Riding the Thunder (26 page)

As he took her mouth with his, his gasping breath echoed hers. His ravenous desire was a power unleashed. There was no controlling it; both of them were helpless against its voracious fire that consumed them, destroyed them, remade them, born from the flames like mating phoenixes. This was raw, primeval, as elemental as a stallion claiming his mare. Despite the primordial earthiness of their emotions there flared something bright, something rare that existed both born of their passion—and beyond it. Plunging himself to the hilt, he pushed her agony and ecstasy higher and higher. . . . until the world exploded.

With some last shred of sanity, Jago dragged them to the white sand and collapsed with her. Minutes passed before either of them had any sort of reasonable functions, but finally the world came into focus and Asha stared up at his beautiful face, at the green eyes, shining with cherished emotions.

She wanted to gift him with the words in her waiting to spring free. Wanted to tell him how much she loved him, that her surrender to him was complete, body, heart and soul. Over the past days she'd suspected he was falling in love with her, yet she still worried if she deluded herself, saw what she wanted to see. Thus the words remained locked within her fragile heart, waiting, hoping for him to speak.

Instead, he reached out and pulled her to him, kissing her with such tenderness that tears arose in her eyes. Breaking the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.

“Sometimes less is more.” He laughed softly, referring to her reaching two climaxes and a third shared together. “I needed to be with you last night, lass. You're under my skin, in my blood. Desire is too mild a word for what you evoke, provoke, conjure within me—and it crawled under my flesh until I couldn't think. I was nothing but a caged tiger
prowling my room, a beast wanting its mate.” His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking gently. Those piercing eyes drank in her countenance as if he beheld the most rare and treasured thing in his life.

It wasn't a declaration of love . . . but it would do. For now.

Just before lunchtime, Liam finally reversed the speedboat out of the boathouse and slowly pulled into the current, positioning the bow upstream. He'd just spent the better part of an hour showing off the numerous bells and whistles of his ‘toy' to Jago.

The black Crownline 255CCR pleasure boat was small enough to navigate the river for skiing, yet was a dream for outings because it provided all the comforts of home: a head compartment with shower, sink and vanity; a small refrigerator and microwave; a stereo, MP3 player, DVD and satellite dish. The backbench where Netta and Asha sat could convert into a sundeck, and even had a built-in cooler.

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 remained 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.”