Riding the Thunder

by Deborah MacGillivray

  With the smile of a proud papa, Liam ended his spiel about its fabulous wonders with, “And, no, you can’t buy my boat, Jago.”

  They all laughed, but Asha didn’t blame her brother. Jago’s eyes held a covetous twinkle—the same hunger he had shown when he looked at his Shelby and the Harley.

  Grinning wickedly, Jago flicked the ashes off a Swisher Sweet and pointed out, “But the boat matches the car and bike. All three are solid black.”

  “Ah—fortunately, my horse isn’t black.” Liam lifted his eyebrows, and then spun the wheel, moving the powerful boat into the middle of the swift river.

  Tossing away the half-smoked cigarillo, Jago settled into the Tri-Tech bucket seat across from him. “I don’t mind. In the horse’s case—my horse—I’ll make the exception. Besides, his name is Thor’s Thunder. I’m partial to riding thunder.”

  His eyes flashed, speaking a silent message to Asha. She rolled her eyes.

  “Men and their toys,” Asha grumbled under her breath, watching her brother show off the controls to Jago.

  Netta gave a bored smile. “You said it, sugarplum.”

  Liam gunned the boat’s engine, and it was just sit back and enjoy. The twenty-five-foot cuddy was a smooth ride, even when the water level was up, as it was now. The powerful engine could easily rip along at sixty mph Doing that speed in a car and in an open boat were two different things, to Asha’s way of thinking. Fortunately, Liam took pity on Netta and her, and kept the pace down to around forty. Even so, the air almost pounded her.

  Asha shifted on the bench, feeling as though they were flying down the waterway. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and reveled in the sheer beauty of the October day. Gorgeous, with near-summertime highs—a record, according to the radio—everything seemed conjured to make their outing on the river faultless. She soaked up the warmth, knowing there wouldn’t be many more days like this before cold weather came.

  Childhood memories of coming to the lock sifted through her mind. Of course, in comparison, everything seemed much bigger then. The cliffs were higher, the river wider and deeper, and the falls over the weir surely closer to Niagara. Strange, the perspective you have of the world when you’re small.

  The water was high and rather muddy after the recent rain. She noticed Liam kept a sharp eye out for any debris, which might not show, hidden just under the surface. So far, it wasn’t proving to be a problem.

  She had to admit that her brother was playing nice with her pretty man, even letting him drive the boat—which meant the trip to the dam was taking three times as long. Near the last bend before reaching the falls, Liam just had to show off and permit Jago to learn how to handle his baby. They’d ended up riding back downriver a good part of the twenty-mile stretch to Lock 7 along the steepest part of the Palisades.

  As they sped past the cluster of warehouses near Camp Nelson, Jago swiveled around and asked, “What are all those buildings?”

  Holding on to the back of his seat, Asha inclined forward, delighted to give him the historical information. She smiled when he reached out and took her right hand and twined his fingers with hers. “That’s part of the old Quantico Complex—landings and warehouses for tobacco and distilleries, for back when this river was the lifeblood to central Kentucky. During the eighteen and nineteen hundreds, this was the only way to move material, people and crops. Seagram’s-Canada Dry still has warehouses at the top of the new bypass, a reminder of those bygone days.”

  “Canada Dry?” he chuckled.

  “Yeah, I always thought that funny. Distilleries have for centuries been drawn to invest in the area. Also, Kentucky tobacco was the highest grade fetching British money to pour into the Complex. Second sons from Scotland and England came here, settled and made their fortunes. The complex developed its own microcosm, homes, secondary businesses such as ferry landings, taverns, a sawmill, gristmill and even a gunpowder plant. That proved vital during the Civil War. Strange to think of how busy an area this once was, the heart of Kentucky commerce. Even into the 1950s it still had heavy barge traffic, and on weekends was riddled with pleasure-boaters and water-skiers. Of course, that was when people swam in the water with little worry about the quality. Now it’s polluted; abandoned mines, malfunctioning and nonexistent septic systems, animal waste or runoff from crop chemicals are in the upper portion of the watershed. The state is working to improve the quality, and they’re making inroads.”

  “Odd, it seems so deserted,” Jago commented, turning to watch what had once been a thriving community disappear into the distance. “So all that grew up around the warehouses and businesses? It’s similar to what happened—on a smaller scale—with The Windmill.”

  Asha gave a faint nod and settled back on the bench. His observation unsettled her deeply. He was right; there were similarities between the old Quantico Complex and her teeny community ’round The Windmill. And while her feelings for Jago made it too easy to forget what brought him to Kentucky, if somehow Trident Ventures ever got their hands on The Windmill it wouldn’t linger as a relic of how days had once been; it’d be leveled and turned into a shopping mall and apartments, their quirky way of life lost forevermore.

  Burying the sadness those thoughts brought, she tried to re-summon her pleasure in cruising along the picturesque river as it twisted and turned, each bend more breathtaking than the last. The watercourse remained deserted and quiet except for the full-throttle roar of the speedboat.

  As the escarpment rose, she once more tilted forward to speak to Jago. Due to the higher velocity Liam was now running at, she nearly had to shout to be heard. “Up there is Boone’s Cave. When the old cliff road was still in use you could glimpse it in the curve of one bend. Supposedly, Daniel Boone spent the winter there hiding from Indians. Very small, they say, about three-feet tall and continually wet, but if you crawl in far enough there is a room, which opens up and is dry. Those cables up there”—she pointed at the ones that ran from the lower Camp Nelson area to the very top of the opposite hill, up the nearly four-hundred-foot incline—“used to be for a cable car. Long time ago that took people past the cave.”

  “Not much to look at.” Jago seemed unimpressed.

  “I guess that’s why the Lookout Restaurant and the cable car went out of business in the 1950s.” Asha chuckled, but the small laugh died as Jago leaned close, cupped her chin and kissed her. All thoughts of playing tour guide fled her smitten brain, as she stared in his beautiful green eyes, so deep and dark, so full of mysteries. I love this man, love this man, love this man, her mind chanted like a mantra, but while she had opened her heart, trusting him, trusting in love again, it still terrified her what he made her feel, forced her to feel. She swallowed hard, trepidation clogging her throat. Her emotions were too strong to handle, so she smiled and sat back, giving pretense of enjoying the remainder of the ride.

  They passed the rare house or farm. On a flood plane, the area remained relatively undeveloped. The closing of the locks from Versailles and Salvisa all the way through to Heidelberg had effectively broken the river into small strips, isolating them. Not as picturesque as the Cumberland area, this still had an untouched natural look. The river snaked through the high limestone cliffs, finally widening into a broad, fertile plane, bordered by tall wooded ridges all dressed in the fire of autumnal reds, oranges and yellows.

  As the dam came into view, Liam throttled back. Lowering the boat to a speed that just kept it from being swept downriver, he moved closer to the falls, so that Jago and Netta got the full impact. It was a deceptive weir, the last timber-crib dam and all-stone lock to be constructed on the Kentucky River, built three feet higher than the other thirteen.

  “In deep summer the level gets so low there’s no water over the weir. Men often sit on it and fish. However, it’s not a place to fool around. A man tried to cross it several years back, and was swept over and drowned,” Asha said. While it appeared smaller than in her childhood memories, her awe and respect, maybe fear, of the dam rem
ained stark in her mind.

  “They concreted the gates closed?” Jago asked, frowning.

  She nodded. “Closer up to the structure, you can see its poor condition. It was built at the end of the century and opened in the autumn of 1900. The Army Corps of Engineers still owns them, but it’s clear they’re not maintaining these complexes. Locks 1 through 4 are still kept up. The rest either are welded shut or, like this one, have the gates blocked with a concrete barrier.”

  Turning the boat, Liam maneuvered to the beach just below the waterfall. “Jago, if you’ll take the wheel—just hold it steady while I tie it off.”

  Her brother opened the trap in the windshield and climbed the steps to reach the long bow. Uncoiling a blue nylon rope, he held the end and jumped to the white sands. He looped it securely around a limb of a tree at the edge, and then signaled Jago to cut the engine and drop anchor.

  Netta looked around, unmoved, first at the massive edifice, which even from a distance showed its century-old age, and then to the murky water. “This is what we just got our brains beat to death at 60 mph for? That thing is ready to collapse! Now I have to wade in water that could be a questionable health hazard to get to the sand? I’m so underwhelmed. We could’ve stayed at the lodge and played splashy-splash in the nice clean pool under the falls.”

  “But the boys couldn’t drive the boat if we did that,” Asha pointed out with a chuckle.

  Liam tightened the rope so it was stable and held out his hand. “Stop your grumbling. You don’t have to wade in the possible biohazard water. You can jump into my arms and I shall catch you.”

  “Oooh, I get to jump your bones! This might prove interesting after all.” Netta winked at Asha, then undid the buckles on her neoprene lifejacket. “This ugly yellow does nothing for my complexion. Must’ve been designed by a man. A woman would’ve had a better fashion sense.”

  She accepted Jago’s hand to help her up the two steps to the bow. Being the perfect gentleman, he aided her across the rocking boat, and then to jump into Liam’s strong arms. Netta squealed in delight as she was caught and he swung her playfully around in the air.

  Jago turned and held out his hand to help Asha next.

  “You guys go on and gather the wood for a fire and get it started. Since our ride took a bit longer than anticipated”—Asha glared at both men—“I’m snagging a Pepsi and then will fix the shish kebabs so we can cook them over the fire. I’m starving and want lunch. If I don’t get fed immediately, I’ll start gnawing on anything sticking out.”

  She looked comically at Jago’s fingers, but he smiled and lifted his eyebrows. “Anything sticking out? Delightful possibilities there, lass.”

  As Asha pulled back the stairs to go down into the galley, she nearly screamed as something popped out. “Damn it, how did you get in there?”

  Jago spun, still on the bow. “Who?”

  “Him.” She pointed as the fat cat waddled to the mid-ship. The feline hoisted his rotund self onto the backbench and stretched out. “You really need to name him, Jago. It’s hard to fuss at him when he doesn’t have a name.”

  “Me? I’m new at this cat business.” He laughed. “Silly beast. He must’ve crawled in there when Liam and I were carrying on the food and beer and gassing up the boat.”

  Asha shook her head. “Well, hie yourself off and go help gather wood. I’m sure your cat is as hungry as I am. He hasn’t eaten anything in a couple hours.”

  Going down into the small, but luxurious cabin, Asha headed to the built-in refrigerator for a can of Pepsi. Popping the top, she took a deep drink to kill her thirst. Prickles tickling the back of her neck, she knew Jago had followed her. Even so, her heart skipped a beat when she turned and saw he blocked the doorway. He had that hungry tiger grin on his face again.

  “This damn boat is a male’s wet dream,” he said. “You have the entertainment center, refrigerator, and head within arm’s reach of the bed. You and I are going to have to gag your brother and kidnap this boat. ‘Counting’ on a boat could be a lot of fun,” he kidded.

  “Could be, but if your nameless cat sprays anything, Liam will have a hissy fit.”

  Jago tilted his head in playful calculation. “Hmm . . . but maybe if my cat damages his precious toy, he’ll sell it to me.”

  “There you go. Of course, you could buy your own boat. Crownline does make more.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s the ticket—one longer and with three times the bells and whistles.” Ducking, he came down the steps. “It wouldn’t be half the fun if it didn’t make Liam pea green with envy.”

  She sniggered and lifted her soda in salute. “Want a Pepsi or a beer? One-up-manship is thirsty work.”

  Removing the can from her hand, he sat it in the sink. He then reached out and took her waist, pulling her against him. “What I want is you. I can’t stop craving you.”

  Jago’s mouth covered hers, taking it with the same raw passion that had pushed them this morning. All the desire, all the grinding sensations came roaring back one hundredfold. Pure agony. Pure rapture. And Asha couldn’t get enough. Her hands clung to his back, digging her fingers into the strong muscles, tasting him, yearning for him until it was sheer madness.

  The boat rocked as heavy-footed Liam landed on the deck. “Hey, Puss, didn’t know you came along,” they heard him say.

  Jago broke the kiss, but still held her tightly to him. “Can we bolt the door and do a one-two-three . . . cha cha cha? It might save my sanity.”

  “Hey, down there. You guys coming?” Liam called.

  Jago groaned, then laughter rumbled in his chest. “This guy sure the hell is trying.”

  A last kiss to his neck, Asha sighed and stepped back. Picking up the Pepsi, she took a big drink and then pressed the cold can to her forehead. “Suck it up, Sexy Lips. Let’s go feed me lunch, and then we can see about drowning him in the lock.”

  Asha moaned, eating her third marshmallow. It was slightly charred, just the way she loved them. She didn’t really have room for another, but it had been a long time since she’d had marshmallows toasted over an open flame. “I’m not sure, but I think food tastes better cooked over a fire the way our ancestors used to do it.”

  They’d roasted large chunks of steak in the kebobs, and eaten the delicious meat with potato salad, slaw and baked beans they’d brought. Now as the afternoon slipped away, they toasted the treats and just enjoyed the soothing sound of the falls.

  Jago took the other marshmallow off his skewer. “I didn’t know anyone liked theirs incinerated like I do.”

  “Yeppers, toasty is not nearly enough.”

  Liam handed one—not charred—to Netta. “Someone needs to nudge that cat and see if he’s still alive.”

  What’s His Name had romped in the sand while they fixed lunch, and then he’d eaten his share of the steak before passing out on the edge of the blanket. Jago reached over and ruffled his fur, but the silly thing didn’t move. “Guess I’ll have to get him a kitty life jacket if he wants to keep riding in the boat. They do make them.”

  “Oh, he’ll love that . . . not!” Asha laughed, taking his hand and rising. “Come on. There’s just enough time to go see the lock before we have to leave.”

  Netta reached for another marshmallow. “You sugarplums run along and go see the dam. I’m staying here and sticking my tootsies in the sand. I’m as close as I want to be to that scary thing.”

  Asha suddenly felt strange, that odd time slippage pushing in on her thoughts again. She now recalled a fragment of Laura Valmont’s memory of coming to the beach with Tommy for a group cookout, how they’d shared their first kiss under the old bell tower. The image of Laura—so pretty, in bright pink pedal pushers and a white cotton blouse—seemed so vivid, and for an instant the vision of Tommy was nearly as sharp as Jago. The two images blended and separated within her mind, and she saw how much Tommy’s eyes were like Jago’s. His were darker, but both pairs were very green and held the same incisive intelligence.


  Auld souls. Jago had said that to her in The Windmill as they slow-danced to Dionne Warwick.

  Holding hands, they climbed the path up the small hill to what once had been picnic grounds near the lockmaster’s house. Over to one side there was still a dilapidated table. The falls were even more deafening up here. Asha looked down on the flattened area of concrete, which ran the length of the immense structure. Once it had been solid: now it was breaking into sections, cracking badly. The mortar wasn’t even gray any longer, but a dirty brown from the last two floods that had gotten up over the whole area. A notice painted on the concrete warning to stay off the complex, no trespassing, was now faded and mostly covered in silt. She pondered what the state would do, when and if the dam gave way. Lexington and the surrounding towns drew millions of gallons of water from the river. It didn’t take an engineer to see that the locks really needed replacing. The past summer already saw water rationing hitting the larger towns. What if the locks weren’t repaired or replaced? Would another big flood wash away the weir? Endless questions arose as she stood with Jago watching the water churn.

  Jago gave her a contemplative smile as he stared at the concrete structure. “I have to admit Netta is right. It’s crumbling and not very attractive.” He almost had to yell to be heard over the falls. “Yet there’s something unique, special about this place.”

  Asha nodded. “I’m glad you like it. I always have. I don’t come often, but I have pleasant childhood memories of my brothers and sisters, my parents, back before their divorce.”

  The falls kicked up a thick spray, the breeze picking up the moisture and swirling it about them. Droplets clung to Jago’s black curls. In a brilliant shard of time, the sun crested just over the tree line of the ridge, refracting through the mist to create a rainbow to arch just behind him. She didn’t need that bit of Elfin magic to know how precious Jago was to her. She was glad of the mist for it hid the tears that came to her eyes.