Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [125]
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