Lucky Thirteen by Melanie Jackson Read Free Book Online

there’s little honor involved in meeting an inebriate and a layabout .”
    “Really, Sis,” Hillary objected. “I do wish you’d allow me to leave my own impression.”
    Hillary held both a drink and a cigarette between the fingers of one hand. He had blond hair and a blond mustache which hid the gray and made it difficult to judge his age. His nose was a bright red worthy of W C Fields, which I’ve always associated with alcoholism. He wore an impeccably tailored white dinner jacket with black pants and had a red handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket. In all senses, the impression he left me with was one of an inebriate and a layabout . It pained me to agree with Sissy.
    “Hello, Mr. Hightower, Mrs. Hightower,” I said, nodding my head though a curtsey would be in order.
    “I don’t believe that my sister ever mentioned you before,” Hillary commented. “How long have you known each other?”
    “We met yesterday at the track,” I explained.
    “How delightful.”
    I didn’t see anything dreadful or delightful in the fact. I assumed that Hillary was just bad at making idle conversation. Miss Hightower took my arm and steered me clear of her brother’s family. Sissy remained behind with her parents and continued to glare at me. I assumed she was envious of the attention I was garnering, attention that was typically reserved for her, especially any attention coming from her rich aunt. Missy, her mother, smiled demurely and never said a word.
    Miss Hightower led me to a pair of men involved in a spirited debate. I’d seen each of them earlier at the time trial. One was obviously a trainer while the other much shorter man was the jockey riding the horse.
    “Chloe Boston, I’d like you to meet my head trainer, Jerry Dietz, and my lead jockey, Jose Perez.”
    The two men stopped their quibbling instantly and looked to me with some interest. Dietz was tall and slender, dressed in a worn wool suit. Perez was tiny, as I supposed all jockeys to be. I wasn’t used to facing someone shorter than myself. It made me feel gangly and awkward.
    “Ms. Boston,” Jerry said, nodding his head.
    “Chloe, I’m so pleased to meet you,” Jose gushed in heavily accented English.
    While Jerry stood his ground, Jose grabbed my hand and all but slobbered over it. This was my first experience with a passionate Spaniard. I had no choice but to smile at his introduction.
    “I saw you first at the track this afternoon,” Jose explained, “and I must admit that I almost fell off the horse due to the spell you cast over me.”
    “I’m pleased to meet you too, Jose,” I replied, trying to get him to release my hand.
    Jose looked into my face, flashing his oscillating Rudolph Valentino eyes at me, undoubtedly trying to mesmerize me, a trick he no doubt read of in a men’s magazine. It didn’t work. Instead, I had to fight back the giggles.
    “Cool your jets, Jose,” Jerry interjected. “She’s married.”
    “I know that,” Jose snapped back. “But I also know that when the flames of passion burn so bright, they cannot be hidden. Excuse my frank speech, Senorita, but your beauty, it overwhelms my better judgment.”
    What was I to say?
    “Gee, thanks.”
    I was finally able to free my hand. Miss Hightower was the first to break the awkward silence that followed.
    “Mr. Dietz. I was not entirely happy with the performance of Soft Spoken Hal at the track this afternoon.”
    “Nor was I, Miss Hightower,” Jerry replied.
    “I told you I was going to hold him back,” Jose interjected defensively.
    “Need I remind you of the importance of tomorrow’s race?” Miss Hightower added.
    “No, ma’am. He’ll be ready.”
    “And he’ll lose,” a full-throated voice bellowed.
    “We already know your opinion, Mr. Harrigan,” Miss Hightower replied dismissively.
    “And it’s the only opinion that counts for anything in these parts.”
    The owner of the voice was a large man dressed in an ill-fitting black suit and