Riding the Thunder

by Deborah MacGillivray

  Of course, she planned a private party afterward with Jago. A little red silk number from Victoria’s Secret and the delivery of the hot tub for the river house were just the prescription to gift Jago with the news he was going to be a daddy. Her cute little test had showed a plus; she’d followed up with a doctor’s appointment to confirm it. Thus far, no morning sickness. Placing a hand to her belly, she hoped that would hold at least until she broke the news to the papa-to-be.

  She was still nervous about Jago’s reaction. Deep in her heart she felt he would be thrilled. Even so, it was an odd time of mood swings between giddy euphoria one minute and melancholy the next. That she still experienced dreams, visions of Laura Valmont didn’t help matters. She had this strange suspicion Laura was trying to tell her something she was failing to understand.

  She glanced up from fixing the accordion-tissue heart centerpiece as Jago and Liam pushed through the diner door. Business was slow, typical for a Wednesday. She’d taken advantage to finish decorating the restaurant. She smiled at the two drop-dead sexy men—good friends now. Only, something about their manner set off alarms. Studying them, she saw her brother gave off the impression of being relieved, though pale. Jago just appeared calm. His expression shifted to apprehension as his mesmerizing eyes met hers.

  Jago came around the counter, took out a Coors for himself and one for Liam, passing the beer to her brother. As he did, he leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek. “I’d get you a beer, but I recall something about you not liking the taste—and a worry about salt being in it. I never learned why you don’t like salt, though.”

  Liam took a swig and sniggered. “Blame that on our grandmother Maeve. She was born on Falgannon Isle and came from a long line of witches. She used to teach all my sisters these witchy tricks of the trade. One was, you should never accept salt from a warlock—that you empowered his control over your will.”

  “A warlock, eh?” Jago grinned. “One with sexy lips, too.”

  Liam’s pale green eyes glanced from Jago to her. “Congrats are in order, Little Sister. We finalized the last of the details on the horse farm today.”

  The smile fell off her face, and Asha resisted the impulse to place a hand on her belly. “Really? I wasn’t aware the deal was moving forward again, but then, I guess it’s none of my business, eh? So . . . what? Is Trident going to put in a shopping mall, apartments and offices? Just what we need to ruin everything around here. What are you going to do with the stock? Do they still have glue factories?”

  Both men rolled their eyes and glanced at each other in longsuffering male telepathy. She wanted to kick them both! Yes, she was overreacting; only she’d begun to believe Jago truly understood her fey spot in the world, this sanctuary where ghosts danced to a jukebox that had a mind of its own, how special a place was that had a Cajun cook, Clint the Cat, Oo-it and an aging Jedi Master. Had she deceived herself? Had she seen what she wanted to believe?

  Taking a slow, deep breath, she attempted to control the wild swings of emotions within her, thoroughly aware the baby she carried triggered chemical imbalances. She also reminded herself that flying off the handle wouldn’t be good for the small being growing inside her. Very carefully, trying to ignore both men, she took a glass and filled it with grape soda.

  “Chill, Little Sister. Your Jago hasn’t hurt Valinor, thus is no threat to your little domain.”

  “Oh, yeah. With Dad and you selling out, it’s only a matter of time before they put in some super shopping complex, which will bring zoning laws and send my taxes through the roof! You know this place won’t meet most zoning standards. It’ll cost me a fortune to bring it up to code. I won’t be able to pay the taxes when they are suddenly ten times, twenty times higher.” She sipped the drink, holding tight to keep from tossing it into their faces.

  “Jago did well by me, Asha,” Liam assured quietly.

  She met his pale eyes. “You sold out. The farm will be gone. How is that ‘doing well’ by you?”

  Jago put down the bottle of beer and took her arms, turning her. “You’re upset, love. The farm stays. I’ve fixed things because I didn’t want it coming between us.”

  “Stays?” She was ready to burst into tears—so unlike her. Generally, if she was angry she wanted to take out her dirk and start carving her initials into someone. Never had she wanted to give in to a full-blown crying jag. Hormones running amok, she kept repeating in her mind.

  “Yeah, Jago set up everything. Trident will underwrite Valinor financially, while I retain one-third of it and will be manager. Jago will co-manage with me. Every three years, I’ll be able to buy five percent of the farm back. If I decided to leave the farm at any point, they’ll give me a ‘golden parachute’ that will end up doubling my original share in the farm, plus some other perks. This gives me the money to expand everything—buy new stock, running the farm as I want, and not on my shoestring budget. Basically Jago and I are now partners, with Trident’s silent backing.” Liam held up his hands, palms upward. “You might want to kiss the man instead of being a harpy. Jago handed me my dream on a golden platter.”

  She shrugged and tried to joke, “Oh well . . . in that case, please disregard the hysterical rant from the loopy sister.”

  Jago gently pulled her into his arms, his hands rubbing up and down her back. “You okay? You seem keyed up.”

  “Just that time of the month,” she lied. “You know the symptoms—anxiety, panic, poor judgment, depression, irritability, hostility, aggressive behavior. I think I have a few—er, all—of those.”

  He chuckled. “Isn’t it nice that we men are such paragons of patience? Why don’t you close up early? You’ve been knocking yourself out decorating for the party.”

  “Sounds nice. An early evening would be good.” Going to the office, she leaned in to speak to Netta, making out orders for next week’s food. “Hey, best hostess in the world, would you close up for me? I’m beat.”

  Netta unwrapped an Almond Joy. “Sure thing, sugarplum. Have Sexy Lips give you some TLC. Get some sleep for a change. You look tired.”

  “Thanks.” She wished everyone goodnight, then let Jago lead her out into the February evening.

  Clint came padding up, rubbing against Jago’s leg. “What’s he doing out?”

  “Don’t ask me. He was in the bungalow sleeping when I came to work. Maybe Mary let him out when she was cleaning.” Asha hugged her shawl about her shoulders, while Jago fished out the keys from his pocket. “Tomorrow is February second—St. Brid’s Day. By the old pagan calender, that was the first day of spring.”

  A cool breeze swirled around them, carrying flakes of snow with it, causing Jago to laugh as he inserted the key. “Anyone defining the first day of February as spring hasn’t lived in Kentucky.” He paused, caught in the breathless instant, his hand reaching up to cup her face. His thumb wiped away a stray snowflake that hit her cheek. He tilted forward and brushed a butterfly kiss softly to her lips. She started to lean into him, but instead of deepening it he stepped back.

  “We need to talk.” They both smiled and chuckled, sharing the same thought. “Yeah, I know we keep saying that, then twelve dozen things pop up to interrupt. No more. We have to talk, Asha. It’s important.”

  “I apologized about how I reacted over the horse farm deal—” she started.

  “It’s not that. This is about us . . . though family is mixed in there. Yours. Mine. We need to turn off the—” The phone began ringing in his cabin. “Grrr. You and Clint get out of the cold. I don’t want either of you sick. I’ll be a few minutes. I have a call in to Trident to confirm the deal is settled. I might need to justify what I did. After that, all phones are off the hook so we can talk. Deal?”

  She nodded, watching him dash to his bungalow. Letting Clint in first, she flipped on the lights. The cottage was chilled, so she crossed to the small fireplace and lit a match to the already laid kindling. The newspaper caught instantly, and soon the heady scent of applewood filled the air
. Heading to the kitchen to feed the cat, she noticed a piece of paper taped to the refrigerator.

  “If Jago’s sticking a grocery list up on my steel fridge, his arse is mine, Clint.” She dumped dry food into the bowl, then walked over to yank it down.

  It wasn’t a grocery list, but a typed letter on expensive vellum with the Trident Venture letterhead—had a cute little pitchfork-shaped logo. Her eyes skimmed over it, trying to take in details of what the long letter actually meant. The details didn’t matter. There was only one important factor—why the letter had been left for her.

  The letter was addressed to Jago Mershan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Having trouble breathing, Asha gulped air to fight the rising nausea. She rushed to Jago’s bungalow to confront him, but spotted him heading toward the front of the diner. Clint spied him, too, and was instantly on his heels. Jago was whistling to flag down Liam, as he was reversing the red Viper out of the parking lot. Finally her brother noticed Jago, flicked his lights and waited for him to jog up. She assumed the urgent parlay had something to do with the telephone call Jago had just taken from Trident.

  So angry, she nearly marched over and showed them both the letter—let Jago deal with Liam as well as her. Instead, she noticed Jago had left his cabin door half-open in his dash to run down Liam. She headed there.

  Inside, she looked around. His cell phone was on the table beside the open briefcase. It was only a few steps to reach the kitchen, a few more until she put her hand on the leather attaché. It seemed miles. She had no idea what she was looking for. Surely the expensive case contained other pieces of information about Trident addressed to Desmond, Trevelyn and Jago Mershan.

  There were tabbed folders crammed full. Blueprints, reams of reports and spreadsheets. Her heart stilled—pictures of her with her twin sister Raven, taken last May at her grandfather’s funeral. Dozens of them. There were others, too. Even a photograph of her with Justin, back before she’d broken their engagement. The manila folder seemed too heavy to hold; the glossy images slid out of her hand and all over the kitchen floor.

  Then she spotted the most damning piece of Jago’s betrayal—the signed proxies. She recalled hunting for them just after New Year’s and Jago saying he’d mailed them. Her brother Cian needed those proxies to block the takeover bid. She could only stand there and stare. Her whole life laid there on the wooden tiles.

  Coming through the door, Jago appeared frustrated. That concern was nothing compared to what flooded his eyes when he saw her there, holding the paper with the Trident Venture letterhead. He first noted her furious expression, then his eyes fell on the trident logo and the bastard knew. He knew! Finally, he saw she stood in the midst the pile of 8×10 photos, the proxies at her feet. He paled, blood draining from him.

  Oh, she wanted to kick him in the seat of his pants, and this time, it wasn’t a spike in the hormones. Ridiculously, he made a leap for the letter, but she backed up out of reach. When he recognized his action was nothing short of ludicrous, he stopped and closed his eyes. The corners of his mouth flexed into a grimace.

  Unable to stand the sense of her whole world being nothing but a tissue of lies, she turned to leave. It was just too much. She had to get away, calm down until she could form a coherent thought. Stepping over Clint who rubbed around her ankles, she headed toward the door only to have Jago block her path.

  Asha stared up into his beautiful face, the face she so loved; she just wanted to cry. Instead she hurled the insult, “Bastard.”

  “I want to—” he started to say, but she slapped him. Hard. Shocked, he reeled not from the physical blow, but the mental anguish he saw in her eyes. Seizing the chance, she pushed past him and headed back to her cottage. “Asha, wait,” he called.

  Jago caught up with her as she pushed open the sliding door. Damn him. She just wanted to get away for a spell. She needed to calm down, if not for herself, then for the child she carried. Despite, he wasn’t going to let her do the sensible thing. When she saw it would turn into a pushing match over the door, she retreated to the fire, seeking its warmth. Needing its warmth.

  They stared at each other. Lovers. Strangers. Deceiver and deceived. How could the world be turned topsy-turvy in a single heartbeat by a piece of paper?

  “Mershan. Not Fitzgerald. When were you going to tell me? ‘Hold it, preacher, the name’s wrong on the marriage license.’ Is that the perfect time?”

  “Hold the melodrama. This will be rough enough without lacing everything with sarcasm,” he suggested quietly.

  Asha silently counted to ten. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, Jago Mershan. You don’t have that right.”

  “Too bad. I’m taking it. You’re white as a sheet. Please sit down—” He reached for her, but she jerked away. For several heartbeats he watched her, then finally nodded.“I was going to tell you tonight. That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Oh, please. Jerk. You asked me to marry you, and the whole bloody time you were lying.”

  “I wasn’t. I just didn’t tell you everything. My name is Jago Luxovius Fitzgerald Mershan—”

  The cat padded over, curious at Asha’s raised voice. “Sic ’im, Clint. Of course, be careful—you might get foot-in-mouth disease.”

  “Asha—

  “Don’t ‘Asha’ me, you . . . you . . . worm! How could you ask me to be your wife when you were lying?” She vibrated with umbrage.

  “Because I love you so much that I’d do anything—”

  She snatched up a throw pillow and slugged him with it. “Anything! Anything? Try telling the truth!”

  Every time he opened his mouth, she let him have it again. He took the blows without defending himself. After a dozen, he caught the pillow and took it away.

  “I started to tell you several times—”

  “Oooh . . . liar! You stole the proxies!”

  Jago nodded, appearing shaken, tired. “Yes, I did. Expediency . . . for us all. I just wanted everything done, Asha. Des will win. He always does. There won’t be any stopping him. Without the proxies, Cian couldn’t fight him. It would be bloody done. Over with. Finally. We could all get on with our lives. Once he takes over Montgomerie Enterprises, then I can force him to make things right for your family, as I did with the horse farm. You talked to Liam. You know I did right by him. I did try several times to explain to you, but life kept intruding. Truth? I let it intrude. For the first time in my whole ruddy life I was happy.”

  Jago spoke with such conviction, depression, that it slowed her spiraling temper. His statement shook her, simply because she believed him. He stared at her with true misery. Silly man wasn’t just guilty. He was in pain, a pain so crippling that it reached into her, nearly made her forget her anger. Nearly.

  “This last year, every night I’d get up, restless, couldn’t sleep. I’d go to the refrigerator, open it and stand looking inside. I wasn’t hungry, yet I repeated this over and over. I didn’t need food. I needed love. I needed you. That first night after we met, all the nocturnal wandering stopped.” He walked to the patio door and stood, watching the falling snow.“Until you, I never understood I wasn’t happy. When I found you, I found my other half—what was missing.”

  “Then why risk it all—for what? Your brothers and you are playing some high stakes game with my family’s holdings? I gather from this,”—she held up the letter—“that your brothers are behind a hostile takeover of anything with the name Montgomerie attached. My father and brother are capable of defending against a bunch of modern day pirates. What I do care about, my life here—”

  “I know that. Sometimes forces push us against our will. Yes, I should’ve told you, only for once in my bloody life I played the coward. I reached out and held on to you like a lifeline. I was lost, no meaning to my existence. Don’t you see? I’m another of your lost souls finding heaven at The Windmill. When you’re that low and salvation comes along, and when you comprehend if you lose it there won’t be anything left worth l
iving for, you tend to get scared. Bloody scared. Each time I intended to tell you some interruption popped up and, like a condemned man, I welcomed the excuses.” He braced his hand high on the doorframe, and leaned against it. The hypnotic eyes watched her reflection in the mirrored glass. “Yeah, I was a coward, but I haven’t changed. You love me. Not my name.”

  “Oh!” she gasped, feeling more than panic rise in her throat.

  He rushed to her. “What’s wrong?”

  Asha shoved him away. “Get back, unless you want me to barf all over you.”

  Not waiting to see what he’d do, she dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it. She barely got the commode lid up before her stomach let go. Boy, did it let go! Weak from retching, she slumped against the hamper. Clint materialized and crawled into her lap to comfort her. He sniffed her sour breath and wrinkled his nose.

  “You ought to try it from my side.” She jumped when Jago hammered on the door.

  “Asha, are you all right?” He pounded again.

  She glared at the locked door. “Go away. I really don’t want to see you right now, Mr. Mershan.” Her body was sending signals it was just getting wound up. “Stand back, round two is coming, Clint.”

  Jago yelled, cajoled and begged, though she did her best to tune him out. After tossing the rest of her cookies, all she wanted was a cool rag and to wash the horrid taste from her mouth, not to deal with a man named Mershan.

  “Asha, open the damn door. Now.”

  “Go to hell. I want to die,” she moaned, and rolled onto her side. Clint and she both flinched at the loud crash, as the door slammed against the wall. “Mr. Macho just kicked in the door, Clint. Oh, how thrilling.”