The Glory Game by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page A

this afternoon.” And he sensed she wasn’t sure whether she approved of that. As they neared the barns, there was an increase in activity. Horses were being walked to cool them down; others were being loaded in trailers; some were being rubbed down by their grooms. Trisha seemed to throw off their previous conversation. “What are you doing tonight?”
    At six o’clock, he had an appointment at the health club with the masseuse, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. “Chet Martin is having a party tonight to celebrate winning the cup.”
    â€œYou mean, to gloat over winning the cup,” she corrected, then warned, “You won’t like it. The Martins give dreadful parties. Why don’t you slip away earlier and I’ll meet you somewhere?”
    â€œHow old are you?” It was impossible for him to tell. He’d met some girls that he’d thought were eighteen or older and had learned later they were only fourteen, mere children. And children were not enticement for him.
    After a small hesitation, she shrugged. “Seventeen. I suppose you think I’m too forward.”
    â€œNo. 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 havemade 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.
    â€œNothing is wrong with that.”
    â€œIn 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.
    â€œI am a professional,” Raul reminded her. “Next week, I will be playing with a team at Boca Raton. I may not be here.”
    â€œ
If
you are, will you come?”
    â€œWe’ll see.”
    â€œI’ll expect you.” One of the horses nudged her from behind, urging her to continue to the barns.
    â€œYou could be disappointed,” he warned.
    â€œNo, 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