Riding the Thunder (24 page)

“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 impishly. “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.”

“I'm not sure she ever knew about it. As I said, that was a bit before her time.”

The pie he was eating suddenly turned bitter in Jago's mouth. “Yes . . . and no.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Liam reached for the pitcher, pouring more lemonade.

“Asha went to the house as if she knew precisely where she was heading. For a moment, she paused at the front, but then her interest was pulled to the rear. She circled to the back and found it partially opened. Almost in a trance, she went into the rink area. Very spooky. She began telling me about the rink, how it had been decorated with Christmas lights strung around the railing. I didn't see any still up, though I did find rusty bent nails as if someone had tacked something to the old handrail. She talked about them playing music, the girls skating, the males watching . . . couples sat on the hoods of their cars taking the night air. The way she talked about it—well, it was as if she had been to the rink back then. No, that's not right. In that breath, it was as though she could see it—as though a part of her
was there.
”

“She's never been there,” Liam repeated. “This place closed down long before she was born. Some huge skate rink opened in Lexington and everyone went there instead. Casey died, and his wife never tried to keep the business going, so they say. Once they closed the old road, no one goes to the river that way anymore.”

“I told you, I assumed it had been boarded up while the Vietnam draft was still going on. I can't figure it. But I swear to you she was seeing it, even singing songs from the era. Dell Shannon's ‘Runaway' . . . and she mentioned one called ‘Alley Oop.' She said she could hear the music, asked me if I could.”