Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [78]
Asha put her hands on her hips. “Enough is enough, Francis. Go to bed.”
“I will, if you will.” Liam flashed a threatening grin.
Jago wanted to shove the man’s teeth down his throat, especially when Asha went back upstairs.
An hour later the scene was repeated, only this time the shoe was on the other foot. Netta came downstairs, likely heading to the kitchen for something to drink since her steps lacked any stealth. Liam was waiting to waylay her. Jago made sure to time it so he got to his bedroom door just a heartbeat after Liam popped out of his. The cat was sitting on the end of the bed, watching as if things were getting interesting. Asha’s brother was grinning like a slaphappy fool as his eyes took in Netta in the red robe. That grin fell off his face as he saw Jago.
“I could really grow to hate you, Jayyyyyyygo,” the man snapped.
Netta laughed, gave Liam a little wave and continued on past.
Jago stretched, folded his arms and then leaned against the doorframe, showing he was staying until Netta went back upstairs. Which is what happened. Netta came back, wearing a milk moustache, which Jago was sure Liam would love to lick off. Instead, he just glowered at Jago. Once Netta was in the loft upstairs, Jago gave Liam a little wave that aped Netta’s and turned back to his bed.
A pillow came flying through the hall, hitting him in the back of the head.
“‘Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do.’” Jago laughingly sang the old Manfred Mann lyrics as he climbed into bed and scratched What’s His Name’s ear.
“What are you doing?” Liam asked, coming into the kitchen a couple hours before dawn.
Jago looked up. “And here I would’ve thought you a rather highly intelligent male. What does it look like I’m doing, Francis?”
Liam opened the refrigerator and shrugged. “Slicing lemons. I figured that much. I meant, what are you doing with the sliced lemons.”
“Well, I’m not going to run them all over your sister and lick off the juice, that’s for sure.” Jago was in a slightly perverse mood so he pushed the ‘brother button’ with glee.
“Ah, you tread into dangerous territory there.”
Jago flashed his teeth in a predatory grin. “I’m the one with the knife.”
“Ah, you’re still pissed that I invited myself for the night.” Liam took out the remaining half of the strawberry pie. “So what’s up with the lemons?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I’m making lemonade. I’m thirsty.”
“Frankly, I need something a little stronger,” Liam remarked.
“Me, too, but figured it best I keep my wits about me or I might be tempted to mop the floor with that pretty face of yours.”
“Oooh, someone’s grouchy.”
“It’s four in the morn and you’re down here.” Jago arched an eyebrow. “And you aren’t grouchy, Francis?”
“True. Scotch go well with lemonade?”
“Scotch goes well with anything, but who says I will share my lemonade?
“You are ticked. I’ll share my pie,” he chuckled.
“It’s not your pie. But share anyway.” Jago took the sliced lemons and use the electric juicer. “Point of curiosity. You were fine yesterday morning about me sleeping with Asha. So, why the overly protective brother routine now?” Pouring the juice into a pitcher, he added sugar, water and ice. Stirring, he watched Liam, waiting for the answer.
“I had no problems—until you came back from the bike ride. Asha was pale, shaken. Giving her a royal scare on the Harley, not caring if—”
“You really want me to pound on you to relieve my frustrations, don’t you?” Jago exhaled his frustration. “I didn’t scare her on the bike. Two peculiar things happened. Some guy in a black truck—maybe—tried to run us off the road, and then we came across some sort of old pavilion in the middle of nowhere. She says it was used as a skating rink back in the ’50s and ’60s.”
“Edgar Casey’s old place?” Puzzled, Liam accepted a glass of lemonade and carried it and his pie to the table out on the glassed in porch. He pulled out a chair and sat down.
Jago took a chair at the end of the glass-topped table. “I have no idea what it was called. There were no signs—outside