What’s His Name zoomed about the house, his tail vibrating like Jeep in the old Popeye cartoons. Upon arrival, he’d first rushed to the kitchen—as though making sure the house came with the necessities—then he’d dashed here and there, checking everything. Poor thing nearly wore out his fat self.
Once his inspection was complete, he started to spray the fireplace to mark it as his. Asha had tossed a throw pillow at him, screaming, “Don’t you dare!” and warned him they had made an appointment at the vet’s on Friday. She grumbled something about turning him into a eunuch if he sprayed the first thing in the house. He must’ve believed her for he behaved after that. He quickly established his favorite spot on a window seat near the river stone fireplace. Just a minute ago, he’d run over, hopped up on the recessed window and focused on a squirrel, sitting and chattering on the deck rail in the twilight. The cat turned his head and gave Jago one of his funny smiles, the orange eyes clearly saying, Yeah, this will do.
Jago scratched the kitty’s broad head. “Yeah, this will do nicely, Puss,” he murmured lowly.
“Stop whispering to that mangy cat,” Asha teased.
The cat whipped his head around and glared at Asha, clearly saying, Who’s mangy?
“You two can conspire all you want—I’m not selling this house. My house. Mac left it sitting, neglected for years. I’ve spent a lot of time getting it into this shape.” She shrugged. “I guess it has memories for him—about my mum—ones that he’d rather dismiss. Only, I find peace here. When I cut the deal to trade him my shares in the farm for his part of The Windmill, I made him toss in the house to balance the exchange.”
“Why do you stay at The Windmill motel when you have this absolutely marvelous castle atop the hill to live in?” This was biting at Jago, had been from the start, how the Montgomerie sisters were often at odds with their upbringings, seeking quiet, less flamboyant lifestyles than that of the ancient English manor, Colford Hall.
Asha shrugged, going to the refrigerator and removing cheese. “This is a home. I love coming here, working on it, bringing it back to life. Only, it needs more than just me.” She concentrated on running the block of aged cheddar back and forth across the hand grater, clearly avoiding his stare. He could see she didn’t want to say, It needs a family.
“I love this house, lass. I can’t imagine one more perfectly designed. It’s elegance and style, and yet comfortable, welcoming—you feel like you could put your feet up on the coffee table without breaking some unwritten law. It conjures images of hot summer nights grilling outside, fireflies flickering in the woods, or spending a Sunday curled up by the fireplace with a good book as snowflakes fly by the window. Here the world seems so far away, like we’re the only ones for miles around.” The sound of a car in the drive broke Jago’s fantasy. He leaned to see out the back door. “Well, almost. Your brother’s Viper.”
“Liam—the worm.” Asha wiped her hands on the apron about her waist, then untied it.
“And Netta,” he added.
“Maybe they came for supper,” she said hopefully.
“With suitcases? Yeah, right.” Jago arched his eyebrow and then lifted his glass in salute. “Fe fi fo fudder . . . I smell the blood of a nosy big brother.”
Tossing the apron on the island counter, Asha flipped on the porch light for them. “I’m not sure fudder and brother really rhyme. This is my home. While he’s welcome for supper, I didn’t invite him for a co-ed slumber party.”
Liam opened the door of the screened in porch for Netta. Juggling a sack and his leather duffle, he permitted her to come on through to the kitchen. Asha pulled open the inside door and gave them a grin. Netta rolled her eyes and lifted her shoulders in a faint shrug, letting Asha know this wasn’t her idea.
“For you.” Netta chuckled and handed her a bouquet of cut mums.
“Thanks . . . I think.” Asha gave Liam a big fake smile, her eyes flashing daggers. “What a surprise. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you, Brother Dearest. What—an hour and a half at least?”
“I missed the scintillating conversation and delightful company,” Liam said, nonplused. He dropped his duffle and held up a sack with his other hand. “We brought steaks and a strawberry pie.”
“Which you stole from my diner.” Asha crossed her arms and glared at him.
Undeterred by her cool welcome, Liam leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I knew you wouldn’t mind. Hey, I cooked and fed you brunch. Payback time.”
“I’d be delighted. Go fire up the grill; we can get the steaks going. I wouldn’t want you out past your bedtime.” She took a vase from under the sink, ran it half-full of water and then plopped the flowers in, not bothering to arrange them.
Liam turned and accepted the Scotch Jago handed him. “Dream on. I’m not driving back on that narrow cliff road in the dark.” Raising the glass, he offered a big grin. “Especially when I have been drinking. Fancy meeting you here, Fitzgerald.”
“Jago, don’t abet his fibs by feeding him The Macallan. He doesn’t deserve it.” Asha growled. As the cat waddled over and sniffed Liam’s leg, she smirked. “Sic him, Putty Tat. Him you can spray all you want.”
“Haven’t you named that animal yet?” her brother inquired.
“Liam, why are you here?” Asha asked, picking up the chopping knife.
Liam ignored the question. “You will learn, Jago, the men in my family strictly abide by three rules concerning my sisters. A matter of sheer survival, actually. First rule—never let any of them behind the wheel of a car when they’re pissed. Second—keep them away from sharp objects.” He took Asha’s hand and removed the knife from her grip. “And third and foremost—protect your breall. Of course, being males perhaps we should’ve made that rule number one.”
“Breall? Which is?”
“Breall—Gaelic for that which a man most treasures.”
Jago laughed. “All rules duly noted and filed away for future reference.” Accepting the long grill lighter from Asha, he repeated her question, “So, Liam, why are you here? Brother’s protective mode stuck in engage?”
“And here I thought you wanted me to seduce him to leaving the horse farm alone,” Asha taunted when Liam again failed to answer.
Jago picked up the cat and started outside. “This night could get very interesting. Puss.”
“Or stay very, very dull.” Netta fixed Liam with her blue eyes.
Jago wasn’t sure if that was a comment or a threat.
Despite still being mildly irked at Liam for pulling his big brother watchdog routine, Jago was in a mellow mood after the delicious steak and salad. He thoroughly enjoyed being at the river house, and had enjoyed the fun time outside grilling with Liam and What’s His Name. Most especially, he loved the sweet promise of many more like it.
His frame of mind soured after they had finished dessert and were getting ready to go to bed.
“Jago and I can bunk together in the master bedroom. That way, Netta and you each have a room.” Liam announced, as if that decided the matter.
Jago couldn’t help it; his eyebrows lifted at the suggestion. Obviously, brother dearest was a chess player, with plans on capturing Queen Netta, while protecting Queen Asha. Over my dead body, Jago swore to himself. “While I like you, Montgomerie, you’re not whom I had in mind to cuddle with tonight.”
Liam shrugged. “Beggars cannot be choosers.”
“I was invited. That puts you in the beggars category, eh?”
Asha made a sour face at her brother. “This is my home. I’d appreciate you letting me decide where guests sleep.”
Liam tossed up his hands. “Fine. You decide.”
“Thank you,” she replied, getting clean sheets from the linen closet. “Netta and I shall sleep together in the loft, and you two get the rooms on the landing.”
Liam looked disgruntled. “The beds in those rooms aren’t full-size, just old-fashioned three-quarter beds. The loft one is king-size.”
Asha grinned impishl
y. “Yeah, I know.” She shoved the sheets to his chest, and then pinched his cheek. “’Night, ’night, William Francis.”
“Francis?” Jago almost snorted. “As in The Talking Mule?”
“Up yours Jayyyyyyy-go. No one is named Jago.” Liam sneered good-naturedly and pushed the sheets back to Asha. “Seriously, the king-size bed would give us males more room. Three-quarter beds were not designed for men’s bodies.”
Jago said, “I’m almost afraid to ask what a three-quarter bed is?”
“Instruments of torture. Two inches shorter in length than a regular bed and about five inches narrower. Mickey Rooney would never complain, but I have to scrunch up or my feet hang over. I’ll have a pinched nerve in the morning,” he warned his sister.
“You should’ve thought of that before you invited yourself to a sleepover.” Asha shoved the sheets at him again and then walked off, leaving the two men standing in the hall of the landing, staring at each other.
Liam glanced at his sister going up the stairs, and then down at the sheets and pillowcases he held. “Well, bugger.”
“Not working out as you assumed, Mr. Chess Master?” Jago’s snigger slipped out when he saw Liam’s flummoxed expression.
Liam exhaled his disgust. “Enjoy wiggling your toes all night, Jayyyyygo.”
“Sure, Francis.” The cat shot past Jago’s legs, heading straight for the bed. “Yeah, well, I won’t be the one sleeping alone tonight.”
“This has to be the longest night of my life,” Jago grumbled to the fat feline a little while later. He paused from his pacing back and forth like a caged panther in the landing bedroom. His skin on fire, there was no sleeping. When he’d lay down, he’d half drifted, images of his morning with Asha flooding his mind, haunting, tormenting him. Opening a jalousie window to let in the cool air, he leaned on the frame, permitting the night’s dampness to flow over his bare chest. He’d love to go jump in the river, let the water bring down the temperature within his body, however they’d arrived at the river house too late to explore the bank and discover if swimming was safe here.
Just as his muscles relaxed and his groin stopped its insistent throbbing, he heard steps on the stairs, coming down. His head snapped up, and he knew without doubt that it was Asha. He was not sure how, since he’d never before heard her steps when she was trying to be silent. Maybe it was the animalistic mating instinct she aroused in him.
“Looks like I might get lucky after all, Puss,” Jago nearly purred, heading to the door. The beast yawned and stretched, then settled back down on the bed.
Asha had reached the landing and was coming down the hall as he opened the door. Wearing a black silk wrapper, she gave him a sleepy, sexy half-smile—which died as Liam’s body filled the opposite doorway. He glared at her in brotherly fashion and then he nearly growled at Jago. Jago glared right back.
Asha put her hands on her hips. “Enough is enough, Francis. Go to bed.”
“I will, if you will.” Liam flashed a threatening grin.
Jago wanted to shove the man’s teeth down his throat, especially when Asha went back upstairs.
An hour later the scene was repeated, only this time the shoe was on the other foot. Netta came downstairs, likely heading to the kitchen for something to drink since her steps lacked any stealth. Liam was waiting to waylay her. Jago made sure to time it so he got to his bedroom door just a heartbeat after Liam popped out of his. The cat was sitting on the end of the bed, watching as if things were getting interesting. Asha’s brother was grinning like a slaphappy fool as his eyes took in Netta in the red robe. That grin fell off his face as he saw Jago.
“I could really grow to hate you, Jayyyyyyygo,” the man snapped.
Netta laughed, gave Liam a little wave and continued on past.
Jago stretched, folded his arms and then leaned against the doorframe, showing he was staying until Netta went back upstairs. Which is what happened. Netta came back, wearing a milk moustache, which Jago was sure Liam would love to lick off. Instead, he just glowered at Jago. Once Netta was in the loft upstairs, Jago gave Liam a little wave that aped Netta’s and turned back to his bed.
A pillow came flying through the hall, hitting him in the back of the head.
“‘Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do.’” Jago laughingly sang the old Manfred Mann lyrics as he climbed into bed and scratched What’s His Name’s ear.
“What are you doing?” Liam asked, coming into the kitchen a couple hours before dawn.
Jago looked up. “And here I would’ve thought you a rather highly intelligent male. What does it look like I’m doing, Francis?”
Liam opened the refrigerator and shrugged. “Slicing lemons. I figured that much. I meant, what are you doing with the sliced lemons.”
“Well, I’m not going to run them all over your sister and lick off the juice, that’s for sure.” Jago was in a slightly perverse mood so he pushed the ‘brother button’ with glee.
“Ah, you tread into dangerous territory there.”
Jago flashed his teeth in a predatory grin. “I’m the one with the knife.”
“Ah, you’re still pissed that I invited myself for the night.” Liam took out the remaining half of the strawberry pie. “So what’s up with the lemons?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I’m making lemonade. I’m thirsty.”
“Frankly, I need something a little stronger,” Liam remarked.
“Me, too, but figured it best I keep my wits about me or I might be tempted to mop the floor with that pretty face of yours.”
“Oooh, someone’s grouchy.”
“It’s four in the morn and you’re down here.” Jago arched an eyebrow. “And you aren’t grouchy, Francis?”
“True. Scotch go well with lemonade?”
“Scotch goes well with anything, but who says I will share my lemonade?
“You are ticked. I’ll share my pie,” he chuckled.
“It’s not your pie. But share anyway.” Jago took the sliced lemons and use the electric juicer. “Point of curiosity. You were fine yesterday morning about me sleeping with Asha. So, why the overly protective brother routine now?” Pouring the juice into a pitcher, he added sugar, water and ice. Stirring, he watched Liam, waiting for the answer.
“I had no problems—until you came back from the bike ride. Asha was pale, shaken. Giving her a royal scare on the Harley, not caring if—”
“You really want me to pound on you to relieve my frustrations, don’t you?” Jago exhaled his frustration. “I didn’t scare her on the bike. Two peculiar things happened. Some guy in a black truck—maybe—tried to run us off the road, and then we came across some sort of old pavilion in the middle of nowhere. She says it was used as a skating rink back in the ’50s and ’60s.”
“Edgar Casey’s old place?” Puzzled, Liam accepted a glass of lemonade and carried it and his pie to the table out on the glassed in porch. He pulled out a chair and sat down.
Jago took a chair at the end of the glass-topped table. “I have no idea what it was called. There were no signs—outside of a Vietnam protest spray-painted on the boards covering the windows. That tells me it’s been boarded up since the ’70s.”
“Yeah, Old Edgar was a bootlegger. Not that I know much about him, mind. A bit before my time. Delbert has talked about him once or twice. He and his wife lived in the house. He built it himself on the corner of her mother’s land. Mommy dearest owned a big antebellum house on top of the hill, and when she died, Edgar and the missus moved up there. Long gone now. Burned down. After they moved up to the manor, they decided to turn the old house into a moneymaking venture. He built that old pavilion on the back side for a skating rink. He would haul in a trunk-load of beer and bourbon on the weekends. Was a big thing around here. Casey’s was miles outside of the city limits, so there wasn’t much they could do about it. No one cared. They kept it respectable. Why would that upset Asha?”
“Not sure. Know anyone with a black pickup—good condition, but not too
new? I don’t know trucks well enough to know the year or model.”
“Dozens. A lot of farms have them. A lot of older people still have them—original owners. Oo-it drives one. Why?”
“Colin came to mind. You think Colin might want to harm Asha?”
“Enough with these questions. Oo-it wouldn’t harm a fly, let alone Asha. He might kill for her, might die for her, but he wouldn’t touch a hair on her head in malice.”
“I thought of Colin first thing, and asked Asha. He loves her, you know. I wondered if he might be upset about me in her life.”
“Gor.” Liam paused several heartbeats to half drain the glass of lemonade. “You’ve seen too many movies. You can rule out Oo-it.”
Jago sighed. “She said the same thing, that he wouldn’t harm her. Sorry to be so vague. We were on the bike and I noticed—at least I thought—someone might be following us. The afternoon sun tends to throw long shadows where the trees are heaviest. In a helmet, it was hard to spot at first. Something kept catching my eye, just out of sight of my rearview mirror. Then as I took one turn, I finally got a look. Black Ford pickup. ’60s, maybe early ’70s. I couldn’t see it well enough. Then suddenly it roared up, bearing down on us. I was doing the speed limit, trying to take it easy on Asha since it was her first time, but I kept having to speed up. Then it seemed as if he was pushing us. It got rather dicey, so when I spotted a small lane I zoomed into that.”
“Okay, I concede that a hair-raising ride from being chased by some jerk would account for Asha coming back to the farm scared.”
“She wasn’t the only one. I got the sense this guy was out for trouble. Of course, that was just my impression. I might be wrong.” Jago shrugged. “I couldn’t see anything the way the afternoon sun kept bouncing off his windshield. Then he sped on past. That’s when we found the old house and rink. The damned place is so overgrown with briars you can’t really see it from the road. Yet, Asha went straight to it.”
Riding the Thunder Page 18
