sure he'll come to watch the opening toss.”

“Bill Thorndyke, probably. He enjoys watching polo.”

“What?” Her concentration had returned to the field for the introduction of the next four players, lined up facing the stands in numerical order, so Luz was slow to follow Audra's meaning. “No. Bill Thorndyke isn't coming. It's some new attorney who's just joined the law firm. A woman. You remember how much hassle Drew had with the Equal Opportunity Office, so he's giving her the royal treatment.”