Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [102]
Outside these small worries, everything was so perfect between Jago and her. The final piece to the puzzle, he completed her world. He was liked and respected by all at The Windmill. The only troubling aspect: she occasionally caught a questioning expression in her employees’ eyes when they thought she wasn’t looking. Concern. They clearly approved of her loving Jago, only they held reservations, were fearful she would be hurt if things suddenly soured.
She would’ve dismissed their anxieties completely if she hadn’t caught Jago with a similar glint in his eyes. That had caused her heart to miss a beat. Several times he’d approached her saying, “We need to talk” only to have someone intrude. She assumed he wanted to discuss where they were headed in their affair. Continuing to build upon their relationship would soon require more permanent changes in their lifestyles, such as how he would handle his job with Trident Ventures. Everything was just so ideal, she hesitated to broach any aspect of his connection to Trident. Right now, she was very much in love and wanted to savor that special magic. All else could hang.
Especially, on this night. Halloween! She was eager to see what Jago would dress up as. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she contemplated his reaction to her costume.
With a happy sigh, she gathered her purse and locked the restaurant. “‘She did the Mash . . . the Monster Mash . . . ,’” she sang softly as she walked along the sidewalk and rounded the building. Just before she turned to go toward her bungalow, she waved to Jago and Colin still futzing with the car. Evidently tired of playing carwash, What’s His Name came running after her.
“You missed a spot, Jago.”
In response, Jago’s hand flexed around the large sponge as he gritted his teeth. He really liked Colin, enjoyed the quirky chatter the man kept up, only right now he wished his hand was around Colin’s scrawny neck and not the sponge. Dropping it into the pail with a plop, he picked up the hose and sprayed the car.
“Black cars are a pain. Show every smudge you miss.” Colin pointed with his cigarette toward a slowly appearing streak. “You missed another here.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help,” Jago replied.
Colin stopped inspecting the car, looked at Jago in his cut off jeans and made a sour face, though his eyes flashed merriment. “You know, Jago, those shorts do nothing for your legs.”
He knew Colin was deliberately pushing his buttons, trying to get a rise out of him. The runt was rather good at it, too. Jago re-sprayed the fender and seriously considered turning the hose on Colin. Instead, he reached over, pulled the unlit cigarette from the pest’s mouth.
“Stop baiting me just to relieve your boredom.” Snapping it in two, he flicked it away, trying not to laugh. “Smoking is bad for your health—in more ways than one.”
“Asha and you keep telling me that, and I keep reminding you that you smoke those funny little cigars. Swisher Sweets,” he said the name in a high, mocking voice. “Frankly, they’re something a guy wearing shorts would smoke. Even the name sounds—”
“Anyone ever tell you what a pain in the bum you are, Colin?”
“Bum? That’s what . . . an English rear end?” He chuckled. “Sure, all the time. I’m growing on you. Told you. Seriously, if you’d just give in and call me Oo-it, then I wouldn’t irritate you so much. Everyone expects a Colin to be well behaved. An Oo-it can say or do anything and everyone laughs.”
The cell phone sitting on the car dash began to chirp. With a