The woman and I walked slowly, not because Miss Hightower was infirm, but because of her concern for my wellbeing. I appreciated her concern but was a little frustrated by our slow pace since I felt fine. Of this I couldn’t convince her. We took the elevator instead of the stairs to the private boxes. All the while Miss Hightower maintained a running monologue regarding the history of the track.
“You know that Rancho Downs Park and the associated equine club were established in 1932. Since that time it has been one of the most prestigious organizations in the country and the home of some of racing’s most famous horses. A Hightower has been on the board of directors since the track was first opened.”
Miss Hightower named a string of horses, jockeys, trainers, breeders, and owners of which I’d never heard. She told me of the great races she’d attended at this very track, beginning in her youth. She boasted of the admittedly beautiful décor and the wonderful food that I had yet to sample. In a short time my head was spinning trying to retain all the esoteric facts she related. By the time we made it to her box, I was starving.
“Please, have a seat,” Miss Hightower offered.
I took a seat in a comfortable leather swivel chair positioned before an elegant wood table that afforded an amazing view through a wall of glass upon the track far below. Miss Hightower lowered herself gracefully into a chair opposite mine.
“I’m sorry if I bored you with all my talk of racing on the way here,” she apologized.
“Oh no,” I assured her. “I find everything related to these beautiful animals and the racing to be fascinating. Tell me, did any of your horses race today?”
“Oh yes. Perhaps you saw one in particular, See Captain?”
“Did I see him? I won three thousand bucks on that race!” I blurted, and then covered my mouth in horror.
“Smart girl,” Miss Hightower observed with a smile. “It was his first win—the first of many I assure you.”
“I like horses, but I also like dogs,” I stammered. “What about Flying Miss Lady? What’s her background?” I asked to cover my excessive boisterousness.
“Flying Miss Lady was a great racer herself, winning twelve races during her career. She’s now in retirement as my personal pet.”
“How wonderful.”
“She is indeed a wonderful dog. And she’s a stablemate and best friend of my current winner, a stallion named Soft Spoken Hal. In fact, Soft Spoken Hal will be trying to break her record on this very track this weekend.”
“Lucky thirteen,” I quipped.
“How’s that?”
“The horse’s thirteenth win would be a lucky number.”
The woman started to make a noise that emanated from deep in her throat. At first, I thought she might be choking or about to be sick. Eventually, the sound worked its way to her mouth where it burst forth as a resonant barking chuckle. I couldn’t help but laugh along.
“I like you, Chloe Boston. I like the way you think.”
“Thank you,” I replied, trying not to blush.
“What do you say we find your husband and have some lunch?”
“Oh, Alex! I nearly forgot.”
Miss Hightower produced a telephone handset from beside her and requested that a page be sent to the turf club in search of Alex. While we waited, she regaled me with even more stories of races past. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. Her descriptive powers were such that she made me feel that I was there by her side, watching each race as it originally occurred. I was sorry that the stories stopped when Alex appeared at the door.
“Am I in the right place?” he asked tentatively, poking his head through the door.
I noticed that he was carrying a martini glass in his hand. He’d been waiting in the bar for me, and I knew that he’d had a long wait.
“Alex, you made it,” I said, jumping to my feet to embrace him.
“I’m glad I found you,” he said in my ear. “I was beginning to worry.”
“It’s entirely my fault,” Miss Hightower said, rising gracefully from her seat.
“Alex, I’d like you to meet Miss Elizabeth Hightower,” I said, breaking our embrace. “Miss Hightower, this is my husband, Alex Lincoln.”
Alex stepped carefully forward and accepted the proffered white-gloved hand. Miss Hightower smiled demurely.
“Please, won’t you have a seat?”
Alex was busy looking all around at the grand décor of the private box. I could just imagine what he was thinking. Something akin to, now what has she gotten me into? He accepted a seat and addressed me as I took mine.
“So, Chloe, what have you been up to?”
“Your wife was almost killed this afternoon,” Miss Hightower provided.
“What, again?” Alex squawked. “What happened this time?”
“She was saving my dog, Flying Miss Lady, when she was struck by a tour bus,” Miss Hightower explained.
“Oh, is that all,” Alex replied in relief.
Miss Hightower looked surprised by Alex’s response, but she didn’t understand. Alex had either seen or heard of me nearly being murdered so many times that he was most likely relieved that this time my death would have been due to a mere traffic accident. I considered explaining, but realized that any explanation I could come up with would only lead to additional unwanted questions. So, I clammed up.
“Your wife and I were about to order lunch,” Miss Hightower said, breaking the awkward silence. “Are you hungry, Alex?”
“I’m famished. What’s on the menu?”
I blanched at this gauche reply. Just how much had he had to drink? I wondered.
“I thought we might begin with the crab Louie and gazpacho soup.”
“Will there be bread?” Alex interrupted. “I like to dunk my bread in my soup.”
I nearly gasped at these words.
“You know me, Chloe. I can’t eat soup without bread.”
Again, that deep rumble came from deep within Miss Hightower’s throat, culminating in an eruption of laughter.
“I am so enjoying myself,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Chloe, you and Alex are such refreshing company. I’m so glad I ran into you, or more accurately, that the bus did.”
We all burst out laughing at this statement though it wasn’t really all that funny.
“About the bread,” Alex reminded her as soon as the levity had settled.
“Of course, Alex. There must be bread. Now, why don’t you leave it to me to iron out the rest of the details of the menu with our steward? I’m sure you’ll be more than satisfied with your repast.”
No truer words had ever been spoken. The meal was exceptional, and Alex didn’t even complain that his soup was cold. The main course was pheasant done three ways. I’d never tasted anything so mouthwatering. Except maybe the fish course.
Alex augmented his meal by having two more martinis with his lunch before I gently cut him off. He and Miss Hightower swapped stories which became exceedingly more ribald as the meal progressed. During our meal we were afforded two additional races, the last of the day. I found it amusing that Miss Hightower became almost as agitated as I did during each race.
I was stuffed before the last course arrived, a dessert of crème suisse. Alex was full as well if the enormity of his concluding belch was anything to judge by. I was about to apologize for him when Miss Hightower burst out laughing. By then I was afraid they were going to have a burping contest, they had become such fast friends during our meal.
“You know, Elizabeth,” Alex began.
“Yes, Alex?”
“I can’t remember the last time I ate so well, and the company has been divine. Oh, and thanks for the bread. But how much do we owe you?”
This time I actually slapped my forehead at the crassness of the question. Normally, Alex’s manners were exemplary. He was, after all, the consummate professional. It had to be the gin speaking—but instead of being offended, Miss Hightower played right along.
“Please, Alex, I would b
e delighted if you would allow me to pay for the meal,” Miss Hightower replied.
“No, we’ll pay. Don’t worry, we can afford it. Chloe made a killing on a horse at the track today.”
“So I heard,” she said, winking at me.
“I can’t allow you to pay.”
“It’s already done,” Miss Hightower assured him, waving the issue away.
“Wow, you’re one sweet lady,” Alex observed.
Miss Hightower beamed a broad smile in response.
“Which leads me to a favor I’d like to ask you,” she began.
“Anything. Just name it,” Alex offered.
“I’ve enjoyed your company so much, that I’d love to invite the two of you out to my estate tomorrow afternoon.”
“Done!” Alex declared, slapping a hand down on the table.
“But Alex, you have to go to work tomorrow,” I reminded him.
“Oh yeah, you’re right,” he replied, sounding despondent. “But you don’t,” he added with a mischievous smile. “You can bring me a doggy bag.”
There was an awkward silence as I tried to decide what to do. On the one hand, I enjoyed Miss Hightower’s company immensely, but on the other, I didn’t want to be a bother. I was worried that my silence hinted at a lack of interest.
“Chloe, have you ever visited a modern horse breeding and training facility?” Miss Hightower added, upping the ante significantly.
“You breed horses at your estate?”
“I most certainly do. And the mansion itself is exquisite. I’d love to provide you with a private tour.”
“Count me in,” I declared wholeheartedly.
“Good girl!” Alex exclaimed, throwing his arms around me and giving me a kiss on the forehead.
I couldn’t help but break out in a foolish grin of joy.
“Alex, I would love it if you could join us for dinner tomorrow night,” Miss Hightower added.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Alex assured her.
“Now, Chloe, write down your hotel and room number on this pad of paper. I’ll have Charles pick you up at eleven o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. And here’s my card. If you have any questions or anything should come up, you be sure to call me.”
I wrote down the pertinent information on the pad and accepted her business card. It was a very elegant card—gold embossed. We all stood, none of us wanting to say goodbye. In conclusion there were hugs exchanged and fond farewells, after which I found myself guiding Alex through the grandstands and out the exit. The sun was setting and I was cold. I held him close not only to help him walk but to soak up some of his warmth.
“Were you really almost killed by a bus today?” he asked.
“Yes, I really almost was.”
“Well, I’m glad it didn’t happen.”
“I’m glad you’re glad,” I told him as we approached our rental car. “Now, why don’t you slide into the passenger seat and let me drive.”
“I think that may be a good idea,” Alex acknowledged.
Alex fell asleep on the way back to the hotel. As I drove alone I relived the races I’d seen that day and the races I’d experienced through Miss Hightower’s vivid memories. I knew that I was in store for pleasant dreams that night and a very pleasant afternoon tomorrow.
Chapter 2
The alarm sounded early the next morning. I would have liked to have hit the snooze button and rolled over for another hour of shuteye, but Alex had to be at work. He rolled out of bed in a sour mood and with a raging hangover. I got up to lend moral support. Then I made coffee in the bathroom while he showered and got dressed. He looked nice in his suit and tie when he kissed me goodbye and left to go downstairs and meet with the hotel officials. I got dressed in my new bikini and sunglasses, then grabbed a beach towel.
Stepping out the back doors of the hotel, I had only to walk a few hundred feet over smooth concrete before I was standing on the sand of the beach. I had the towel wrapped around my body, not because I was cold, but because I was embarrassed. I had been so bold in selecting the tiny bikini back in Hope Falls, though even then I forced Alex to step into the dressing room to see it rather than coming out. He hadn’t liked it at all. He said it exposed too much that should have been left to the imagination. But I insisted, he caved, and I got it. Now I was standing on the beach in sunny Florida, too embarrassed to drop my towel and fully enjoy the sunshine.
Part of my hesitation had to do with the fact that I’d put on several pounds since getting married and now felt fat. I knew I still had a nice body, but I was displaying more fat than I would have liked. Another problem was the fact that I was so white that I was afraid I’d blind anyone who looked directly at me. We don’t get a lot of sun in Hope Falls. When we encounter intense sunlight, we blister rather than tan. But the primary reason for my skittishness this morning was the skimpiness of the suit I’d chosen. I felt naked beneath my towel. Still, I couldn’t admit later to Alex that I had balked at the crucial moment, so I walked out onto the beach fully intending to gather the early morning rays before the sun became too hot for my delicate flesh. At least it wasn’t a thong.
The beach was already crowded with beautiful bodies by the time I arrived. This made me feel even more self-conscious. Eventually I stumbled upon a spot to my liking, dropped my towel, and laid down on it. Rather than scope out the action going on around me, I closed my eyes and tried to pretend that I was alone. Even then I could feel everyone staring at me. I eventually dozed off.
“You know, you’re going to burn lying outside with nothing on.”
The man’s voice from beside me jolted me from my dreams of horse racing. My arms shot across my body to cover my sensitive areas that I was sure were exposed. After all, the voice had reinforced my fears by telling me I had nothing on. I looked to my side to see a handsome young man kneeling in the sand beside me.
“I beg your pardon,” I replied.
“Here, try this,” he said, offering me a bottle of suntan lotion. “It’s SPF 30 which should keep you from burning. I’d offer to apply it, but that would be forward, especially considering the ring on your finger.”
The man displayed a charming smile. He was well built, but not muscle-bound, and tanned a pleasant golden brown. He had a nice face. It looked like his nose had been broken at some point in his life. His hair was wavy, a dirty blond. He was wearing baggy swim trunks in a loud Hawaiian print and had a beach towel draped over his shoulders. Too late, I realized that I was staring and smiling.
“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, laying down his beach towel in advance of my reply.
“If you must.”
“You really should put some of that stuff on. It looks like you’re already beginning to turn red.”
I propped myself up on my elbows and looked down at my body. I could see no evidence of a burn.
“I meant your face,” he added.
I felt my blush growing even brighter. The stranger laughed at me and took a seat on his towel. I tried to scowl at him but ended up laughing too.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Mark Halifax. I’m a guest at the hotel. And you?”
“My name is Chloe Boston. I’m here with my husband,” I stressed, “who is here on business.”
“Nice place to find work if you can get it,” Mark observed.
Glancing up at the advancing sun, I realized that he was right. I would burn if I stayed outside with no protection. And I wanted to stay outside. Who’d have guessed that there was talk of a tropical storm moving in soon? I popped the top on the bottle of lotion and began slathering it on my arms and body. I could feel Mr. Halifax’s eyes watching me the whole time.
“Would you like me to get your back?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
“Perhaps you’d get mine then?”
“Perhaps not. Look, thank you for the lotion, but.…” I began, handing the bottle back to him.
“No buts. I hate buts. Especially no
t when I’ve just met someone I think I’m really going to like,” he interrupted.
Again he smiled. I looked away to keep from smiling back. Good Lord, I thought, this man is hitting on me. I was really beginning to feel uncomfortable. How many conquests could he attribute to his smile alone?
“Why me?” I asked.
“How’s that?”
“Of all the beautiful young girls on this beach today, why did you choose me?”
“God’s honest truth?”
“Yes.”
“You were about to burn,” he said with a straight face, but then broke into laughter. “That and, you’re the cutest woman on the beach. I can’t help the fact that I have a fondness for cute women.”
“And now that you know I’m married?”
“Nothing’s changed,” he said, causing me to raise an eyebrow. “You don’t need to make love to a cute woman to enjoy her. All you need to do is make her smile.”
What a line—and I knew it was a line, but I was charmed by it all the same. I put a hand to my mouth to mask my natural response. And that’s how we were found, me blushing up a storm and Mark beaming the full intensity of his devastating smile at me, when Alex walked onto the beach to join us.
“Mark, there you are!” he barked. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you and here I find you seducing women on the beach.”
“I beg your pardon,” I protested.
“Chloe?” he said. “Is that you? Good God, put some clothes on!”
Alex displayed a look of horror, something a woman would rather not see on a man’s face when he’s surveying her half-naked body. Afraid that he was about to bend down and start shoveling sand over me, doggy style, I rose to my feet and wrapped my beach towel around my body.
“Hello, Alex,” Mark said, remaining seated.
“Alex, do you know this man?”
“Of course, he’s Mark Halifax, a hacker and the other half of our computer security team. And, I might add, he’s fifteen minutes late for our morning briefing.”
“Come off it, Alex. The status hasn’t changed since yesterday. We’re on hold until the computer hardware is fully installed.”
“Which it is now, so get up. We need to get cracking.”
Lucky Thirteen Page 2
