Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [48]
At the other end of the diner, Winnie suddenly slid from her booth. Two spots of red stained her pale cheeks as the young woman stood, hesitating for a breath. Stinging from six weeks of Winnie shooting him down every time he asked her out, Derek had ignored Winnie since coming in, clearly not in the mood for more of her games. When he continued to pay her no heed, she marched to the counter, tossed a handful of bills and the used lottery tickets on the top, then slammed out of the restaurant. Her yellow Beetle squealed tires leaving the lot.
“Beau Derek?” Jago’s voice rang through the diner. “I just bought a car from Beau Derek Whittaker?”
The Jukebox suddenly groaned to life, causing Asha to glare at it. The monstrosity had been unplugged! She’d done it herself, but chords of “Hey Little Cobra” by the Rip Cords now blared forth. “Hey, Little Cobra . . . You’re gonna shut ’em down . . .”
Asha tossed the crepe paper pumpkin down to the counter. “That’s it. Where’s my pistol? I’m going to show you, you deranged metal monster, how I shut ’em down.”
Asha had forgotten. Fed up with its antics, she put her hand on the Wurlitzer, intending to yank the plug from the wall socket—again. Only, the instant she touched the shiny metal, she received a shock that knocked her back about three feet and onto her arse. She didn’t black out, but it was damn close. She couldn’t move. Similar to how a person must feel like after being hit with a Taser, she just lay there numb and stared up at the people gathering over her, concern etching their faces.
Rule number one around The Windmill: never touch La Jukebox in a threatening manner. She groaned.
Jago was the first to reach her. Poor man was a ghastly shade of gray, all the blood having drained from his face. Sam, Derek and even Delbert hovered at his shoulders. They were speaking, yet their words were distant. She wanted to assure them she was fine, but all she could manage was to breathe.
She tried to lift her right hand to cup Jago’s beautiful face. Damn him. Damn her. She’d vowed never to get involved with a pretty man again, and yet here she was falling in love with him. Falling in love? How could she believe that, when she barely knew him? Here only three days and still she could not imagine life in her contained little world without him. The overwhelming sense of futility nearly made her cry. She was happy here at The Windmill. This was where she belonged. A man as sophisticated, as high-powered as Jago Fitzgerald would never settle for living in the middle of Nowhereville, putting up with her collection of oddball people who, some might say, life had tossed away. The Windmill was a haven for lost souls.
Jago Fitzgerald was not a lost soul. But she would be when he left her.
The tears came. Not heavy, just one in each eye. Frustrated, she couldn’t even move her hand to wipe them away before he saw them.
“Don’t stand there. Someone call a doctor!” Jago demanded.
Netta came through the front door, returning from having her hair done, dropped her purse and rushed over. “What the hell happened?”
Sam gave her a furtive look. “Damn jukebox. She was going—”
Netta frowned and leaned closer. “Unplug it. Sugarplum, don’t you know to sneak up on that thing yet? Frontal attacks only get you knocked on your ass. Quick, someone give me a quarter.” She held out her hand and Derek placed one in her palm.
Stepping over to the jukebox, she inserted the coin and pushed H-13. Instantly, the Wurlitzer came to life and began playing “Tell Laura I Love Her.” Netta smiled at the thing and patted it gingerly. “There, you metal demon. Your world is right again.”
Jago stared at them all, clearly not believing. “Have the whole bunch of you gone nuts? She needs a doctor, not a spin doctor.”
“Chill, Sexy Lips. I’ve been zapped by that psycho box before. Stuns you for a few minutes, then everything comes back to normal. Give her a minute and she’ll be right as rain,” Netta assured him.
Asha noticed other people standing behind Netta. Focusing, she saw a young man and