Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [117]
“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.”
“Mr. Mershan, we’re at The Windmill. Where do you want me to drop you?” the limo driver asked.
Home. The voice in Jago’s head whispered.
“Park in the alley where you did before,” he instructed.
“Yes, sir.” Pulling up, he cut the engine. “Here’s my card should you ever need me again. It’s been a pleasure serving you.”
Jago nodded. “I appreciate it. You made all this much easier.”
He handed the man a hundred dollar tip, barely hearing the thanks, as he stared at the back of the restaurant and then the bungalows.