Riding the Thunder (22 page)

Even so, Asha wasn't sure he truly appreciated Nature's display. He was in a pensive mood. Often given to brooding herself, she permitted others the same space to be contemplative. Poor man, a lot of changes were happening in his world all at once. Likely it was as scary to him as it was to her that they'd started a relationship, despite barely knowing each other. He now had a Shelby, a second classic Electra Glide—she didn't want to know how much he'd paid for that toy—and now he was determinedly trying to buy her
brother's horse. She smiled at What's His Name chasing imaginary mousies in the loose straw across the loft's floor—at least she hoped they were imaginary! And Jago had a cat—though he was still protesting the point of who owned whom. These were weighty responsibilities for a man a bachelor too long.

An odd memory came to mind about her grandmother, Maeve, telling her to get a man young and raise him the way she wanted.
After twenty-five they're too set in their ways and not worth the trouble
, she had assured her granddaughters. Of course, Maeve came from another era, when people married and had families in their early twenties. Had life ever really been that simple, or were there just less options to confuse things back then?

She had a feeling Jago was worth the trouble.

“I generally spend Mondays and Tuesdays at the river house,” she told him, trying to sound casual.

Not waiting to see his reaction, she picked up the pitchfork and stabbed the sharp prongs into a bale of clover hay. Pushing it to the opening in the floor, she dropped the feed through the trap door. Being nosy, the cat poked his head over the opening and peered at where the hay bale landed.

“Watch it, bud. You lean over much more and you'll lose your balance. You're not the most graceful of putty tats,” she fussed at the feline.

That finally drew Jago's attention back inside. He took a couple of steps, leaned over and snatched the cat by the tail, then kicked the trap door shut. “I'm not in the mood to find out if kitties really do land on their feet when they're dropped. My luck, you'd be the exception to the rule and I'd have a puss with four casts on his legs expecting me to tote him around.” He turned to Asha. “So, do I get an invite to the house on the river?”

“Despite Indian summer temperatures, it's a little cool to go swimming. I enjoy a brisk swim, but most people don't. However, I thought we could—if you were of a mind—take the boat out for a ride, maybe have a picnic on the sandbar
near the lock. The view of The Palisades is breathtaking from the water.”

“I'd be open to a dunk in the river—especially if I had something to warm me up for all the trouble. Think we can arrange a little heat afterward? Do we need to pack, or can we just jump on the Harley and head out?”

“You merely want to take your Harley for a ride. Sigh, used and cast aside. And here I thought you might be a lad who'd enjoy a ‘roll in the hay'—literally,” Asha said with a theatrical waggle of her eyebrows.

“A ‘roll in the hay' would top the list of my
101 Things To Do On A Rainy Sunday Afternoon with Asha
. Riding my vintage Harley would be second. A close second, mind.” Jago's eyes flashed playfully. “Only, I figured rolling around in the hay wasn't a smart option. If brother dearest pops up here and finds me ‘teaching you to count', he might get a little irate. Brothers are known to be rather Neanderthal where baby sisters are concerned.”

“Hmm . . . how do you know Netta isn't teaching him
one . . . two . . . three
. . . right now? Maybe they are already in the hot tub. Could be why we haven't heard a peep from them in the hour since we've come back from horseback riding.”

His face brightened as he grinned wolfishly. “Hot tub? Your irritating brother—who won't sell me his horse—has a hot tub?”

“Liam isn't annoying. I rather think you two are evenly matched in being stubborn.”

“As I said—irritating.”

“You just like to buy things. You bought the Harley this morning. You don't need to purchase the horse today.”

“I want the horse,” he persisted.

“You are bloody unrelenting when you want something.”

“Yeah, I am. Very persistent.” He kept coming, in his stalker mode again. A predator on the prowl.

Jago caused her blood to buzz with a mix of anticipation and terror—terror she'd be hurt because there was no
shielding her emotions from this fascinating man, this beautiful man who half-killed himself this morning teaching her the magic of ‘counting to fifteen.'
Crash and burn
was the mantra of her Doubting Thomas side these days. Even so, there'd be no walking away from him.

“Come on. The rain has stopped. The sun's peeking out. I want to ride my bike.”

“Oh, gor. I've never ridden one of these things before,” Asha said nervously. She accepted the black leather jacket Jago handed her. “Thanks, it's beautiful. What did you do . . . mug his wife for it?”

“I bought the jackets and helmets, too. His old lady is expecting in February and wants all traces of the motorcycle gone. She was afraid that if the jackets were there, it would tempt him to buy another bike down the road. It's a little big for you, but will do for now,” he said, adjusting the snaps at her waist.

Taking a helmet from the handlebars, he pushed it on her head. Being slightly claustrophobic, she instantly hated the thing. Still, she gritted her teeth and tried to grow accustomed to the necessity, knowing the protection was vital. Even so, some part of her couldn't exorcize her mind's eye of the foolish image of riding the Harley with her hair blowing in the wind.

Taking her hand, Jago led her to the bike. He instructed. “Remember, right is wrong. Get on the bike from the left side. Put your hands on my shoulders and then mount it.”

“Like climbing on a horse.”

“Yep.” He swung his leg over. “Just like it.”

“Or like a man wearing an earring,” she kidded.

Jago laughed softly. “You made me think of a friend—actually, my brother's right-hand man. He wears an earring.”

“Oh? In his
right
ear?” She slid her leg over the leather seat and then lightly bit his left earlobe.

“No, his left. And if Julian came anywhere near you, I
might have to beat him to a pulp.” She thought he growled, but he started the bike, warming the engine up, so she wasn't sure.

That deep throttle thunder was unlike any sound she'd ever heard. There was a majestic power to the noise, akin to a lion's roar in the jungle, proclaiming he was king. Jago smiled. “Feel the rumble between your legs. It's riding thunder.”

Asha settled on the seat and put her feet where he told her. Then he pulled her arm about his waist, so that she was pressed flush against his back. She tried to control the riot of sensations thrumming through her body. The low-throated vibration of the bike, being plastered against a very hot male, proved there was something very sexual, very intimate about riding the Harley with Jago.

He set the bike to wheeling down the drive, scaring the horses in the pastures on either side. As he pulled onto the main road he slowed, but then he throttled the bike and it roared, flying off down the highway. Asha gave up trying to look at the scenery, just turned her head and laid it against Jago's back. The landscape, buildings and trees all went by in a blur; she closed her eyes and relished the rushing sensation and the warmth of Jago's body. The whole experience was peculiar, in that she gave over everything to him, accepted him to protect and care for her. Trusted him completely.

The ride was relaxing and yet deeply profound in ways that she had trouble expressing. She felt strange, glorious, alive. She quickly learned to lean when Jago did, working with him, them becoming a part, an extension of the bike. Riding the Harley with Jago was very much like having sex. No wonder men loved these machines!

The word caused her pause. Love. She was in love with this man. It was too damn soon. She knew so little about him. Still, that didn't matter. She had opened her heart to him as she had never opened it before. That terrified her
more than flying down the highway at 60 mph with the wind ripping at her.

Jago was right. They were riding the thunder.

Jago loved the feel of the Harley. Pure ecstasy. He opened the throttle and let it rip, then glanced down at the tach, seeing there was still power left to call upon. If it were just him on the monster, he'd run the bike full out, but since this was Asha's first time, he took pity on her and kept within the speed limits.

As he leaned into a curve, he noticed a reflection in the rearview mirror. Since the trees heavily lined both sides of the road, with leaves still half-clinging, the afternoon shadows were long and in heavy contrast. At first he thought it was just a trick of light. But the distraction kept catching his eye.

Finally, on the last curve, he noticed what kept pulling his attention: a black truck. It hung back, nearly out of range of his mirror. Generally, he wouldn't even pay it mind. Only, the memory of the truck being parked up at the drive-in when it was closed came to mind.

Prickles rippled up his spine.

Tommy, what's he doing
?

Asha's grip on Jago's waist tightened as the voice filled her brain.
Not now
, she prayed.

Before, when she'd been assailed with the memories of Laura Valmont at the pool and the drive-in, she had totally zoned out. At the pool Jago had been there; he would've caught her if she'd fallen. In the car, she had faced no physical danger, but here, losing consciousness, and slipping into a past that happened over four decades ago, could be costly. She might fall from the bike, or cause Jago to lose control. The prospect was scary. She gritted her teeth and tried to fight the images.

Oh, please not now
. Her mind tore in two. Part of her was
on the back of the motorcycle with Jago. Another part was channeling images from Laura and the 1960s.

Tommy, I'm scared.

Asha was scared, too. She faintly shook her head as if she could dispel the overpowering recollections of Laura, but the insular feel of the helmet made it harder to fight the flashes. The narrow, winding road Jago had taken seemed familiar, though she'd never been on it before. However, Laura Valmont had, in a fire-engine red Ford Mustang.

Pulling back from the past sucking at her, she grew aware Jago had picked up speed. The sense of everything zooming by in a blur was dizzying. Her arms tightened about him and held on for dear life.
Please, stop! Oh, bloody hell, please stop
! She wasn't sure if the thoughts were hers or Laura's.

She tried not to squeeze Jago too tightly, yet it was hard to judge. Instead of bringing the motorcycle to a halt, he gunned the engine. The bike almost jerked on the back wheel. She gasped as the Harley roared down the road. They were nearing the cliffs. Have mercy, Jago surely wouldn't take the old abandoned road? Glancing up, Asha caught sight of the reflection in the review mirror; she then risked turning her head to see. A dark truck bore down on them, keeping pace with the motorcycle's flat-out speed. As the pickup gained on them, Jago again goosed the Harley, nearly causing the back wheel to spin on the wet pavement. The monster leapt forward, keeping them out of harm's way.

Asha held her breath as the truck inched closer and closer. Her heart racing like the motorcycle engine, the sound of the tires on the wet pavement, the roar of the Harley—all blended into part of the nightmare from the past. She swallowed her own panic. It doubled, as she tasted the terror of Laura Valmont.

A scream ripped through her brain as she struggled for the last vestiges of reality. She could not lose consciousness at this high velocity. She would die. Jago would die.

We're together. We'll always be together. Just like the song, our love will never die
.

Never die. Never die. Never die
.

Just as Asha opened her mouth to let her scream meld with Laura's, Jago cut the bike to the left and shot down a narrow side road, barreling down the dilapidated lane. The truck roared on past. Jago skillfully spun the bike in a 180-degree turn, so that he sat, legs braced, facing the mouth of the small road. He waited, gunning the Harley, clearly fearful the idiot driver might come back.

Shocked by the experience, and still being drawn into the past, Asha climbed off the bike, barely aware of what she was doing. Some part of her mind recognized Jago's concern; even so she couldn't stop as her steps carried her toward a strange, deserted building at the back of the nearby lot. It called to her. Without knowing why, she had to go to it—was compelled to go to it. Strange, the thing being out here in the middle of nowhere . . . similar in fashion to The Windmill.

The damp weeds of the field were up to her thighs. Most were dead, except for the creeping honeysuckle and wild rose briar on either side of a faint path, some patches nearly over her head. Several long canes reached out, almost snatching at her; she dodged as her steps carried her on. Broom sage, Queen Anne's lace—all dead, long dead, and not just from this past summer, but the summer before that and likely several summers long ago. Judging by the looks of the derelict land, it hadn't been cleared this decade, possibly a decade or more before that. Who knew the last time it was used?

The building wasn't cared for, only half-heartedly secured against vandals. As if no one ever came here; no one cared if they did. So weathered, the wood of the plank siding was a colorless grey. Plywood had been nailed across the front of the place, covering the windows and doorway. Someone had spray-painted a peace sign and the words
Hell no! We won't go!
in red on one warping board. The Vietnam era? The paint was fading away.

Asha paused at the bottom of the steps, contemplating if the porch was safe, but then decided to go around to the back instead.