Riding the Thunder (18 page)

“That's fabulous, Colin. Thank you. It should be great fun for everyone,” Asha complimented.

“Hey, a Hammer Halloween. Chris Lee and Peter Cushing ride again.” The thin man leaned in halfway through the window, and stuck his hand out to shake. “Hi, Jago. I'm Colin Hughes. Call me Oo-It. Everyone else does.”

Jago's eyes shifted to Asha in amusement, then back to Colin, as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Colin.”

“You can call me—”

“Oo-it,” Jago finished.

“Yeah, everyone—”

“Else does.” Once again, Jago finished Colin's sentence.

“Yeah. Sorry I haven't been down to the restaurant to say a welcome, but I was busy tracking down these movies for Halloween. We're having a big bash. You still going to be here?”

“Yeah, I plan on it.”

Colin spied the cat sprawled on the dash and his eyes lit up. “Wow, what a great cat! Hadn't heard you had a cat, Jago,” he said, scratching the beast's chin.

“I think it's more like he has me.” Jago chuckled.

Colin asked, “What's his name?”

“I'm not sure.” Jago shrugged. “He hasn't deigned to tell us yet.”

“You should name your cat. Cat's gotta have a name.” Colin stopped scratching the purring feline and smiled sheepishly. “Well, I'll let you get back to the ‘hot and heavy.' Night Asha. Nice to meet you, Jago.”

“Nice to meet you, Colin.”

“Thanks again, Colin.” Asha waved. “I appreciate all the effort to get the movies.”

“Sure, anytime.” He stuffed his hands into his pocket and shrugged. “You know I'd do anything for you, Asha.”

Jago watched the strange man pull up the hood of his
sweatshirt and trot off into the rain, back toward the concession stand. He raised his brows. “Oo-it?”

Asha chuckled. “Colin stuttered from childhood. Not bad, mostly when he became excited. When something put him into a dither, he'd go ‘Oo Oo Oo-it' over and over again before he calmed down enough to get anything else out. He's been Oo-it since he was six. Mostly he's outgrown the stutter, but the nickname stayed.”

“He doesn't mind?”

“It's done in love and he knows it. He's sweet. He's the first one there to shovel your drive after it snows or to cut your lawn. He runs the drive-in and maintains the grounds around all the businesses. Quite handy with anything electrical. My guess is he's a borderline genius, but few ever paid attention. We're lucky to have him.”

“Hmm. Where were we?” Jago started to lean toward her, but the black cat jumped off the dash and in between them. He bounced on his hind legs, then butted Jago's chin with his forehead, and not gently either. Asha heard the crack. Jago dodged as the purring cat kept trying to
bonk
him again. “Oww, you bloody feline.”

“He loves you.” Asha sniggered.

Taking hold of the pest, he held the cat still, and glared into its eyes. Then Jago turned his head slightly and said, “I'd rather
you
love me.”

Caught off guard, Asha's heart dropped as she stared at him. There was just enough light from the dash to show he'd uttered the words in seriousness. She wanted to summon a jest, but she couldn't think of anything, other than
I'd rather you love me, too
.

Things were moving too fast for her to reveal that. You just didn't fall in love so quickly. Could you? She feared the answer. Did she dare trust this man—a man so self-assured, a pretty man used to big-city lights? Could he fall for someone who was happy here in this quirky little spot so far from the beaten path? Foolishly, she'd let down those cocooning walls, permit him into her safe little world with no reservations,
blindly surrender to the passion shimmering between them.
Love him
. But for how long? How long would Jago Fitzgerald be content to stay in her Nowhereville?

She jerked when a blaring car horn shattered the spell. It kept on in a long stream as if stuck. With a sigh, Asha looked to row H, slot thirteen. Sure enough, there were tail-lights of a truck that had just pulled into the empty space regulars had long ago learned not to choose. Soon everyone was honking horns in protest.

A shadowy figure played across the screen as Oo-it held up his raised middle finger in front of the projector in added protest.

Jago laughed. “Is this some sort of drive-in ritual? An insiders' joke?”

Asha couldn't answer. She stared through the rain at the red taillights of the black truck, suddenly feeling so far away.

When Tommy pulled into row H, slot thirteen, Laura groaned in disappointment.

First, it was pouring rain. That alone had caused her to fear he might cry off coming to the drive-in. Now, the eighth row? There were seventeen rows at the drive-in, and all couples seriously dating made a beeline for the last one. You had to reverse a car into that line as it butted up against the ten-foot high yew hedge that surrounded the lot—ideal for young lovers. The locals jokingly had dubbed it “Rubber Row,” since the bright light of day revealed spent condoms everywhere. Tossed out car windows, they'd caught on the evergreens and hung there like bizarre Christmas decorations. When you glanced back to that string of cars, it was an oddity to see one without fogged windows. She so hoped Tommy would pull his car into the last row! She wanted to steam up the windows with him.

In the long, empty hours of the night, her body ached for Tommy. She was a virgin, but she knew what her body wanted. She'd slid her hands over her breasts imagining
they were Tommy's. Not enough. It only made the ache worse. In her mind she'd hoped tonight was THE night.

Now, row H, slot thirteen. An unlucky number. Often she felt unlucky, born under a bad sign. But maybe that was changing. She was making progress:Tommy finally had asked her out!

After the fiasco of her prom night, she'd dreaded he might never speak to her again. Frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted to speak to him, either. Then, after a miserable month of them ignoring each other, he'd started showing up wherever she was. When the girls had gone to see Vincent Price's
The Tingler
at the theatre, Tommy had suddenly taken the seat next to her. At the Dairy Queen, she'd been eating a banana split and talking with Reanne Masters. Tommy came up, sat down and ate half her sundae, as if it was the most natural thing to do. When her mouth dropped open in shock, he fed her spoonfuls of the soft ice cream.

It unnerved her a bit, to be honest. For two years she'd worked hard to ‘casually' be where Tommy was, hoping to garner his attention. Suddenly, this past month, he'd turned the tables and dogged her steps. She'd washed the car last Sunday; he had come over and helped. When a bunch of the kids went down to the Kentucky River for a picnic at the sandbar before Lock 8, Tommy had been in the group. He'd swum with her: later, after dark, sat beside her and roasted marshmallows by the bonfire. Then, in the moonlight, he'd walked her up to the Lock Keeper's bell tower. He said out of the blue, “I guess I'm going to have to ask you for a real date.”

She'd gotten a little huffy. “Don't do me any favors, Tommy Grant.”She'd whipped around to go back to the others by the fireside, only Tommy caught her arm and pulled her close. He leaned her back against the tower's frame and kissed her until her toes curled. Her first kiss.

When he finally broke away, he said, “We both know where this is all heading, but let's take it slow, easy. First step—how about going to the drive-in next Friday night?”

Now, she sat in Tommy's car at The Windmill, hardly able to believe this wasn't another of her hungry dreams. She looked at Tommy as he shut off the car, reached for a speaker and hung it on the glass, rolling it half way up. She sighed at those beautiful hands—hands she'd envisioned upon her body. Oh, when she stared into those green eyes, slow and easy never came to mind.

She knew they preached good girls don't. Well, she was Tommy's girl now. She wanted to be his wife, his lover. Good was the last thing on her mind.

All these beautiful fantasies constantly filled her, where Tommy was hers and she belonged to him, body and soul. Only, in those sparkling dreams, she was never the one making the moves. Tommy was older. She'd always imagined he'd know precisely what to do and not need a push.

As Woody Woodpecker ha-ha-ha-HA-ha-ed his way across the screen to the soft lull of the windshield wipers, Laura wondered how Tommy would react if she pounced on him.

“You're quiet tonight, Laura,” he commented. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“A penny? I think they're worth a quarter.”

He smiled slowly, shifted in the seat to slide his hand into his left pocket. He pulled out a coin, took her hand and put the quarter into her palm, then leisurely closed her fingers around it. It was hot—hot from his body heat.

“There's your quarter. Now what's on that pretty mind?”

She sighed. Sometimes men were so thick! Very deliberately, she dropped the quarter down the front of her top, lodged it between her breasts. She'd worn a deep V-neck sweater, hoping to give Tommy a few ideas. Guess she'd have to hit him over the head. “If you want the quarter back you have to go and get it.”

Tommy stared at her, not blinking, as if she'd lost her mind. She wondered if she'd suddenly begun speaking a foreign language.

Then he moved—so damn fast it scared her.

He shifted, one hand on her neck, the other on her waist,
pulling her against his chest and kissing her. Not sweet, closed mouth kisses, either; these were dark and hungry, his mouth open on hers, molding her, shaping her, turning, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. Hell, her first kiss had been just the week before at the bell tower. This was French kissing! For an instant she wasn't sure she liked it.

The girls were forever gossiping and sniggering about French kissing; she'd always wondered what it was like. It seemed so wicked, so racy. She'd imagined Tommy kissing her like that, but this wasn't anything like her daydreams. It was . . . more. So much more. Suddenly, she liked his tongue dueling with hers.

Tommy devoured her with a hunger she didn't know could exist. Oh, her body pulsed with urges. This was painful. Her breasts were sensitive, hard, aching for Tommy's hands on them. Her womb cramped with a desperate need, and she knew nothing but Tommy inside her would ease the feeling. Fire skittered through her blood.

Tommy broke their kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “Damn it, Laura, I said we needed to take this slow.”

She smiled, hearing the breathless hitch to his words. “Slow? I forget the definition of the word.”

“Do you know how long I've wanted to kiss you like that?” Tommy ran his left hand up and down her ribcage.

“No, how long?”

“Too damn long.” He moaned and closed his mouth over hers again, taking her to heaven. Then Tommy scooted sideways to gain a better position, his elbow hitting the steering wheel, causing the horn to beep . . .

Tommy cursed, “Damn . . .”

“Damn it, do you hear me, Asha?”

A pounding ache spreading through her brain, Asha blinked. Jago had the dome light on and was speaking to her in worried tones. The cat jumped around her, then stuck his wet nose against her cheek before Jago pushed him gently aside.

“It's okay. She's coming around.” He laughed derisively and then shook his head. “You've got me so upset I'm talking to the stupid cat.”

The cat whipped his head around as if he resented being called stupid.

“Asha—damn it, do you have epilepsy? I know some people don't have full seizures, they sort of phase out sometimes. If that's the case, I'd like to know so I can be prepared how I should handle these spells.”

“Sorry . . . just a little woozy.” Her head ached and her stomach suddenly was queasy. Maybe that part was the damn chili dog. “I phased out?”

“Yeah, just like you did at the pool.”

“I do not have epilepsy.”

“Don't lie to me, Asha.”

“I'm not. Really.”

“Then I think you need to go see a doctor and have a physical,” he suggested.

No, it was
more
than a suggestion. Like all men used to authority, he just commanded and expected to be obeyed. Still, she smiled, knowing it came from concern. Reaching up, she stroked his cheek.

There was a growing pain in her head, but she knew there was nothing really wrong with her—at least, nothing a doctor could fix. Being Scottish, she accepted what she was experiencing. Somehow, she was picking up images from Laura Valmont's life; however, if she told Jago that, he'd really push her to see a doctor—not an internist, but a shrink! She couldn't begin to understand what was happening to her or why. Right now, to try and reason it for herself, let alone present a case strong enough to convince Jago, was more than her poor brain was capable of doing.

“I'm sorry, but could we go back to the motel?” she asked.

Jago nodded, already raising his seat back. He leaned
over and fastened the seat belt around her, then started the car. His eyes were full of worry.

Asha almost laughed. If he was apprehensive now, it would be nothing compared to when she told him she was channeling 1964.

Jago stepped from the shower—his
cold
shower—and vigorously toweled off. Picking up the pair of navy sweatpants folded on the commode, he tugged them on, trying his best to ignore the throb already returning to his groin. Yes, restlessness was back, a ravenous beast growling to be sated. This time, he didn't bother going to the refrigerator to see what there was to eat; he knew precisely what he wanted and it wasn't food—though he really wouldn't mind another chili dog. He wanted Asha. And nothing but she could assuage the hot flames of hunger crawling under his skin.