Riding the Thunder

by Deborah MacGillivray

  Jago saw her on the floor, panicked and rushed to her. He tried to get her to sit up, but damn it, she didn’t want to sit. The cat was hopping all over the place, though she wasn’t sure if he was playing a game or trying to defend her. She didn’t care. Rather, she wished both of them would leave her alone with her misery.

  “Go away and let me die,” she moaned.

  Terrified, Jago pushed her hair back from her face. “Have you taken something, Asha?”

  “I’d belt you for asking that, but I’m too tired. It’s a sour stomach. Finding the man you love has been lying to you for months will do that.”

  “Are you going to puke more?” he asked softly.

  She wanted to curl up into a ball and ignore him and the cat. “I just want to sleep . . . as soon as I rinse my mouth.”

  With his aid, she stood and hobbled to the sink. She washed her mouth out with water and then did a quick swish with Listermint. Tenderly, Jago helped her undress and into a comfortable nightgown; sliding under the cool sheets felt like paradise. He rushed about, doing chores for several minutes, though she closed her eyelids and ignored him. Or pretended to.

  “Here, drink this.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He’d changed out of his clothes and just wore sweatpants. Holding out a cup, he offered a concerned smile.

  “What’s this?”

  “Warm lemonade and honey. It cuts the aftertaste and soothes the throat.”

  She took the drink and sipped, surprised by how good it was. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you sick.”

  Asha concentrated on the warm drink and tried not to take notice of his kindness. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Fine. Then you will listen to me talk. Like how dirt poor I grew up.”

  That caught her off guard. “Poor?”

  “Yes. So poor I doubt you could comprehend it. When I was little more than a baby my father put a gun to his head and killed himself.”

  The cup rattled against the saucer. She saw in his eyes that he was serious. “How horrible.”

  “I was too young to remember, only that incident formed my whole life—maybe nearly destroyed it, and that of my brothers.” Jago sat on the edge of the bed and took the saucer from her hands. “I don’t want you to say anything, but I want to tell you about his death. It happened a long time ago; however it’s still driving the Mershan brothers. You think I don’t have the right to ask you to hear me out after lying to you, but in a strange way I do have that right and I am claiming it. You see, the reason my father committed suicide was because he was ruined by your grandfather.”

  “My grandfather?”

  He gave a small nod. “So, do we talk?”

  She pressed her lips together to keep from crying; this time it was hormonal. She looked at him. “We talk.”

  And they did. Jago turned out the lights and slid into the bed and cradled her—and talked. For hours. He cried when he told how his mother had died in November, how she’d been sick most of her life and had never received the proper medical care until it was too late. How she didn’t have an education to support herself and three small sons. How she’d returned to her family’s farm in Ireland after Michael Mershan’s death. The details of the too-risky deal.

  “Sean used lands he didn’t own as collateral to back chancy ventures. Emerald mines in South America, oil in the Middle East. When one venture paid off, that windfall backed another, each bonanza bankrolling the next—an empire built with a house of cards. Everything turned to gold for Midas Montgomerie. He pulled my father into his schemes, used him to lure others into them. Only, Midas Montgomerie’s luck turned. Rebels took over the mines; Arabs seized oil wells; and coalmines in Wales were closed due to bad working conditions. Dozens of investments went sour.”

  A wave of nausea hit Asha, leaving her certain she didn’t want to hear this.

  “My father, poor fool, made a lot of money through Sean’s early investments. Sean convinced him to entice his friends and associates into the spiraling game. A pyramid. Everyone tossed in their life savings, borrowed to get more shares. When things crumbled, my father believed all was protected because of Sean’s collateral.”

  Asha shivered. “Sean never owned Falgannon. Colford was held in trust for my father until he inherited. The farm in Kentucky was purchased by my father for my mother.”

  “Precisely what my father discovered after the house of cards collapsed. The bank lost, the investors lost, my father lost . . .” He gave her a small squeeze, pressing her tightly against his chest. “The one who lost most of all is Desmond. He’s consumed with the need to set things right for our mother. He’s in love with B.A. I’m hoping she will be his salvation—as you are mine.”

  Asha resented that he had lied. Still, she ached for him. His words reached into her.

  “My father’s death hit Des the hardest. Des was seven. He saw my father pull the trigger. I’m sure any psychiatrist would tell you Des should’ve received treatment for the trauma; the act was simply too much for a child to witness and not be scarred. It’s devouring him now, Asha. Mother’s death only amplified the pressure. Des became our father, the only father I’ve ever known. I owe him everything, Asha. I’m the man I am today because of Des.”

  He spoke next of how his mother returned to Ireland after Michael Mershan’s death, living with her father, an alcoholic. They’d resided in antiquated conditions, suffered emotional abuse at his hands until he died in a rage one night. Shortly thereafter, barely ten-years-old, Des started shouldering the burden of protecting their mother and keeping his brothers safe.

  “An American writer took pity on our situation, sponsored us to come to the States. She was a nice lady. Then she was killed in a hit-and-run accident. My mum panicked, afraid they would send us back to Ireland. She took us and ran. And kept running. Anytime someone asked too many questions, she’d pack up our meager belongings and move to another town, another state. She took jobs that barely paid minimum wage, only thing she could get. Worked herself to the bone.”

  As he talked, Jago cried. Asha cried with him. How could she not? His pain washed through her. All the hurt, the anguish, his mother’s fear and illness—Desmond’s sacrifices to make sure his brothers were safe. She also began to comprehend Jago’s reticence in revealing his deception. He would’ve been betraying Des, whom he loved like a father. She understood it all so clearly now. Understood, but had no idea how to deal with it.

  All through the night he spoke of these things. And she simply held him.

  In the morning, Asha was beside herself. Jago clearly had reasons for what he did, and they were not selfish, but her emotions were too out of control to be rational. She alternated between crying jags over what he and his family had gone through and wanting to belt him.

  She had to get away. There was no way she could sort out her emotions and think straight. Also, she had the urge to fly to her twin’s side. Trevelyn was at Colford and involved with Raven. Dealing with Jago was hard enough for her, but when she thought of Trev deceiving her sister, Asha saw red and wanted to murder someone—preferably with the last name of Mershan.

  She stood by the glass doors, watching the gray morning, and trying to calm her mood. It wasn’t working. She kept telling herself that her sisters, Paganne, Katlynne and Britt, were at Colford to support Raven. LynneAnne was on Falgannon with B.A.

  “Only I’m alone, no sister to lean on,” she said wistfully.

  She picked up the phone to call Raven, then hung up. This wasn’t something you broke to your sister on a trunk call. Wiggling her fingers, trying to decide, she finally picked it up and rang Colford Hall, hoping to reach Kat or Britt. Instead, a maid answered saying all her sisters were out, getting ready for a big gala for the Historical Trust.

  “Blast.” Asha hung up and frowned toward the closet, knowing her suitcase was at the bottom. It was silly, but she wanted to go home. Maybe back in England she’d have a buffer so
she could think. Being with Jago kept her emotions too volatile. With a few weeks away, her body would adjust to the chemical changes coming from carrying a child.

  Jago came out of the bedroom, his eyes filled with concern. “I won’t ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But you do understand, don’t you, Asha?”

  She gave him a small smile, staring at him, drinking in his physical beauty. Loving him. Oh, yes, she understood. Too much.

  She nodded. “Please don’t worry. Things will sort themselves out.”

  “How about taking today off and we go to the river house? It’s always so peaceful there. We can talk more,” he suggested hopefully.

  “Sounds like just the ticket,” she lied.

  “Good. Let me shower and then we can be on our way.”

  Jago hesitated, as if not sure she was all right. Then he gave a nod and entered the bathroom, closing the door. Shortly afterward, the shower started.

  Heart breaking, she crossed the room and picked up his cell phone, wallet and key ring, then reached for her purse. She wouldn’t take time to pack; she was heading straight to England and Raven.

  Clint staring up at her was almost her undoing. She cupped his sweet face, looking into his orange eyes. “You be a good lad. Delbert, Oo-it and Sam will feed you.” On impulse she leaned down and kissed him between the ears. “Everything will be all right, so don’t you worry.” She just wished she believed that.

  After one last look at Clint, she closed the patio door and rushed to her car. The stupid antique Triumph TR 6 cranked and whined and belched, refusing to start. She ground the starter once, making a horrid noise and was afraid she flooded it. She glanced to the bungalow, fearful. Sure enough, the door jerked open and Jago rushed out in just his gray sweatpants.

  “Come on, come on, you piece of British Leyland junk,” she begged and cursed in the same breath.

  Jago paused and put his hands on his hips. His black hair wet, his chest beaded with water from the shower he hadn’t had time to towel off, the blasted man looked so damn sexy. She loved him more than life, but if he tried to stop her she might run him down.

  The motor finally caught and she released the clutch and eased forward. He’d been content to stand and glare at her while the starter was grinding away, only now it was running, so he moved to block her. Rushing up, he put both hands on the hood and made it clear he wasn’t getting out of the way. She smiled, seeing his car keys, cell phone and his wallet sitting on the seat by her pocketbook.

  “Hmm . . . might as well give him something in return.”

  Locking the door so he couldn’t yank it open, she reached into her purse for the pink napkin, then rolled down the window. Seeing her do that, he came around to the driver’s side.

  “Cut the motor, Asha.”

  “Here, Mr. Mershan.” She poked her arm out the window to hand him the napkin.

  He looked confused, but finally took it. As he started to open it up, her foot punched the gas and the car lurched forward, leaving him standing flatfooted. Slowing to pull onto the lane, she glanced in the rearview mirror and watched him open the napkin that contained her Early Pregnancy Test with the pretty little plus sign.

  He gaped for a minute, then his head snapped up.

  “Buh bye, Mr. Mershan.” She laughed and floored the gas, leaving him to watch her speed away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jago glanced at his watch, then checked the departure time of the plane. Bloody hell, Asha was one-step ahead of him the whole way. At first, he assumed she’d finally return to The Windmill, if for nothing but to kick him out. However, Netta came to say Asha had called, and asked her to handle the restaurant while she was away, that she was going to England for a stay. The damn plane had taken off less than an hour before he reached the airport.

  Exhaling his impatience, he punched the number to Falgannon, hoping to catch Des again. He wasn’t pleased with their last conversation. Des still couldn’t let go of the past, and it was slowly destroying him. Instead, Asha’s sister picked up the phone. He almost hung upon her. Something about B.A. Montgomerie terrified him!

  “Falgannon Castle,” came the voice that had a similar timbre as Asha’s, but was touched with the charming hint of a Scottish burr.

  “BarbaraAnne, this is Jago Mershan. I’m Desmond’s—”

  B.A. cut him off. “Mershan? I thought it was Fitzgerald. Yes, we spoke briefly before, you lying bastard.”

  God, he loved these Montgomerie wenches! No politeness or British stiff upper lip, they came at you, wanting to cut off vital parts of your male anatomy. Must be their Pict blood. He thought of that little knife Asha kept and shuddered.

  “I see you share Asha’s opinion of me. I’m calling about Des. Look, I’m at the airport awaiting connections, but I need to speak with you.”

  “Since you hurt my sister, I’m so in the mood to listen.”

  He wished for an old-fashioned phone booth where he could sit down; wished Asha hadn’t taken his cell phone. “Asha’s capable of extracting her pound of flesh. I’ll make it up to her if I have to crawl on my belly and beg. Right now, this is urgent. I’m calling about Des. I spoke with him last night. It upset me. Whatever happens, please keep him on the island. I’m worried about him. He loves you.”

  “I know.”

  “That’s a relief.” For the first time since he saw Asha holding that letter, something had gone right. “I feared, like your precious sister, you’d pull a tizzy and try to punish Des until he comes around. My brother’s erred . . . in many things. We all have. Right now, he’s in trouble. Our mother died in November and Des hasn’t adjusted. It wasn’t an easy passing . . .”

  Her tone was sad. “I figured that out a few days ago.”

  An unwelcome intrusion, he heard his plane being called.

  “Damn. They’re paging my flight. I can’t afford to miss it, and give your sister a head start. His whole life, he put Mother, Trevelyn and me ahead of what was best for him. He needs someone to put Desmond first. Can you, BarbaraAnne? Please remember above all, he loves you deeply—and don’t let him off that island.”

  He waited for her to answer him for a couple of seconds, but finally had to hang up, not hearing her reply.

  When the door opened on the small cottage, Jago sucked in his breath. In the half-light of the February evening, he thought for a heartbeat that he stared at Asha. Then after that breathless moment, he recognized the woman as Raven, her twin. He couldn’t pinpoint the differences, at first glance; he just felt it wasn’t Asha, on a deep level. Her face was faintly thinner, her hair darker. She blinked, confused, and then he understood—she was going through a similar puzzlement, thinking for an instant that he was Trev.

  “Peculiar, eh?”

  Eyes wary, she nodded. “I’m not sure the world really deserves two of you. One’s bad enough”

  “You can berate me later. I want to see Asha. Make sure she’s all right.”

  “Asha?” Her perplexity deepened.

  “Yeah, your twin, looks a lot like you but has lighter hair and doesn’t have that beauty mark on her lip that you do.”

  “I know my sister quite well. I just don’t understand why you would think she’d be here.” She looked him up and down. “I see differences between Trev and you, too.”

  The way her mouth quirked up in a smug half-smile, set his teeth on edge. Jago reined in the irritation. “Asha’s not here?”

  She shook her head. “She’s in Kentucky.”

  “She left there, was coming home to you.”

  “She’s not here. Her home is in Kentucky now.”

  He half believed her, but intuition said she’d lie without hesitation for her sister. Being a jerk, he pushed past her and entered the cozy thatched cottage. A bright orange tabby appeared and danced around his feet; bloody thing was nearly as fat as Clint. The creature chased after him as he went from room to room calling Asha’s name.

  Raven stood by the door, glaring haughtily at him as
he returned. “Chester, leave the man alone. That’s not Trev,” she told the cat, which paid no attention. “I think it best you leave, Mr. Mershan.”

  Ignoring her, he dropped down on the oak bench in the hallway. “She’s not here.”

  “I told you she wasn’t, but I guess being a lying Mershan you expect everyone else to lie, too. Asha is in Kentucky. She rang to say she was coming, but an hour later, she called back to say she’d changed her mind and was returning to The Windmill.”

  He stared at her, trying to decide if she was telling the truth. It could be a joke they’d cooked up, to send him back to Kentucky, only to find out she wasn’t there and he’d have to turn around and come back to England again. A perverse punishment. Almost reading his mind, she shrugged, and crossed to a hall table where a phone sat. She picked it up and punched out a number with enough digits telling him it was overseas.

  She smiled patronizingly, and then held the receiver to his ear. Asha’s voice was clear across the connection.

  “The Windmill. Hello? Anyone there?”

  Jago took the phone from Raven’s hand, punched disconnect and started to dial. He paused when he realized he wasn’t sure whom to call. He looked at her. “I need Mershan’s corporate helicopter and jet warmed up. That’s Julian’s department, but I guess he’s still on Falgannon. Where is Trev?”

  “Trev’s right here.” His brother spoke from the shadow of the doorway.

  Seeing his twin he laughed for the first time since Asha had found that bloody letter. “No wonder Raven saw ‘differences.’” His twin had a black eye and a bruise on his chin.

  Yep, these Montgomerie women were warriors. He wondered if Trev had at least remembered rule number three in handling a Montgomerie female—to protect his breall.

  Asha hung up the phone. No one had spoken, but she had this strange feeling it was Jago. She was sorry she’d run from him. It wasn’t her style. She was still unsure what she’d do when he returned, but outside of the fun of leaving him without his charge cards, phone and car keys, she hadn’t accomplished anything other than giving herself a little space to think.