The Glory Game (40 page)

“Rob?” Trisha paused to listen, then noticed the slash of light at the base of the tack-room door. She retraced her steps and stopped in front of the door, but the knob wouldn't turn when she tried it. “Rob, are you in there?” she demanded, jiggling the knob. From inside, she could hear soft scurrying sounds. “Rob!” She rapped on the door.

“Just a minute.” The closed door muffled his answer.

Frowning, she waited. A second later, she heard the flush of the toilet in the half-bath located off the tack room, then the sound of his footsteps approaching the door. The lock clicked open a second before the knob turned, and Rob stepped out.

“Why did you lock the door?”

“It's always supposed to be locked,” he chided her. “We've got some expensive tack in there. You may not care whether your saddle gets ripped off, but I do.” He curved an arm around her shoulder, turning her away from the door while he shut it. “What brings you down here?”

“What's that funny smell?” The fanning action of the door made the odor stronger.

“Some of Jimmy Ray's liniment, probably.”

She took a deep breath. “It's too sweet,” she said first, then caught something else. “I smell smoke.”

“Trish, you're crazy.” He laughed at her. “Hey, did I tell you that I'm selling old Stonewall? You'd better say goodbye to him, ‘cause I'll be calling the guy tomorrow to accept his offer.”

The pressure of his encircling arm forcibly guided her in the direction of the gray horse's stall. Her frown deepened as she looked up at him. This mood of his wasn't natural. He was in such high spirits.

“What's got into you, Rob?” she wondered. “You're acting like you're on something.” The minute she said it, everything seemed to fall into place. “Are you?” she demanded. “That smell—have you been smoking pot?”

“What are you talking about?” He paused, giving her an amused look.

“Rob, that's stupid. You know how dangerous it is to smoke in the stable.”

“Who says I was?” Rob countered, that lazy grin still curving his mouth.

“I'm not buying that innocent act. It might work on Luz, but not on me.” Trisha shrugged his arm off her shoulder and stepped away from him. “That door was locked because you didn't want anyone to walk in and catch you smoking a joint.”

“It was locked because I was in the john,” he retorted easily. “You may be my sister, but I still don't want you—or Jimmy Ray—to walk in and find me sitting on the can. Or shitting on the can.” Rob laughed.

“All you had to do was shut the bathroom door.”

“The light bulb was burned out.”

“You've got your story all worked out, haven't you?” she accused grimly. “When we were kids, you were always making them up to protect yourself from getting into trouble, but I always knew when you were handing me one. And you're doing it now.” Irritated, Trisha swung away and started toward the door. There was no talking to him now, not when he was flying high like this.

“Hey, where are you going?” Roughly he grabbed her arm and pulled her back around to face him. Trisha shrank from the bite of his fingers into her arm, faintly surprised by her brother's strength.

“What's the matter, Rob?” she challenged that wary and suspicious look in his expression. “Are you afraid I'm going to tell Luz?”

“You'd better not.” This time there was no smile on his thin mouth. “Because if you do, I might have to mention the time Raul left you standing naked in the driveway at Seven Oak. Didn't think anybody saw you, did you? Well, I did, when I was walking back from the garage after parking the car. Wanta bet your trip to Argentina would go down the tube?”

“Rob, you're a real bastard,” she declared angrily. “In the first place, I don't carry tales, and you should know me better than that. And second, I'm eighteen and I don't need Luz's permission to go to Argentina or anywhere else I want to go. Last, but not least, I don't give a damn if you saw me or not—or who you tell. So roll that in your paper and smoke it!”

“Don't come snooping around here anymore. I don't like people checking up on me.”

Her look was saddened with disgust. “Believe it or not, Rob, I came here because I wanted to talk to you. I should have known you aren't interested in anybody's problems but your own.” His hold loosened as he appeared taken aback by her reply. Trisha jerked her arm and headed for the door.

A
fter approximately seven hours of flying time, the huge jetliner was descending to make its approach to Ezeiza, the international airport on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. Luz glanced idly out the airplane's porthole at the tame, gently rolling landscape below. It reminded her of the south of England, with considerably fewer signs of habitation.

Trisha occupied the window seat directly in front of Luz in the first-class cabin. She turned to look back at her through the gap between the seat and the cabin wall. “Uruguay,” she identified the country below them, then directed her attention out the window again, eager for the first glimpse of their destination. Luz absently studied her daughter's profile, all her misgivings about this trip returning to trouble her. None of them related to Rob. She was confident their stay would accomplish all he wanted to achieve. Her uneasiness revolved around Trisha and Raul Buchanan—and to be honest, herself.

“Look.” Trisha leaned closer to her window. ‘The Rio de la Plata, the river of silver.”

Turning, Luz gazed out her own porthole at the body of water over which the jet flew. It was neither a river nor silver in color. The River Plate was a long, wide estuary, the meeting place of the currents of the feeding rivers and the tide of the Atlantic Ocean. Its sluggish, silt-heavy waters were a dark muddy brown. According to the travel book Trisha had repeatedly quoted from, both the Rio de la Plata and Argentina, which means “silvered land,” were named centuries ago by the first Spaniards who mistakenly believed they had found the
source of the rumored Inca riches, and the brown estuary would carry the silver to be shipped back to Spain.

Out of her window, Luz could see the haze hanging over the modern city of Buenos Aires, its skyscrapers and factory chimneys thrusting upward against the landscape. The crowded sprawl of its buildings spread out from the muddy banks of the Rio de la Plata, situated some 120 miles from the Atlantic. On the surrounding three sides of the city of “fair winds,” the land stretched in a flat checkerboard pattern of large fields, intersected by a network of roads and railroad tracks that fanned out from the population center. From the air, Luz found the view of the countryside bland and uninspiring.

The no-smoking light came on, and Luz rechecked her seatbelt, hearing the grinding thunk of the landing gear being lowered. A fine tension traveled over her nerves. She reminded herself that after landing, there was still passport control to go through and the customary long wait for their luggage at the baggage claim before they met Raul.

With a bending stretch of his wrist, Raul glanced at his watch and tried to estimate how much longer it might take. The flight had landed over thirty minutes ago. Standing well back from the crowd gathered outside the exit doors of the baggage-claim section, he took a deep drag on his narrow black cigar, then impatiently blew out a long stream of smoke.

He was a man who seldom had second thoughts about any of his actions, yet a thousand times he'd cursed himself for not letting this matter drop when it was in its infancy. Each time he had argued that it was business. Rob Thomas represented not only profits as a buyer for his horses but also a considerable fee as a pupil in his polo program. And he was not so well fixed that he could afford to turn away that income. But Raul knew instinctively that a packet of trouble was coming along with Rob Thomas—two packets of trouble.

He had no doubt Trisha would continue her pursuit of him. Dealing with the unwanted attention of a client's daughter was always awkward and troublesome, but when the client was a woman, the matter was complicated further. Raul had never worked for a woman before, and he knew damned well it was Luz Thomas he had to satisfy, not her son. It was not a situation he liked. He was Latin enough not to relish taking orders from
a woman. And Luz Kincaid Thomas was used to getting what she wanted. He knew that, as well as he knew that it was the cause of the friction that always rubbed its way to the surface whenever they met. It did not help that he had seen the soft woman in her, and the source of her daughter's boldness.

Arriving passengers, some carrying their luggage and others pushing it in carts, began filing through the exit doors. Raul dropped his cheroot in an ashtray and straightened from his relaxed posture to keep a closer watch on the people coming through the doors. He remained well back from the crush of the crowd as it surged forward against the railed walkway. The babble of voices around him, predominantly Spanish, grew louder, snatches of phrases and shouts sounding above the droned announcements over the public-address system.

Finally, he caught his first glimpse of the Thomas party over the bobbing heads of the crowd—a sable hat set over sleek, honey-colored hair. Even before Raul saw the distinctive profile of Luz Kincaid Thomas, he recognized that proud bearing. It was a quality he both resented and admired. Ambivalence seemed to mark his attitude toward both the Thomas women; one minute he was stirred by their uniquely different beauties and in the next turned cold by their commanding natures.

A moment later, he had a clear look at Trisha through the milling crowd. Her dark gaze, lively and sparkling, scanned the faces of the crowd gathered outside, in search of him, he knew. Rob trailed them, pushing a wheeled cart stacked with luggage, his ruddy features serious and intense in their expression.

Raul waited on the outer edge of the crowd, not moving forward to meet them, instead letting them make their way through the tangled throng of passengers. When Luz paused where the crowd thinned to look around, Raul noticed the flicker of impatience in her expression. Still, he hesitated another second.

As she shifted the full-length sable coat to her other arm, she turned to glance back to her trailing daughter and son. In that instant, she saw him and became motionless. Raul had the impression of a beautiful fragile bird about to take wing, but the image didn't last. A remote coolness seemed to sweep through her. Warm then cold, he thought, unlike her daughter,
who seemed warm or hot nearly all the time. Yet that coolness was a defense; somehow he understood that.

Again struggling with his mixed feelings, Raul strode forward to meet them just as Trisha emerged from the crowd and saw him. She said something to Luz, who nodded, then moved toward him. As he approached her, the dark gold lights shining in her eyes appeared to challenge playfully.

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten we were coming.” She linked an arm with his to escort him back to her mother, now joined by Rob. “How is your wrist, by the way?”

“It is well. And your flight—was it a comfortable one?”

“Long, but uneventful.” Trisha relinquished her possession of his arm when they reached the others.

“Bienvenida.”
He offered the Spanish welcome to Luz and reached out to shake hands. The warmth of her soft skin briefly surprised him; the aura of coolness was so definite that the sensation of heat was unexpected. He released her hand to greet Rob. The noise and congestion in the area did not encourage prolonged conversation. “If you have everything, my car is parked outside. I will take you to your hotel so that you can rest after your long flight,” Raul suggested.

“For once, all of our luggage arrived with us.” Luz indicated the suitcases stacked two deep on the cart Rob guarded.

After summoning a baggage porter to bring the luggage cart, Raul escorted the three of them outside to his car. He unlocked the doors and assisted Luz into the front passenger seat, then made certain all the suitcases were stowed in the trunk before tipping the porter and sliding behind the wheel.

“How far is the hotel from the airport?” Luz inquired as he edged the car away from the curb and into the flow of traffic.

“Your hotel is located in the center of the city, which is some distance from here. The traffic should not be bad. As in any other major city, all the people leave the city for the suburbs in the evening, so we will be going against the flow.” He felt obliged to make the explanation and fulfill his duties as host.

Dusk came early to the southern half of the world in August, a winter month in the reversed seasons of this hemisphere. Little of the city could be distinguished in the gathering darkness, except the glaring headlights of oncoming traffic on the freeway, the lighted signs along the route, mainly in Spanish,
and occasionally a streetlamp illuminating graffiti painted on some wall.

Conversation was sporadic during the drive into the city, most of it coming from Trisha with comments by Rob, but Raul noticed that Luz said almost nothing. Up close, he could see no signs of fatigue from the long plane journey. She appeared alert and fresh. Her glistening wine-red lips lay firmly together, their straight line suggesting silent disapproval of something, and revealing a certain tension as well.

“This almost reminds me of Paris,” Trisha remarked, drawing Raul's glance to the rearview mirror, where he could see her reflection. They traveled down one of many tree-lined boulevards into the heart of Buenos Aires. “It has a very European flavor.”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “It is natural, no? Argentina was settled by Europeans. When they built the city, the design was influenced by their heritage.”

“You're right, of course,” Trisha conceded. “Every new culture brings pieces from the old or attempts to emulate it. Look, Luz, they even have sidewalk cafes.”