Riding the Thunder (31 page)

“Funny. Nope, Hersh handles the bookings for Bobby ‘Boris' Pickett. I'd tried several months back to see if Pickett could come to the Halloween party and perform. I mean, would that be cool or what? He was booked solid—popular time of the year for him—so it was no go. But get this—Hersh called to see if we still wanted to hire him. There was a cancellation. He said Pickett's hosting a Halloween party in Louisville on the Friday before Halloween, and then one on Saturday and Sunday in Lexington. So, he'll be in the area. If we give him lodging from Sunday through Thursday, he could do our Halloween gig on Wednesday. We could announce it at the drive-in. We could do some posters and handbills. So, can we?”

The lights flickered on, then the jukebox slowly came to life and began playing “Monster Mash.” Jago stared at the shiny Wurlitzer. “Freaky.”

“See? Even the box wants Bobby.” Colin nearly danced in place. “Can we, huh?”

“Sure. That will be great fun,” Asha gave her consent, amusement twinkling in her amber eyes.

Jago ground out his cigarillo in the ashtray, and opened his mouth to ask Asha if they could go somewhere quiet where they could talk, but Delbert came in. The cat dashed in between the old man's legs, sending everyone scurrying to catch him. The silly beast proved quick for a pussycat that had two speeds—waddle and stop.

Jago smiled at the antics, watching Asha, adoring her, and realizing their talk would have to come soon. That damn letter was out there. He had to tell her himself before someone else did.

It proved to be a perfect All Hallows Eve, warm, yet with a nip in the soft breeze. Asha couldn't have conjured a more beautiful day for The Windmill's Halloween bash. The remaining leaves of the sugar maples and oaks were still ablaze with oranges and the occasional splash of brilliant reds, setting the countryside afire with this magical time.

Inside The Windmill, a fat jack-o'-lantern sat on the end of the counter, a sappy, toothy grin carved into the face; its softly flickering candle cast a pale amber glow across the darkened diner. Even the jukebox endlessly playing “Tell Laura I Love Her” seemed part of the delightfully supernatural ambience swirling in the air.

Her hips softly swaying to the soulful ballad, Asha stood by the diner window, sipping a lemonade and absorbing the beauty of the landscape. She sensed a peace, a rightness in this day, in her world. Since there were still a lot of preparations for Halloween night, she had closed the diner after the lunch rush and now stood in the silent restaurant with the lights out, enjoying the tranquil moment.

Twisting the clear rod to open the Venetian blinds, she observed Jago washing the Shelby—with a little ‘advisory help' from Colin and the cat that still didn't have a name. She figured any minute Jago would turn the hose on Colin, who kept pointing out each patch Jago missed. The instant Jago wiped down the car so it wouldn't spot, the cat jumped up on it and padded across the hood. Smiling, she watched Jago pick up the pesky feline and place him down with a pat, then rewashed the tracks. The scene was nothing out of the ordinary, yet one of those instances in time she so treasured.

Unhurried, she relished this moment of solitude; there hadn't been many of them in the past few weeks. All had shifted and changed with Jago's coming, with his quickly slipping into being a part—the focus—of her world. The speed with which he fit into her life, and then morphed into her heart still left her breathless, often scared. Despite the fear, she embraced the spellbinding madness of being in love, truly in love.

Jago used his bungalow as an office for his business concerns now as his days and nights were spent with her. He cheerfully helped out with all The Windmill's businesses, and seemed genuinely to enjoy himself. Interested in every aspect, he about drove Colin nuts with questions about the drive-in's projector system. Asha smiled, thinking how much good it did Colin's ego that Jago wanted to hear his opinions.

Some days after breakfast, Jago accompanied Liam to Valinor and learned about running the horse farm. That made her nervous. Still, Liam seemed happy with it, so she figured her devious brother had an ace or two up his sleeve. Being a ‘Meddling Montgomerie,' she had to fight the urge to prod Jago and Liam both about the status of the sale; she didn't like it hanging over their heads. At such times, she simply took a deep breath and reminded herself it was Liam's business. He'd have to take care of the farm,
just as she'd take care of The Windmill. Whatever the case, she didn't want the situation to intrude on her relationship with Jago.

Her brother appeared increasingly happy—at least where the farm was concerned. His romance with Netta on the other hand, oddly appeared stalled. Such a beautiful man, women were usually ready to kill simply to gain his notice; her arrogant brother wasn't used to anyone keeping him at arms' length. But that was precisely what Netta was doing. Asha suspected Netta had cold feet and was running scared. Again, she bit back the temptation to butt in and play matchmaker. She really felt Netta was good for Liam—or could be if she stopped throwing obstacles up between them. Asha knew she wouldn't appreciate Liam trying to interfere between Jago and her, so no matter how hard it was, she reined in and left Netta and Liam to work matters out between themselves.

Outside these small worries, everything was so perfect between Jago and her. The final piece to the puzzle, he completed her world. He was liked and respected by all at The Windmill. The only troubling aspect: she occasionally caught a questioning expression in her employees' eyes when they thought she wasn't looking. Concern. They clearly approved of her loving Jago, only they held reservations, were fearful she would be hurt if things suddenly soured.

She would've dismissed their anxieties completely if she hadn't caught Jago with a similar glint in his eyes. That had caused her heart to miss a beat. Several times he'd approached her saying, “We need to talk” only to have someone intrude. She assumed he wanted to discuss where they were headed in their affair. Continuing to build upon their relationship would soon require more permanent changes in their lifestyles, such as how he would handle his job with Trident Ventures. Everything was just so ideal, she hesitated to broach any aspect of his connection to Trident.
Right now, she was very much in love and wanted to savor that special magic. All else could hang.

Especially, on this night. Halloween! She was eager to see what Jago would dress up as. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she contemplated his reaction to
her
costume.

With a happy sigh, she gathered her purse and locked the restaurant. “‘She did the Mash . . . the Monster Mash . . . ,'” she sang softly as she walked along the sidewalk and rounded the building. Just before she turned to go toward her bungalow, she waved to Jago and Colin still futzing with the car. Evidently tired of playing carwash, What's His Name came running after her.

“You missed a spot, Jago.”

In response, Jago's hand flexed around the large sponge as he gritted his teeth. He really liked Colin, enjoyed the quirky chatter the man kept up, only right now he wished his hand was around Colin's scrawny neck and not the sponge. Dropping it into the pail with a plop, he picked up the hose and sprayed the car.

“Black cars are a pain. Show every smudge you miss.” Colin pointed with his cigarette toward a slowly appearing streak. “You missed another here.”

“Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without your help,” Jago replied.

Colin stopped inspecting the car, looked at Jago in his cut off jeans and made a sour face, though his eyes flashed merriment. “You know, Jago, those shorts do nothing for your legs.”

He knew Colin was deliberately pushing his buttons, trying to get a rise out of him. The runt was rather good at it, too. Jago re-sprayed the fender and seriously considered turning the hose on Colin. Instead, he reached over, pulled the unlit cigarette from the pest's mouth.

“Stop baiting me just to relieve your boredom.” Snapping
it in two, he flicked it away, trying not to laugh. “Smoking is bad for your health—in more ways than one.”

“Asha and you keep telling me that, and I keep reminding
you
that you smoke those funny little cigars.
Swisher Sweets
,” he said the name in a high, mocking voice. “Frankly, they're something a guy wearing shorts would smoke. Even the name sounds—”

“Anyone ever tell you what a pain in the bum you are, Colin?”

“Bum? That's what . . . an English rear end?” He chuckled. “Sure, all the time. I'm growing on you.
Told
you. Seriously, if you'd just give in and call me Oo-it, then I wouldn't irritate you so much. Everyone expects a Colin to be well behaved. An Oo-it can say or do anything and everyone laughs.”

The cell phone sitting on the car dash began to chirp. With a smile Colin opened the door and reached for it. “Phone's ringing, Jago,” he informed him redundantly, squinting to study the small buttons. Once more, the urge to let Colin have it with the hose tickled within Jago.

“Thanks, I might've missed that,” he chuckled.

Colin punched the button and started talking, “Oo-it's Wash-o-rama. You pay it, we spray it. What can I do you for?” A big grin spread across his face and his eyebrows lifted. “Ah,
Trevelyn
. . . yes, the hired help is here, and yes, you may speak to him. However, remember this is a business, and we frown upon personal calls, just so you—”

Jago jerked the phone out of Colin's hand, shooting him a glare. The quirky man sniggered playfully. “Trevelyn? Bet he wears shorts, too.”

Jago frowned at Colin, clearly indicating he should go away and not eavesdrop, but the pest just blinked his intelligent eyes and played innocent. It was too much to resist: Jago finally pressed the lever on the hose and let loose with the spray.

“Hey, hey!” Colin danced out of range. “Just for that, I'm
going to go find your cat, kidnap him and hold him for ransom.”

“Well, while you're torturing him, see if he'll reveal his name.” Laughing, Jago finally put the phone to his ear. “Hello, brother dearest. I'm rather busy at the moment, so make it short, please.”

“Yeah, they're getting ready to put you in a padded cell. I leave you alone for a few weeks and you get into trouble. Oo-it's Wash-o-rama? Kidnapping and torturing your cat? What cat? Even more pressing, what the bloody hell is an Oo-it?”

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded different, the Brit accent stronger now. Also, Trev's tone resonated with a tension, though being Trev the Omnipotent, he was trying to screen it. Someone else might miss these small changes, but not Jago; attuned to the man who was his mirror image, he always knew when Trevelyn was trying to hide something. Judging by his own situation, he figured that ‘something' had to do with Trev being around Raven Montgomerie. Curiosity ate at him, made him ponder just how involved Trev was with Asha's twin.

“Oo-it is the nickname for a quirky but strangely endearing character who works at The Windmill. Whole place is full of them.”

“Similar to Falgannon Isle. When I talk to Des, he sounds like he's hip deep in oddballs. He's also getting a hint of a Scottish burr; and you, brother dear, are acquiring a Kentucky twang,” Trev teased.

“While you are growing veddy Brit. Consider yourself lucky you didn't go to Falgannon or here and escaped the local color. Your finicky temperament couldn't handle it.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say I avoided eccentric people. There's a small band of Gypsies camped on the Colford property. I'd think people living in wagons in this day and time ranks up there with out of the ordinary.” Trev exhaled, obviously stressed or tired. “How are things going?”

“I detect a note of concern,” Jago said.

“I wish this was all done. The pretense of being Trevelyn
Sinclair
wearies me. I've been buying up Montgomerie Enterprise stock left and right all week, yet keeping it slow enough not to draw attention. We're gaining inroads. Still, I'd prefer the takeover to be a
fait accompli
. I dislike not being in contact with Des or you. I ring and ring and can't reach either of you. I keep having dreams of the sisters getting together and comparing notes—then all hell breaks loose.”

“Between us, I'd prefer we just drop the plans, tell them the truth, now, before your dream becomes a reality . . . a nightmare.”

“Knowing what it would do to Des? It'd not just ruin him financially, but also what it would do to
him
. This isn't about money. You know that,” Trevelyn argued. But there was less conviction to his words than there had been three weeks earlier.

Jago's hand gripped the phone, fighting to keep from tossing it against the nearby tree. “There should be another way. The takeover will happen; Des has the wheels in motion and there's no stopping it. Only, we can come clean first. Lay all our cards on the table. Do the deal straight on.”

“Des wants it this way. We owe him—”

Jago leaned his head back. Breathing in and exhaling slowly, he reached for a control that was rapidly slipping away from him. “Don't start. Just don't bloody start. I've heard the song and dance, chapter and verse, until I am ready to puke, Trev. This is
not
the way. It can't be the way—”

His phone chirped at the same time his brother cut him off. “My other line is ringing, Jago. Let me take it. It's Mershan International's line, so it will be Julian. Hold—”

“That's my phone saying the battery is low.” Jago jumped at the excuse to break off the conversation that threatened
to ruin his whole night. “I need to recharge it. I'm out for the night, so call me tomorrow. Not early. Remember the time difference.”