Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [20]
“This time I’ll ask a question. Why would you assume no one would bother you?”
She shrugged. “Because I carry.”
“A gun?” Surprise registered in his dark eyes.
She nodded. “I have a permit, and I’m a crack shot.”
“So, what do you tote, Pistol-packin’ Mama?” He chuckled, as if still not believing her claim.
“A Colt Python Elite, four inch barrel, blue carbon finish.”
“Geez, Louise—that’s a .357 Magnum, ‘the Rolls Royce of handguns.’ Ever had to use it, Annie Oakley?”
“Nope. Gossip spreads around this neck of the woods like wildfire. I’m a crazy foreigner with a Magnum. They leave me alone.”
Shaking his head, Jago smiled. A smile that was both a warning and a promise. “Well, Asha Montgomerie, don’t count on that cap pistol keeping you safe from me.”
Staring at Jago Fitzgerald, safe wasn’t a word that came to Asha’s mind.
“Wow,” Jago exclaimed in surprise as they pushed through the double doors of The Cliffside Restaurant. He put a hand to the small of Asha’s spine, rubbing lightly as he paused to take in the long café. “It’s like stepping back in time.”
“The Cliffside was built in the 1930s when tourist trade and river traffic kept this place hopping. Barges ferried coal and other stuff up and down the river. There used to be several marinas for pleasure boats,” Asha informed him.
Noticing the Wurlitzer to one side he said, “Hey, they have a jukebox like yours.”
The comment caused Asha to chuckle. “No, not like The Windmill. No one has a Wurlitzer quite like ours.”
The waitress behind the counter looked up from reading a newspaper. “Well, lookie who’s come to slum. Morning, Asha. What can I do you for?” Taking a couple glasses from the rack, she filled them with ice and water and put them on a tray. The buxom redhead—with a hairdo that made her resemble a Bubble Cut Barbie come to life—looked Jago up and down. “And what can I do you for, handsome?”
“Don’t make me get out my cattle prod, Ella,” Asha kidded.
Ella Garner patted her over-teased hair and shrugged with a disappointed sigh. “I don’t blame you. I’d slap a brand on his cute little tush, too. Where would you like to park that sexy rear?”
“Since Jago is new to the area—,” Asha started only to be interrupted.
“Jay-go? Oh, be still my beating heart. I ain’t never seen a Jago on the hoof before.”
“—I thought we might eat on the porch, Ella,” Asha finished. “Let him have a gander at that breathtaking view of the river.”
“Sure thing, honey.” Snatching up a couple menus, Ella led them to the side dining room, which had three walls of windows. She waited until they were seated before placing the water and menus in front of them. “Only, I think you need your eyes checked, Asha Montgomerie. What leaves one breathless is sitting across from you, silly woman.”
Jago’s eyes skimmed the menu, and then he looked to Asha. “Any suggestions?”
“Country ham, eggs as you like them, Ernie’s buttermilk biscuits and hash browns.” Asha folded the menu and passed it back. “For us both. My eggs sunny-side up, please, and a tall glass of grapefruit juice.”
“Same on the eggs and juice,” Jago agreed, passing his menu to Ella. “And coffee, black.”
“You want grits?” Ella asked, tapping the order book with her pencil, waiting for his answer.
Jago blinked. “Grits?”
Being perverse, Asha suppressed a giggle and said, “He’ll have the grits.”
“I will?” Jago looked puzzled.
“Oh, you have to eat grits,” Asha insisted.
“Okey-dokey . . . coming right up.” Ella swiveled on her white waitress shoes and sashayed away.
Jago turned partway to watch the show Ella provided. Just a little ticked, Asha sighed and pursed her lips.
“‘Like Jell-O on springs,’” he quoted Jack Lemmon’s line from Some Like It Hot.
Asha took a sip of her water, put the glass back on its coaster and then slowly pushed it around on the table for distraction. Rolling her eyes, she muttered ominously, “Strike three.”
Jago gave her an easy