Lifting his collar against the cold hitting the back of his neck, Jago looked over to Des, watching his brother with growing unease. The rain whipped around Desmond, yet he didn’t tilt his umbrella to stop the downpour from lashing against his face; oddly, he almost appeared to welcome the cold rain. Most people would assume Des was mourning. Jago wasn’t fooled. The rage, frustration—perhaps even a touch of madness—were part of a ravenous beast within Des, waiting to slip the leash. God help them all if it did.
Des finally sensed Jago observing him, and looked up to meet his stare. His mother had always said Desmond’s eyes were a mirror image of their father’s. Trev agreed, but he was merely repeating like a parrot what he’d learnt at her knee—Jago couldn’t recall their father, so he doubted Trevelyn could either. They had been babies when Michael Mershan had taken his life. The only father he had ever known stood staring at him, a wounded animal in pain. And Jago was helpless to ease his anguish.
Fearing for his brother’s state of mind, he crossed to Desmond and placed a hand on his arm. “Come on, Des. It’s not necessary to stay while they fill in the grave.”
Desmond didn’t move; sadly almost appearing rooted to the spot.
The sounds of shovels rhythmically tossing the wet dirt into the hole were the only noise the three cemetery staff made. Working quietly so as not to intrude upon the family, they finally raked the last clods of dirt onto the top and then placed the elaborate wreaths. One from each son, one from Julian.
“Des, it’s over.” Jago squeezed his brother’s elbow in comfort.
Desmond jerked away, rage flashing in his vivid green eyes. “It’s not over. Not ’til we take down Montgomerie Enterprises.”
Disturbed by the angry response, Jago glanced to Trevelyn, hoping for his support in getting Des to leave the cemetery. Because of their bond, his twin and he often ‘spoke’ on a near telepathic level. Too locked up in his own grief, Trev blocked Jago’s fey plea.
Fear and frustration mixing within him, Jago questioned, “You wish to go ahead with the plans?”
“You can ask that? She’s barely in the ground—a woman whose life was ruined by Sean Montgomerie.”
Jago braced himself, half-expecting Des to take a swing at him, knowing he’d accept the blow and not fight back. At least, not in that manner. He’d fight with words. “If Montgomerie were here, I’d strangle him with my bare hands, but taking the son-of-a-bitch’s crimes out on his granddaughters isn’t the way, Des. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“I’m not taking it out on the granddaughters.” Desmond swallowed back a myriad of emotions—looking like a drowning man and with no way to save himself. “I’m merely claiming what Sean put up as collateral. Move the plans up. I want it done.”
Placing a single red rose on top of the fresh grave, Desmond stalked off in the rain.
Alone.
“‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave.’” Jago tried to shake the sense his life was going to hell in a basket.
Trevelyn glared at him. “Shut up. Just shut up. Des doesn’t need you playing conscience. For that matter, neither do I.”
“Don’t you?” Jago’s challenge went unanswered for his twin hurried off after their brother.
“Someone shoot me—please!” Asha complained to the supper crowd in the diner. Everyone chuckled.
With Thanksgiving three days away, Asha was in a dither. Her to-do list kept growing, so many details to handle with the last minute preparations. At this point in the manic arrangements, she wasn’t sure whatever possessed her to hold Thanksgiving at the restaurant.
As the holiday approached, she’d grown sensitive to the fact that a lot of people—especially the elderly in the area, who didn’t have families to celebrate with, or the divorced or travelers—weren’t looking forward to the holiday with enthusiasm. This time of year only reminded them how alone they were. Originally, she’d wanted to have a meal for The Windmill family. But as several regular customers noticed her decorating, they’d asked hopefully if The Windmill would be open for Thanksgiving day dinner. It became apparent they would face being alone. Her heart ached, thinking how Delbert, Sam and Colin would be in the same situation if not for being a part of her little world, so the Turkey Day party expanded.
Asha recalled a book her mother had given her on the clans of Scotland, just before she died. Inside Mae had written, Some families you are born into. In this fate you have no choice. Other times, you collect special people, rare people, and make your own family. Had Mae realized Asha was the one to come back and take over what Mae had built, to carry on, to fight for this place and its way of life, when none of her other siblings would?
The Windmill family was doing the whole turkey meal—dressing, pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce and all the trimmings. They’d open their arms and hearts to make room for anyone wanting to join them. After the first breathless oh my, what have I done? Asha quickly embraced the whole idea, as did everyone.
Besides enjoying the true spirit of Thanksgiving, Asha welcomed the hectic activities; her days were kept busy with ordering and decorating from morning until late at night. She went home with Clint so tired that she ached, and fell into bed to sleep. Well, sometimes she slept. She hated how often she tossed and turned half the night, wishing for Jago.
He’d finally called—at the end of the first week. She’d intended to be huffy and give him the cold shoulder, until she heard his voice. He’d sounded so tired, stressed, her mood quickly shifted to one of worry. Though she’d pressed a little, he’d only said that he had serious problems with a billion dollar deal and he wouldn’t be back for a few days. Those few days turned into a few more. Then a few more. And there’d been only one call, late one night to reassure her.
“Twenty-five days to be exact, but who’s counting?” Hanging a paper turkey from the archway between the restaurant and the foyer to the old house, she stopped and sat down dejectedly on the very top of the stepladder. Damn, but she missed Jago. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she tried to pretend with each day passing she didn’t become more scared she was losing him.
Sitting in the back of the limousine, Jago flexed his stomach muscles, failing to still the nervous butterflies inside him. He couldn’t ever recall being more exhausted or scared. So bloody scared he wanted to puke.
He snapped open the lid on the ring case for the dozenth time. The canary diamond twinkled as it caught and reflected the passing lights lining the interstate as the car took the turnoff. Asha. Her gentle spirit had sustained him these past weeks, kept him going when life pressed in upon him from every angle. Yet, while he drew strength from her love, his fear waxed as he worried over what would happen when he returned.
Time and again, he had closed his eyes and played his memories of Asha like a movie. The recollections, images of them together were a haven where he escaped when everything ground him down. There were so many happy times. Each made him ache to hold her. His worries, his grief wouldn’t have been so bad if he could’ve held her at night. He was incomplete without her.
He snapped the case closed, his thumb rubbing over the velvet lid as he fretted. Des scared him. From their conversations, it was clear his older brother had fallen in love with BarbaraAnne Montgomerie. B.A., Des called her. On the one hand, Jago had a feeling that for once in his life Desmond had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—in this instance Falgannon’s rainbow. The other side feared Des was too troubled, too unable to let go of the past and might ruin his one chance at happiness. Hell, at this rate the Mershan brothers’ quest for vengeance would be the single biggest mistake in their whole lives. Trevelyn was so wrapped up in Raven, but the arrogant idiot wouldn’t even admit he was in love with her. At least Des admitted his feelings, even if he refused to accept his plans had to change or else.
Des was too used to getting his own way. He’d turned Mershan International into a billion dollar business, with offices worldwide. When he snapped out orders, dozens of underlings rushed
to do his bidding. He hadn’t counted on the Montgomerie Sisters. Foolish oversight, considering his brother had carried a picture of B.A. in his wallet for nearly fifteen years. Des was a smart man. How had he ignored the meaning of that simple act?
Jago closed his eyes and leaned his head back, so bloody exhausted, disheartened to the point it hurt to breathe. Memories flooded his brain of Desmond at thirteen, sick, nothing to eat the night before; Des dividing his supper between his brothers’ plates when their mother wasn’t looking. Des, getting up early to do his paper route, the bare light bulb glaring yellow in the pre-dawn hours showing Des as he suffered another spasm of coughing, so hard it nearly made him pass out. Instead of giving into the sickness, his brother had wrapped his thin muffler around his neck and slid on his hand-me-down coat. Their eyes met for a long instant. Then his brother forced a smile and said, “Go back to sleep, runt.”
“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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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, pai
n 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.
Riding the Thunder Page 27
