Riding the Thunder (36 page)

“Mr. Mershan, we're at The Windmill. Where do you want me to drop you?” the limo driver asked.

Home
. The voice in Jago's head whispered.

“Park in the alley where you did before,” he instructed.

“Yes, sir.” Pulling up, he cut the engine. “Here's my card should you ever need me again. It's been a pleasure serving you.”

Jago nodded. “I appreciate it. You made all this much easier.”

He handed the man a hundred dollar tip, barely hearing the thanks, as he stared at the back of the restaurant and then the bungalows. The driver climbed out and helped him carry the luggage to the cottage. As he opened the door, he smiled to find Asha had pulled his Harley into the living room and Clint was sleeping on the seat.

For the first time in twenty-five days, he smiled.

“Hey, Asha!” Colin called as he rushed into the restaurant. “I just saw a limo going up the hill. I think maybe it dropped Jago off.”

Asha was testing the new taps on the soda machine. The supplier had installed the Orange Crush and Grape Crush feeds to the fountain setup today. Her hand shook on the glass she was holding as she filled it with grape soft drink.

She told herself to stay calm. There was more than one limousine in Kentucky.

But then she heard the roar of the Harley and her heart did a flip. Jago was back! She tried not to give in to the excitement, the exhilaration of knowing he'd returned, but couldn't stop it. Taking a steady breath, she tried to reach down deep inside herself to find some proper indignation. How dare he go off with no explanation and two brief phone calls!

“In twenty-five
long
days,” she muttered under her breath. “Okay, so I
was
counting.”

“Hoo hoo . . . Jago is back.” Colin rushed out the door to welcome him, followed by Delbert, Sam and Derek.

“Men. They always stick together,” she informed the paper turkey on the counter.

Netta sat down on the stool, then grinned. “What's that you saying, sugarplum? Hey, your man is back. Go give him a proper welcome.”

“Don't you dare hand out advice on how to handle my love life. I haven't noticed you doing so well in yours.” Asha sipped her Grape Crush, determined to play hard-to-get for a few minutes. “Besides, he's the one who left. He knows where to find me.”

“Don't do as I do, do as I say.” Netta popped half an Almond Joy into her mouth. “One of us should be ‘getting a little'—hmm . . . ah. . . .
grinning
.”

One-by-one, the men came straggling in, Liam bringing up the rear since he'd just pulled up. His eyes locked with Netta's for a moment, but then he glanced to Asha. “Jago's back.”

“I told her,” Colin said, picking up a screwdriver to finish affixing the shelf she wanted for a potter over the jukebox. “She's doing her female deep-freeze thing.”

The Harley roared again, summoning her outside. “Blasted man,” she grumbled.

Netta clucked, swiveling on the stool to watch her. “You run along and enjoy Sexy Lips. I'll close up the restaurant.

Oo-it can defend me with his monster screwdriver if any male or a giant leech should make untoward advances upon my tender body—not that anyone around here would bother.” She shot Liam a killing glare.

Asha wanted to drag things out and make Jago wait longer, but then she made eye contact with him through the glass door. His hair was longer, falling around his ears and neck in thick waves in bad boy fashion. Dressed in biker boots, leather pants and a new leather jacket, he was every woman's fantasy come to life. How did one resist that?

Those green eyes glowed as he watched her give in, and come out the door to him. She couldn't look away. With a warlock's power, he held her spellbound.

Jago
.

She blinked as she drew closer. His face, though wearing a smug half-smile, appeared haunted. He'd lost weight, and dark shadows smudged the skin around his eyes. Had he been sick?

She stopped an arm's length away, loving him, anxious over him. “Twenty-five days and two lousy phone calls,” she chided softly.

Not bothering to say a word of explanation or to beg her forgiveness, he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and, in a magician's pass, he held out a small black box. A
ring
box. For a moment, she didn't breathe, didn't dare hope. It would be too painful if she built castles in the air only to have it contain a pair of earrings.

“Take it,” was all the silly man said. He shoved the box toward her.

His eyes reflected love, yet were troubled by whatever he had been through this past month. But she saw there was a deep panic in their glimmering depths. Jago was scared. She doubted he'd ever been scared before in his whole life, so assured he was of himself and his place in the world.

She took the box with a trembling hand, almost too terrified to open it. Finally she flipped the lid back. In the dim light coming from the diner, the pale yellow stone gathered
the ambient illumination and then reflected it. It was brilliant, a lovely stone, not too small, not too big. As Goldilocks might say, it was just right.

“Marry me?” Jago asked.

Tears came to her eyes as she stared first at the stone, then at the man she loved more than her life. “Yes.”

It was that bloody simple.

Tommy, I'm scared. What are they doing?

Heart pounding, Asha struggled to wake up. She was Asha Montgomerie, yet somehow she was also there with Laura Valmont—and Laura was with her, in her. Since Christmas Eve, the visions of the past that had remained quiet through the days when Jago was away were suddenly back. She wasn't sure what had triggered them; vaguely, she wondered if it might have had something to do with her engagement ring, though she remained unsure quite why.

One of those silly things, she'd taken the ring off to wash dishes and forgot where she'd left it. She had panicked, fearing she'd lost it. Assuring her it was insured, Jago found where she'd placed it on a saucer. He had taken her hand, slid it onto the soapy fingers and then kissed her cheek. Silly man didn't understand it wasn't the monetary value. No ring would be like this one.

“I considered giving it to you for Christmas,” he'd informed her. “Thought it might be the perfect time.”

She leaned up on her tippy-toes and brushed her lips against his.“You chose the perfect time. Absolutely perfect.”

Even as she spoke the words, she felt something pulling at her and had to fight against being sucked into 1964, into Laura's life. She wondered if Tommy had given an engagement ring to Laura at Christmas, or maybe planned to but never had the chance. The sadness of the possibility haunted her.

After that incident, the images began to invade her sleep, where she couldn't resist them.

The wind whipped at her hair—at Laura's hair—through the open window of the bright red Mustang. Tommy sped up when the jolt hit, rocking the whole car. Up ahead the cement truck was slowing down, making a left turn. Again a hard jolt came. Tommy spun the wheel, trying to avoid crashing into the rear of the huge truck.

Horns blaring, metal smashing, pain searing through her body, Laura screaming . . .

Asha jerked up in the bed, her scream melding with Laura's as Mike Duncan's song played insider her head.

If I only had the time
If I could find just another line
If I held you one more day . . .

So strongly did she hear it that for a moment she wondered if it wasn't actually playing. But no. Just tricks of her subconscious. Sweat covered her body and her heart slammed painfully against her ribcage. She placed a hand to her chest, willing the vibrations in her blood to slow. Every nerve ached.

Glancing out the huge bedroom window at the falling snow, she sought reassurance of where she was, who she was. She smiled faintly upon seeing the winter wonderland. A total whiteout, the weathermen were calling it. After several steadying breaths, she recalled it was the day after New Year's, and that she was snowbound at the river house. Snowbound alone with Jago? Now there was heaven!

Why couldn't they have had this snow for Christmas Eve? It would have made an absolutely perfect background for the beautiful time. She'd loved shopping in Lexington with Jago. One of the few times of the year she enjoyed going into the traffic-riddled city. There was something so special about the Yuletide decorations, the hum and bustle as they shopped for gifts for family and friends. There had been a two-story carrousel at Turfland Mall, and Jago had taken her to ride the painted ponies. He gave her special gifts, some small like the pair of garnet earrings in the shape of hearts, some silly like the Frederick's of Hollywood female elf costume—though she figured that was his gift as much as for her. The lovely vivid blue pashmina shawl. His eyes had twinkled as he asked her to model it for him—wearing nothing but the shawl. But those were stolen moments. There had been a big dinner party at The Windmill with everyone trading gifts. Half the people in the area ended up coming by to drink a cup of Delbert-spiked eggnog and wish a Merry Ho Ho.

A happy time. A busy time. Thus, she welcomed the tranquility of finally being alone with Jago—and Clint.

The only discordant note to the holidays had been a call from her brother, Cian. His cell phone battery had been running low, allowing him just enough time to wish a Merry Christmas and say he was sorry neither Liam nor she were coming home to England for the holidays. She started to explain her home was here in Kentucky now, but his phone went into its warning beeps, so he cut her off, informing her that he was sending proxies for Liam and her to sign. He feared there'd be a hostile takeover of Montgomerie Enterprises after the first of the year; if that came to pass he wanted to be in position to vote Liam's shares and hers.

Jago raised up in the bed, pushing the cat draped across his lap to the side. He touched her shoulder. “Shhhh . . . you're safe, Asha. I'd never let anything hurt you.”

She melted into his arms, relishing the beautiful contours
of his chest, the security she experienced in his strong embrace. Warming her very soul, she absorbed that high heat he generated. His heart beating in a calm rhythm reassured her that she was indeed protected. If only he could keep her dreams at bay.

“Sometimes I get scared,” she admitted.

He leaned back, cradling her. “We all get scared now and then.”

She had her cheek pressed to his chest, relishing the steady thudding of his heart, but suddenly it jumped, the beating erratic. Tilting her head so she could see his beautiful face, she asked, curious, “You get scared?”

He nodded. His right hand absently massaged the back of her neck. “The idea of losing you scares me spitless.” He smiled for reassurance, only she saw the measure of his fear reflected in the dark eyes.

“Silly man, you're stuck with me and Clint.” She brushed a soft kiss to his lips.

“What scares you, Asha? You haven't slept well this last week.”

“Ghosts.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Tommy and Laura.”

She nodded. “We keep meaning to have our talk, but everyone interrupts—or we can't control ourselves and jump each other's bones.”

Asha had noticed a quiet desperation to Jago's lovemaking since his return, as if he used their passion to bond her to him. It even crossed her mind that he was trying to get her pregnant. Generally, men shied away from that step in a new relationship. Jago was not most men. She sensed he would make a good daddy, would enjoy raising a child. His gentleness with Clint demonstrated his caring, especially when the silly beast had done something that would cause other people to lose their tempers. Such as, when the cat barfed a hairball into his shoe and Jago didn't know until it was too late, or the time Clint jumped on his leather motorcycle jacket and started to claw: Jago had only talked to the
cat in soft tones and had explained these were not good things for kitty to do. His tender patience would make him a super father. So easily she could envision him wearing one of those baby harnesses. Only, this was more than him wanting a baby with her; she had a strange feeling he sought to use a child to fuse her to him, to reassure himself in some manner of his hold on her.

“There's something to be said for bone-jumping,” he joked, then kissed the tip of her nose. She yawned, then smiled and she draped herself over his chest.

“True. I don't have to exercise anymore.”

“See, therapeutic sex is good for your health.”

Being devilish, Asha traced a circle around his areola with the pad of her index finger and watched it tighten. Once she had his attention, she prodded, “You're doing it again—avoiding talking about Tommy and Laura . . . just as you avoid discussing your time away.”

“
I'm
doing it?” He accused, “You're the one playing with my titty. You're setting fire licking at my poor male brain, then you want logical conversation? All the blood travels south on an urgent mission. If you want to talk about ghosts, stop that.”

“Okay, I'll stop. I'd rather discuss why you came back looking so haunted. But ghosts are a start.”

He exhaled a deep sigh.“Okay, tell me about Tommy and Laura. What? Do you think we are the reincarnation of these lovers from the 1960s?” His tone was faintly patronizing.

“No, actually, I don't have that sense. There
is
a connection. They loved The Windmill. It's theirs, too. I'm fighting to save it. You're a threat to it. I think . . . maybe they want me to know how special it is, that it's worth fighting for.”

“You already believe that. You don't need two nonpaying guests to remind you.” He scooted up in the bed. “And I am no threat to The Windmill, Asha. Surely you know that.”

She reached for her robe and slipped it on, thinking he would keep his male brain on the chat if there were fewer ‘distractions.' Clint gave a huge yawn, grumpy that his people
were stirring at dawn instead of snuggling back down to sleep. She patted his head and he curled up, glaring at them with one eye.