Riding the Thunder (35 page)

The bungalow was still. Too still. At the door to the bathroom she paused, suddenly torn between the pressing need to swish some industrial-strength mouthwash and to reassure herself where Jago was, that everything was all right.

Her niggling unease increased when she pulled back the curtain on the patio doors and saw Colin using a push broom to sweep leaves off the concrete courtyard before the cabins. She rolled back the door and the kitty dashed out. The cat trotted over and rubbed against Colin's leg.

“Morning, Asha.” Colin gave a little wave. “Morning, Clint.”

The animal usually followed Jago around, so it was odd he was with her. “Colin, have you seen Jago this morning?”

“Yeah, at dawn. I'd just closed up the drive-in and was coming down to put the money in the safe.” His eyes watched her, concerned. “Figured I'd clean up the leaves while I waited for you to get up. I can go with you to deposit it. Between the Halloween bash and the drive-in, you really need to get all that money in the bank.”

“Where's Jago?” Asha knew she needed to make a run to Leesburg, but had hoped Jago would go with her and they'd breakfast at The Cliffside. Then they could go for a walk along the river and have that talk he wanted.

“Gone.” Colin shrugged, trying to imply nothing unusual in that.

“Gone?” Asha echoed.

“Yep. I stopped off at my house after closing the drive-in to get a couple aspirins before I took the money down to put in the safe. I looked out the window and saw this big ass limo sitting at the end of our little alley, flashers blinking. I came to check it out. Jago was speaking to this rigged-up driver in a chauffeur's uniform.” He chuckled. “For a minute I wondered if this wasn't someone in costume doing a last minute trick-or-treat thing. He had on those crazy jodhpurs and all. You just don't see that around here, you know? Only, Jago went to his cabin, changed, came back out and left with him.”

“Did he say anything?” Asha stuck her hands in her pockets to hide she was shaking.

Colin nodded. “He said I should take care of you and Clint until he comes back.” His eyes grew sad. “Don't worry, Asha. Probably something to do with that big company he works for. High-powered outfits like that expect their management types to hop whenever there's trouble.”

“Most likely.” She offered him a smile she didn't feel.

“Give me a half hour and then we can head to Leesburg.”

“Sure thing.”

She closed the door, trying not to overreact. Jago worked for a vast multinational organization. Something important had obviously arisen and his presence was needed immediately.

Figuring he'd leave her a note, she searched around. Nothing. “Jago will call,” she told Clint, then went to change clothes. The words had been said more to reassure herself than the cat. They didn't work.

Especially when he didn't call that night. Or the next one.

Bleak November
. The two words together were almost redundant, yet they seemed strangely created to describe this sad day.
The whole month, actually
, Jago thought.
Nearly a month without Asha
.

Wishing he were anywhere but here, he watched as they lowered the coffin containing Katlyn Fitzgerald Mershan into the grave. He'd once read there were people who attended funerals of someone they didn't know, because they drew some sick pleasure from the last rites. Well, no voyeuristic mourners lurked along the graveside today. Only Katlyn's sons stood marking her passing.

“Too bloody wet and cold,” he said under his breath.

Jago sighed. The last three weeks had been a bad dream. Closing his eyes he thought back to Halloween, how the battery on his cell phone had died as Trevelyn received a ringing on another line. Julian Starkadder had been calling with news. After fighting cancer for nearly a year, Katlyn had taken a turn for the worse. The doctors were not sure how long she could last. Ever efficient, Julian had arranged for a limousine service to fetch Jago. When the tapping at the door came at first light, he'd never expected to hear the news his mother was dying.

In the half-shadows of the bedroom, packing to leave, he'd watched Asha slumbering peacefully, a smile on her beautiful face. Too much the coward, he had left her sleeping. Feeling as if his body had taken a hit from lightning, he couldn't think. Trying to form some reasonable explanation
for his hasty departure was beyond him. Bloody hell, he hadn't even left her a note. He'd simply had asked Colin to take care of her when the man jogged down the hill to investigate the limo. Jago offered the excuse that a business emergency had arisen and he couldn't take time to explain, that he had a plane to catch. There were questions in Colin's gray eyes, but he merely nodded.

That seemed eons ago. Before his life had become one long nightmare of doctors coming and going, of them shaking their heads, resigned to doing little more than making his mother peaceful. Her room was private, so at first Jago and his brothers had stayed with her around the clock. In the beginning, they'd worn themselves out keeping watch. He never understood why hospitals couldn't provide succor for families at such times. Des, Trev and he had slept in hard-backed chairs until Julian had finally brought small folding cots for them to use. As the days passed, the sorrow of losing his mother grew crushing to Jago. His personal devastation was overshadowed by the fear of what her dying was doing to Desmond.

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.”