Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [141]
She tried to speak. Oh, Tommy. To kiss you one last time. To tell you how much I love you. Always will love you . . . always love you. . . .
Tommy stood there looking back as cars and trucks stopped along the roadside. The driver of the Peterbilt was on his knees in the middle of the highway crying. Poor man, it wasn’t his fault. It was Monty’s. He’d stolen everything from them.
Heartbreaking, yet somehow it all seemed now . . . distant.
She touched Tommy’s shoulder, then laughed. Taking his hand, she tugged on it. “Tommy, this way.”
“Laura, wait. I love you.” He yanked her into his arms, squeezing her tightly. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. “Oh, Laura . . .”
She kissed him. “Shhhh! We must hurry before someone gets our booth at The Windmill. I want a Cherry Coke and then to slow dance to our song.”
“But Laura . . .” He hesitated, looking back at the wreck, confused.
She reached up and gently pulled his face around toward hers. “It doesn’t matter, Tommy. Nothing matters but that we’re together. We’ll always be together. Just like the song, Tommy, our love will never die. Come . . .”
They walked down the road, enjoying the peace. Yes, peace. It felt as if they had made this trek a thousand times . . . ten thousand. This time was somehow different.
She smiled when the restaurant, with the funny windmill outlined in neon on the roof, came into view. The music reached her ears making her smile. Ray Peterson crooned, “Tell Laura not to cry, my love for her will never die . . .”
It was odd, but The Windmill was empty when they entered. The diner never seemed to change, but offered a soothing feel of coming home. Coming home. Tommy seemed to understand. He wordlessly pulled her into his strong arms, and they began slow-dancing.
“Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up. I need to get you out of the tub before you turn into a prune,” Jago touched her shoulder, bringing her awake, then started putting down a gazillion towels on the tiled floor in preparation of helping her out of the tub.
“Sorry, I must’ve dozed off. Lavender will do that to me.” She gave him a lazy smile. “I meant to ask how did you get back to Kentucky so fast?”
“The power of Mershan International. My brother owns a Sikorsky that can almost outfly a jet, and then for good measure, he owns a jet, too.”
She yawned. “I’d say I’m impressed, but I’m too lazy. You better get me out of this tub or I might drown. I’m too tired to stay above the water.”
Without hesitation, Jago reached into the foot-high bubbles and scooped her out. He held her easily, so close she could see the small variation in the beautiful green eyes so full of love. Her naked body, slick with Mr. Bubble and held against his bare chest, caused her libido to roar to life, despite being too damn tired to do anything about it. Still . . .
“Kiss me, Jago, remind me I’m alive.”
He kissed her, the smooth warm lips lending her their heat. Gently at first. Then deeper, more demanding, as he felt her hunger, fed off it. He finally broke the kiss and buried his face against her neck, softly crying. His tears trickled down her shoulder.
After a few moments, he carried her into the shadowy bedroom, Clint dancing on the bed as he placed her down. Turning down the light on the nightstand, Jago sat on the edge of the bed. His hands shook as he carefully tucked the blanket about her, finally shooing Clint away when he kept butting his head against her arm. The cat was upset too and wanting reassurance. She lifted her hand and managed to give him a weak pat.
Asha looked into Jago’s beautiful face. “You lied to me.”
“Oh, shut up.” He laughed, then tears started falling again. “I don’t understand why a madman would want to kill you—kill you, Asha.”
Thinking back on the dreams, she answered, “I do, I think—as much as anyone can understand a diseased mind. He killed Laura and Tommy. They had so much to live for, their love was so special, and yet he robbed them of all of it. He was