She flipped open The Racing Form. Betting also seemed an easy way to make money. Child’s play, really. She’d cashed in big before—no reason she couldn’t do it again. The lively gray filly that occupied the stall two down from Buddy was running in the sixth race. She’d been working well and Carlos, her groom, was exceedingly confident.
Mark was letting Emma Rae ride again. Jessica ignored the little twist in her chest. It was only natural for Mark to give Emma Rae more mounts after she’d done so well with Buddy. She was a good jockey too, although it was tiresome how she dropped around the barn every morning to chat with Mark. Jessica always felt like a giraffe next to the petite jockey.
It would be fun to be small. To race. She blew out a sigh, staring blankly at the pages of The Form. Jockeying was an exciting profession, and the riders always looked wonderfully snazzy in their crayon-box colors. She often caught herself watching them, unable to hide her wistfulness. And it seemed Mark really did prefer little women. He and Emma Rae were always laughing—
Rap, rap.
“Come in, Maria,” she called.
But the door swung open, and Mark loomed in the doorway. “You’re supposed to keep it locked,” he said, inspecting the new hinges with a critical eye.
She tossed aside The Form, dropping her feet to the floor without even checking for mice. “Who’s paying for that expensive lock?” she asked.
“Hadn’t thought about it,” he drawled. “Guess I’ll deduct it from your pay.”
“But that’s not fair.” She rose to her feet, glancing over her shoulder at her empty coffee can. “Whoever uses this room later will keep it. I shouldn’t have to pay for fixtures. Besides…I’m sorry but I can’t afford it.”
“Relax.” His voice softened. “I just wondered if you were okay for money after the break-in. Obviously not. I’ll have Dino advance some cash.”
His thoughtfulness was touching, but he’d turned to leave before she could clear her throat and thank him. Just like her family, quick to dole out money but always in a hurry to rush away. “Aren’t you going to pay overtime for last night?” she called, hoping he’d linger a bit longer.
And that got his attention. He slowed to a halt, his ridged shoulders tightening beneath his shirt. He turned and studied her with such intensity the air between them crackled. “Jessica,” he said softly, “I just wish I could afford you.”
Her jaw dropped, but he walked out the door before she could think up a suitable reply.
Chapter Thirteen
“So someone is drunk or careless and throws away a winning ticket?” Jessica turned away from the horses entering the paddock for the sixth race and looked at Maria. “Stooping seems kind of mean,” she added.
Maria snorted. “It’s not mean at all. We’re not hurting anyone. Besides, the people who throw them away don’t know, and it beats having a good ticket swept up in the garbage. Just memorize the race results, especially if there’s a scratch or disqualification.”
Jessica nodded, but her attention had leaped to Mark, who’d just walked into the paddock with Carlos. She jangled with anticipation, buoyed by his statement in her room. Maybe tonight she’d see him at the bar.
Maria’s elbow poked her. “What’cha looking at? You’re practically drooling.”
Jessica’s cheeks warmed, and she averted her head. “Just Carlos and his filly. She sure looks ready. Who do you think will run second?”
“Don’t know. But don’t bet on the two horse. Pedro knows the horse’s groom, and he said the mare’s a bit sore.”
“Then why are they racing her?”
Maria rolled expressive brown eyes. “Don’t be naïve. The track vet will scratch any obvious lameness, but lots of horses run when they’re a little sore. I have some aches and pains myself, but I still do my job.”
“Mark doesn’t race sore horses,” Jessica said.
“Not now. He’s worked his way up to better animals. Purses are bigger, so he doesn’t have to race them as often. Assets is running for two million, and all his connections will get a piece. Carlos is so excited he can’t sleep.”
Jessica glanced back at Carlos who led the feisty gray filly around the walking ring. She remembered when he’d dropped his superior attitude and finally acknowledged her presence. It was the same day she’d caught Assets. The same day Mark had let her use his Jacuzzi.
She hadn’t realized how important her grandfather’s colt was to the barn. Hadn’t understood about all the different kinds of races and horses, and the wide range of purses. However, it didn’t need to be a big race to bet, and Buddy certainly didn’t care how she earned his purchase money.
Handicapping seemed simple—she’d made a lot of money when Missy last ran—and Dino had kindly advanced her two hundred dollars from next week’s paycheck. She’d already analyzed the entries. Now though, she needed extra time to study The Form since Maria had cautioned not to bet on the two horse.
She stared at the numbers, trying to choose her second horse. Number ten, Mark’s gray horse, for sure, but she needed a second one for her exacta. The jockeys paraded out, and it was obvious she had to hurry, but panic made her brain stall—the past performances blurred together in an information overload.
“Wow, look at the six horse. His groom sure turned her out nice,” Maria said. “And I also like the one horse and the seven horse.”
Jessica tried to block Maria’s comments—she didn’t like the one horse who seemed to quit running when things didn’t go her way. However, Jessica felt like she was in a math test, and the teacher had just announced time was almost up. She glanced at the thick-chested man next to her. Could see his program spread against the rail. He’d circled three horses but not Mark’s runner. Maybe he knew something she didn’t?
“Who do you like in this race?” she asked, flashing him a friendly smile.
“I’m betting on the jockeys.” He slurped his drink and wiped his chin with the back of his arm. “Highest percentage on top.”
“What about Mark Russell’s gray? How can you ignore that horse?”
“Apprentice jockey and a girl. No way I’m betting that combo.” He snorted, spraying beer and belligerence. “The trainer’s probably using the jock so he can get a little ride himself.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she snapped.
“Yeah, well, you asked for my picks, lady. Don’t get huffy if you don’t like them.”
She rolled her eyes and edged closer to Maria, who leaned over the rail and yelled at Pedro. Maria’s partner led number nine, a white-blinkered horse who pranced and chomped at the bit. Saliva dripped from the mare’s mouth, and Jessica heard the grinding of her teeth as she jigged past.
“Who’s that?” Jessica asked, deciding the horse was either unhappy or just very keen to run.
“You’ve met him,” Maria said, completely discounting the horse. “That’s my fiancé, Pedro,”
Jessica laughed and let her frustration seep away. Clearly she was taking this handicapping business way too seriously. The sun was shining, ten gorgeous horses paraded in front of her, and the camaraderie of the crowd needed to be enjoyed.
She shoved The Form back in her pocket and leaned against the rail while Maria continued to heckle Pedro—who flashed Maria an adoring smile every time he circled.
“I see why you two are always slipping off to your apartment.” Jessica grinned. “How long have you lived together?”
“Two years, and we still don’t get much napping done. But I wish he’d find some afternoon entertainment.” Maria twisted, shooting a wary look at Mark. “Boss been yelling at everyone lately. Told me I wasn’t raking the aisle right. Even Dino got in shit for flirting with the masseuse.”
Jessica’s smile faded. Mark had yelled at her too. She just ignored it, sensing something was bothering him. But she hoped to be the new woman in his life, and the idea of being dismissed as afternoon entertainment was rather demeaning.
“So I guess Mark doesn’t take his girlfrien
ds to dinner or shows or anything like that?” she asked wistfully.
“Doubt it. They pretty much have to fit his schedule. There was an ESPN woman who was perfect for him. She worked early mornings so they could hang out at his place in the afternoons. I read all about it in the Track Tattler. Oh my, look who’s working for Radcliff’s barn now.” Maria leaned further over the rail, her voice rising. “Don’t forget to cool that filly out, Trish,” she hollered to the blonde leading the nine horse.
“Trish works for Radcliff now?” Jessica’s mouth tightened with distaste as she searched for the trainer’s distinctive white hair. “I don’t see him here.”
“He might be at the Keeneland sale or racing at Churchill. Trish will fit right in with Radcliff. He doesn’t care about horses either so long as they make money. God help a horse that breaks down in his barn.”
Jessica watched the composed blonde as she led a dainty chestnut filly with three white legs. Trish seemed a capable handler, although Jessica had heard rumors she’d been responsible for Belle’s colic.
“I read in the Tattler that another girl from our barn went out with Mark too,” Jessica said. She’d read no such thing, but she hoped to keep Maria talking. “I assumed it wasn’t true since Mark doesn’t usually date girls who work for him…” She let her voice trail off pretending the subject was of little interest.
“Oh, he does once in a while,” Maria said. “He just doesn’t do anything on track. Keeps everything private. No one really knows what Mark does. The Tattler likes to gossip about all the good-looking, single trainers.”
“I see,” Jessica said. She stared across the paddock watching Mark pause to talk to a little girl on crutches. He gestured at Carlos, who immediately guided the gray filly close to the rail. The girl leaned over and patted the horse, then looked up at her mother. The girl’s toothy grin, her utter delight, made Jessica’s throat spasm.
A simple action on Mark’s part, but Jessica knew she’d never been so thoughtful with ski fans. She’d taken their cheers for granted. Yet no matter how Mark’s horse ran today, to cheers or jeers, the joyful look he’d put on that little girl’s face was priceless.
She swiped the corner of her eye and jerked her attention back to Maria. “So? When do we start stooping?” she asked, her voice gruff.
“Soon. See that group over there?” Maria pointed. “Where the woman has a Canadian T-shirt and the men have souvenir glasses? Lots of people clean their pockets when they’re standing in concession lines. Be a good place to start.”
They waited until the jockeys were boosted onto their horses and had filed into the tunnel then edged around the drifting crowd. Jessica bent over, scooping up every ticket she could find, concentrating on the ones in clumps. It was hard enough to keep track of one ticket, she reasoned, and the clumped tickets would be harder to check. People might make more mistakes.
“I got one,” she called in glee. Race three, ten dollars to show on number six. She pulled out her Form where she’d scribbled earlier results. There’d been a disqualification, and number six had been placed over the number four horse.
“Yeah, that’s a good one.” Maria peered over Jessica’s shoulder, her voice sharpening with envy. “Should pay at least ninety bucks.”
“We can split it,” Jessica said quickly.
“No. Finders keepers,” Maria said. “Racetrack code.”
“At least let me buy you a beer.”
“The beer’s too expensive on this side of the track. I brought some from home.” Maria reached in her pockets and pulled out several large clear bags, plastic gloves and two cans of Bud. “Take the bags and gloves for later.”
Jessica shoved the plastic in her pocket, deciding to rush up to the clubhouse after the last race. The owners’ boxes would be the perfect place to stoop. She opened her beer and took a complacent sip. Ninety dollars every five minutes; at this rate, Buddy would be paid for by the end of the day.
“Are you ladies going to watch the race or just drink?” Mark’s amused voice sounded behind them.
Jessica jerked around even as Maria’s sharp elbow jabbed her in the ribs. However, she didn’t need the warning to know Mark wouldn’t like what they were doing. “We’re just trying to decide who will run second,” Jessica said. “We’re pretty sure you’ll win.”
“Nothing’s a sure thing,” Mark said, “but this is probably the best race to bet. Six, nine and ten should be finishing strong. Did you get an advance from Dino?”
She nodded, but the ticket from race five burned a hole in her pocket, and her cheeks warmed with a guilty flush.
“Okay then, you’re good for money?”
She nodded again, wondering why she felt so tongue tied.
“All right,” he said. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She and Maria watched him stroll away, past the security guard and into the elite trainers’ section.
“Man, that was weird,” Maria finally said.
“What?”
“He has a horse warming up on the track, and he’s not watching her. And he stayed to give us betting tips. He never gives tips. Always says to bet only if we don’t need the money.”
Jessica shrugged, wishing he’d invited them to his box. Hopefully the filly’s owners were men or else very old, very married women. Probably Mark and Carlos would be having dinner with them tonight. Maybe Emma Rae would join the group too.
She beelined toward the rail, resolving to check his box and find out exactly what sort of owners Mark was entertaining. But Maria ran up, grabbed her arm and propelled her towards the betting windows. “This way, kid, and bet big. If we’re lucky enough to get advice from the boss, we’d be fools not to take it.”
They studied the fluctuating odds and after two minutes of heated discussion settled on a ten-dollar exacta box six, nine, and ten, and a fifteen-dollar trifecta with Mark’s horse on top.
“Which horse did he say would run second?” Jessica asked Maria, to the exasperation of the harried mutual clerk.
“He didn’t say,” Maria said. “Better box them. It’ll cost more but will cover our ass.”
Jessica tried not to wince as she handed over the last of her two-hundred-dollar advance. It was a huge bet, but the payout would make it all worthwhile.
They rushed to the front of the grandstand, breathless and excited, arriving with only four minutes to post. Maria pushed in by the rail but Jessica lingered behind, scanning the collage of faces in the reserved boxes, trying to spot Mark and his owners. No good, too many people. A sea of swarming faces stared down at her.
She turned to the well-dressed man beside her. “Sir, could I borrow your binoculars for a moment?”
“Sure, but I want them back for the race.”
“Certainly.” She looped them over her head and pressed them against her eyes. They were the cheapest glasses she’d ever used. Everything looked tiny, and she rolled the dial repeatedly, trying to put the distant faces into focus.
“They work better if you look through the other end,” Mark drawled. “Who you looking for?”
She gave a guilty start and quickly returned the binoculars to their owner. “I heard Brad Pitt was up there,” she said.
“Really? Didn’t see him.” Mark looked distracted as he stared over her head at the starting gate. “Come on, baby. Get in.”
The urgency in his voice startled her and she swung around, horrified to see their gray filly twisting from the gate, refusing to load. Aw, damn. Her bet.
“Get your butt in there!” she yelled, squeezing closer to the rail. The horse had to load. Her money was riding on Carlos and his filly. She held her breath as the jockey dismounted. The gate crew produced a blindfold.
Mark studied her face. “I assume you have a bet down,” he said dryly.
“Yes.” Her fingers tightened around the rail. “Next week’s salary.”
“What!” He grabbed her arm, tilting her around so he could see her face. “Jesus, Jessica, sometimes you s
care me.”
Jessica shrugged, but she was scared as well. They both watched as the stubborn filly was led in circles. She could feel Mark’s tenseness, the tightness of his grip, the absence of his breathing and then realized she wasn’t breathing either.
But finally the filly entered the slot, and the gate crew slammed the door shut. An assistant starter whipped the blindfold off, and the crowd cheered.
Jessica relaxed a notch and heard Mark sigh.
“She likes to stalk, so hope for a good break,” he said. His arm had loosened although it was still looped over her hip.
“And the other horses you mentioned?” she asked not turning around, not wanting to do anything that might make him move his arm. “Where should they be?”
“They’re closers. Break isn’t so important.”
Jessica kept her eyes glued to the gate, willing the gray to break clean. She felt more confident now that she knew the racing scenario required. Her sports therapists had taught to always envision the perfect run, but she wasn’t sure how she could possibly envision three horses.
Maybe she could picture the jockey silks: blue, striped green and yellow. If the colors crossed the finish line in that order, she, Maria and Buddy would have a very successful day.
“They’re off!” the announcer yelled as the gates burst open.
Colors churned. A white-blinkered horse from the seven hole broke like a rocket then disappeared from sight as a crowd of horses fought for position.
The crowd groaned, a weird simultaneous sound. She stretched on her toes, struggling to see what had happened. Something bad, judging by the way Mark’s arm clamped around her waist.
“Damn. Rider’s off,” he muttered.
Jessica twisted, staring at the large screen. Mark’s gray filly still ran gamely in third, but something looked strange. And then she realized—the saddle was empty.
“Do they need a rider for the race to count?” she asked, her voice cracking.
Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) Page 46