Riding the Thunder

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “You’re supposed to put salt and pepper and a pat of butter on them,” she said, trying to appear innocent.

  He shook his head and pushed them away. “No thanks. Then it would taste like salt, pepper and buttered sand. You are mean, Asha. Making me eat sand is something my brother Trev would do.”

  “Trev?” she asked.

  He nodded. “My twin brother, Trevelyn, and we have an older brother, Des.”

  “We are both twins! I have a twin sister, Raven.” Asha was delighted with the bond of commonality. “It’s not easy being a twin, is it?”

  Over the breakfast he talked about having a sibling so alike, of how he understood the struggle of being outwardly like another yet so different inside, feeling the need to assert your own individuality. Her earlier peeve forgotten, Asha enjoyed learning about him. Jago was easy to talk to, flirt with. He enjoyed horseback riding—though seldom had the opportunity—loved music, old movies and sleeping in on rainy days. He took pleasure in swimming laps nearly every day, and dancing when the opportunity presented itself. The meal passed too quickly.

  “I have several sisters besides my twin. My sisters Britt and BarbaraAnne—B.A., we call her—are twins, and we have twin brothers, too. We joke that twins not only run in the family, they gallop. I come from a big family, very clannish. Do you come from a large family?”

  Jago pushed his plate back, sipping the last of his coffee. “Just my brothers and my mother. She’s under nursing care in Ireland.”

  “I thought I detected the hint in your accent. You lived there?

  “The accent comes from her, I should imagine. She’s Irish. We lived there when I was little, but I was too small to recall anything.”

  “Your father’s not alive?” She watched his face cloud at her question.

  Obviously, it was his turn to experience a raw nerve. He stiffened, taking a beat to rein in strong emotions, before saying in a flat tone, “My father died. I really don’t recall him, though Des talks about him a lot. He’s older . . . memories are more vivid for my brother.”

  Seeing the sparkle dim in those mesmerizing eyes, Asha reached out, and without thinking covered his hand with hers. She almost yanked it back, assuming it perhaps a little presumptuous. Instead of rebuffing her sympathy, Jago’s hand quickly reversed positions, gave hers a small squeeze of thanks. Lacing fingers, they sat for some time, just holding hands, not speaking

  As Asha stared into the deep green eyes, she could barely breathe, stunned by the rare moment of wordless understanding that shook the very walls of her safe little world.

  Never had she felt so close to another person, not even her twin.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Later that night, Asha was still trying to erect defenses against the profound connection she’d felt with Jago.

  “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like him,” she muttered under her breath as she frowned in his direction. Ringing up a dinner ticket on the register, she was careful not to slam the drawer just to vent her peevish mood.

  Netta flashed a smile while she filled glasses from the soda fountain. “I saw you drive up with Sexy Lips and unload groceries at noon. Very domestic. Convenient—him living right next door? Sigh. And me stuck in a cottage up the hill. Still, even if I were closer, I doubt it would do any good. That man keeps an eye on you at all times.” She leaned close and bumped Asha’s shoulder. “You feel a target on your back, sugarplum?”

  A woman passed by Jago’s table and paused to say something to him. Whatever the question was, he just shook his head no and grinned.

  “Jerk. I forgot what a pain in the bum a pretty man can be. Women thirteen to ninety make cakes of themselves around them,” Asha groused, working up a temper. “Ella slipped her phone number to him when she passed his change back for breakfast. I knew she would.”

  Netta shook her head. “Oh, there’s a real shocker. I think all that Suave hairspray she uses on that helmet of hair sank into her brain long ago. Of course, she wasn’t the brightest Sylvania Blue Dot bulb to start with. You know that, so why are you ticked? You think Sexy Lips will call her?”

  “No,” she acknowledged with a disgusted sigh. The disgust was for herself. She admitted it; she was interested in Jago Fitzgerald when her best judgment said fascination with the sexy, arrogant man was hazardous to her mental health. Already she acted like a pathetic idiot because some brainless Barbie doll had slipped him her phone number.

  “Just because one pretty man was a big horse’s patoot, doesn’t mean they all are. It’s not Sexy Lips’s fault females get hot and bothered when they’re around him. You know, men do the same over you. You just project that Lady Deep Freeze aura and the poor schmucks scurry off to self-flagellate for daring to look. If you ask my opinion, you’d make a good pair.”

  “No one asked you, Netta Know-It-All.” Asha picked up a pencil and made a note to herself to call around in the morning about getting estimates on the cracked ceiling tiles—and how it’s never smart to trust a pretty man. She underlined the last part three times.

  “While we’re on the subject of asking, find out if he has a brother like him tucked away somewhere. I’d gladly put up with the inconvenience of fighting off predatory females.”

  Asha stuck the paid ticket into the box by the register. “Actually, he does. Just like him. He’s a twin.”

  Netta blinked in surprise and then grinned. “You’re kidding. They cloned that gorgeous thing? Oh, there is a god! What’s this carbon copy’s name, and where can I collect him? I get off at ten.”

  “Trevelyn, and sorry—he’s in England.”

  “There is a god and She hates me. Why is it all the best men are in England, and I’m stuck in a greasy spoon in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Don’t you go calling my diner a greasy spoon,” Asha teased, wagging her pencil at her waitress. “Show a little loyalty and respect here.”

  Netta put the full glasses on her tray, mooned, “Trevelyn,” and then went back to waiting tables.

  The jukebox, which had behaved all evening, suddenly switched mid-song. Asha held her breath, fearing they would be treated to an hour of “Tell Laura I Love Her.” When Ray Davis of The Kinks cut loose with “You Really Got Me,” she exhaled in relief.

  “Still 1964,” she chuckled, “but at least it’s a break from the‘Tell Laura’marathon, for which my nerves are thankful.”

  With a big grin, Netta gave her a thumbs-up sign. “See—told you there is a god. If I ever land on Jeopardy, I hope one of the categories is music from the 1960s. Man, will I be able to ace that. Yeah, give me The Hollies for $500, Alex.”

  As Asha began to sing along with Ray, her eyes shifted casually to Jago. “‘Yeah, you really got me, so I can’t sleep at night . . .’”

  The front door pushed open and a handsome man with auburn hair came through, pulling Asha from her mental meanderings. Until she’d met Jago Fitzgerald, she’d never known a more gorgeous man than her brother. One might actually call him beautiful. Netta’s motor would likely strip gears with Liam and Jago in the same room. It was hard on a woman’s libido to see two men so utterly drop-dead gorgeous in the same vicinity.

  Asha’s fingernails tapped a restless tattoo on the countertop. “I could make a fortune renting them out as models for Romance book covers, then I could pay for my cracked ceiling tiles,” she muttered.

  “What’s this about prostituting me for the sake of a ceiling? I’m insulted. I would think my bod could cover the cost of your new air conditioner, too.” Liam leaned across the counter and kissed her on the cheek.

  Asha’s eyes slid past him to Jago, sitting in the booth halfway across the diner, noting the disconcerted look upon his face. She smiled unrepentantly. After being perturbed at breakfast, it felt good to turn the tables. Observant, Liam noted the object of her interest. He lifted his brow, a question lighting his hazel eyes.

  “Jago Fitzgerald, my dinner date I take it?” Liam winked at Netta as she sashayed past. The blonde win
ked back.

  “He’s British, thirty-seven and has a twin brother.” Asha reluctantly admitted, “And I rather like him.”

  “Any chance you might sacrifice yourself and seduce him into leaving the horse farm alone?” Liam teased.

  “Welcome back, Sweet Pea. We’ve missed your handsome face around these parts. I was beginning to think you forgot all about us around here.” Netta returned and paused to flirt with Asha’s brother, slowly walking her fingers up his chest. “As for bribing—you can bribe me into seducing him. In fact, you can seduce me into seducing him. That’d work, too. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Though I warn you, you might have to seduce me several times before it takes.”

  Asha chuckled. “Down, Netta, you’ll overload my poor brother’s hormones.”

  “Yeah, my hormones can’t stand too much Netta razzle-dazzle first thing upon my return.” Liam laughed easily. “Asha, join me for supper with Fitzgerald. I could use moral support. I’m in the unenviable position of brokering a deal for Dad when I don’t want to sell. I wish you’d kept your quarter interest in the horse farm, then Mac couldn’t be trying to sell Valinor out from under me.”

  Asha chuckled. “You silly brother, Mae didn’t raise an eegit for a daughter. He’d be trying to sell The Windmill, too. Go play nice with the pretty man. If I keep you company, I’ll go back to wanting to stick him with a fork.”

  Curious about their first meeting, Asha watched her brother walk over and extend his hand as Jago rose from his seat. The two men shook, and then both settled into the booth. They were easy on the eyes, Liam so striking with his neat auburn hair, and Jago a warrior dark. If she’d thought every female in the room buzzed in man-alert mode with only Jago sitting there, it was nothing compared to glances and drools the two men collected together.

  Netta walked behind the counter, opened the glass display case and took out an Almond Joy. Unwrapping it, she popped half in her mouth, her cheek resembling a chipmunk’s as she spoke. “What? They say when you’re in love your body produces a chemical similar to chocolate. Well, I ain’t getting any loving. I need chocolate if you want me to work.”

  Asha smiled. “I consider your chocolate thieving part of your salary.”

  Netta’s blue eyes studied her before asking, “When did Liam get back from England? I thought that since he was gone so long he might’ve decided to stay over there permanently.”

  “This afternoon. He’s like me—we have Kentucky in our soul, our mother’s thumbprint on our lives. He only went across the pond to try and talk our father out of selling the horse farm.”

  “Netta, sugar, how about a refill on coffee—or are you expecting me to wait on myself?” Dwight Kennedy called from a booth by the windows.

  Netta grumbled, “The unwashed masses summon.” She picked up the coffee carafe, then thought better and turned back. “Make you a deal. Fix me up with Liam, and I’ll keep my mitts off Jago.”

  Asha sniggered. The threat was toothless. When Asha ignored Netta, the waitress batted her vivid blue eyes. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top? I’ll scrub your toilet for a month.”

  “Sorry, I don’t play social arranger for my brother.” She laughed at Netta’s grumpy face.

  “We could double-date,” The blonde pressed.

  Dwight yelled again, “Netta! Coffee!”

  “All right, already, I’m coming. Some people just got no manners,” she almost shouted playfully. The whole restaurant heard, and roared with laughter.

  Watching Netta work the room, Asha smiled. Strange, there was nearly ten years difference in their ages, but you’d never know from their friendship. As Netta made her return pass, Asha suggested, “Come back in fifteen and we’ll plot.”

  The woman’s face brightened. “Sure thing, boss!”

  Asha glanced back at Liam and Jago. Under different circumstances the two men could have probably been friends. The farm now stood between them. Valinor satisfied Liam the way The Windmill did her. Liam loved raising horses, and was good at it; though not making a fortune, the farm never ran in the red. She feared Mac had allowed his never-ending bitterness over the divorce from their mother to push him into considering the sale of Valinor without taking Liam’s wishes into account.

  Both men were smiling, talking easily, obviously comfortable with each other. Evidently something was said about her, for Liam turned and very pointedly looked as she wiped down the counter. A blush rose to Asha’s cheeks as both sets of eyes fixed upon her, but Asha only saw the man with sable hair. Unable to look away from Jago, all around her shifted focus, blurring.

  Asha swallowed hard, fighting back panic. This special bond summoned by Jago Fitzgerald scared the bloody hell out of her.

  The spell broke as Monty Faulkner swaggered through the door. Asha gritted her teeth. Something was decidedly queer about Faulkner, and not as in Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, but off. He rarely came in the restaurant, and he never did anything out of line, but Asha hated the way he leered at her.

  The man’s eyes were a strange flat gold, reminding her of a crocodile she’d once seen on a school field trip to the Cincinnati Zoo. She’d gone into the reptile house along with the other children. Snakes gave her the willies, and lizards weren’t much better; eschewing those exhibits, she walked to the corner and looked down. Oddly, she’d found herself staring at a glass floor with a crocodile under her. A large one. She’d watched it, assuming it to be stuffed, a harmless display. The eyes were a weird yellow-gold, lifeless like marbles. As she observed the thing, repulsed yet hypnotized, the blasted croc jumped up and snapped at her. She was terrified, seeing that yawning jaw coming at her; only when the croc bumped into the glass did she breathe again, remembering there was fortunately a barrier between them. As soon as the blasted creature understood that, too, the thing went back to lying there, alive, yet there was no life force to the reptile. It existed and killed. That was the long and short meaning to its life.

  Asha recalled that crocodile when she looked at Montague Faulkner—only there was no glass wall between them.

  In his twenties and thirties he’d likely been beautiful, a golden angel that would’ve outshone Liam or Jago. His hair was California blond, the shade few ever kept into adulthood, the mass of curls at odds with a face ravaged from time and drink. Not having a magic portrait tucked up in his attic like Dorian Gray, the ugliness of his soul was etched on his dissipated countenance.

  Without waiting for Rhonda to seat him, he shoved into the large C-shaped booth at the front of the diner. Asha opened her mouth to caution him, but a breeze brushed against her cheek. She glanced around, puzzled. The door to the kitchen and the one to the front were closed. The heater overhead blew warm air; this had a distinct chill. Feeling little guilt, she shrugged and kept her mouth shut.

  Netta strolled over, placing an empty tray on the stack at the end of the counter. She flashed a fake smile and through her teeth said, “Jerk alert.” Going to the fountain, she drew a Big Red and then grabbed a Snickers bar. “I’m taking my break. Let Rhonda earn her keep.” With that, she retreated into Asha’s darkened office.

  “How about some service?” Faulkner growled.

  Rhonda tended to ignore people that dared seat themselves. With a perfect arched eyebrow, she glanced at Asha and frowned in distaste. Asha gave her a faint nod. With an exaggerated sigh, Rhonda went to take his order.

  Asha glanced at Jago. He caught her staring and winked. When she pretended to ignore him, he leaned over to the jukebox’s wallette and flipped through the selector. Pulling change from his pocket, he dropped a quarter in the coin slot and pushed the red buttons. The room filled with the slow sexy sound of the Shirelles’“Baby It’s You.” “It’s not the way you smile that touched my heart . . .”

  Asha’s heart slowed to a deep thud that seemed to match the beat of the golden oldie. She was barely able to ring up the next check and set up the charge card. So caught in Jago’s net, she jumped when Faulkner tossed his water glass across the ro
om.

  “What the hell is this?” he roared.

  Asha started toward the table; however, Liam beat her there. “You got a problem, Mont-a-gue?” Placing both hands on the table, her brother leaned forward and glared.

  Faulkner’s face turned a motley red. “Someone put salt in the damn ice water!”

  “Liam.” Asha touched his elbow softly. After a second, her brother stepped back with a faint nod, recognizing she was the owner of the restaurant, not him, and thus it was her right to handle the problem. “Mr. Faulkner, is there some trouble?”

  “Salt! Someone spiked the ice water with salt!”

  “I saw Rhonda draw the water. She didn’t put anything in it. No one but you has touched it since,” Asha informed him in an even tone.

  “You telling me that I put the salt in the water?” he snarled. He started to rise from his seat, hesitating as his eyes flicked to Liam standing behind her, and then to Jago, who materialized at her elbow. Sam stuck his head out the swinging door, a heavy metal spatula in his hand. Asha sighed. Men and their time-honored code of protecting their women.

  “I didn’t put salt in my own damn water,” Monty insisted. Asha spread her hands in the air. “I didn’t accuse you of that, but since you broke the glass I cannot check it now. I’ll bring you another.”

  “There better not be salt in it,” he threatened.

  Asha calmly got a glass of ice water and set it before him.

  In a flashback to that bloody crocodile, the disturbing man moved before she could blink. Deceptively fast for a man whose debauchery had taken its toll upon his body, his hand caught her wrist in a vise grip. “You won’t always have those young bucks standing behind you, missy. Remember that.”

  Asha met his eyes lacking any spark of humanity, only that air of a predator that killed because that was how he was created. “You don’t scare me, Mr. Faulkner. I carry a Colt Python. You ever come near me, I’ll start with your knees and shoot my way up without hesitation.” For emphasis she smiled, formed her right finger and thumb into a gun and shot him.