Riding the Thunder Read online

  “‘And you take my breath. Away,’” Jago sang.

  He’d loved Asha from that first breathless instant when she materialized from the brilliant sunlight and walked into the restaurant. In that moment, he had accepted Fate. Now he couldn’t breathe as he watched her trying to climb the stairs and not trip on the ‘spider leg feet’ of her costume.

  His mouth quirked up as he noted the black wig she wore. It threw him. She carried off the outfit well, making a surprisingly sexy black-haired lass. But then, he had a notion she could show up baldheaded and in a burlap sack and he’d love how she looked. He leaned on the wood rail post like a sap, drinking in the vision of Morticia Addams helping Obi-Wan Kenobi up the steps.

  “Hey, Asha sure is a hottie in that get-up, eh?” Colin elbowed him with a big grin and then snapped several pictures. “Oo . . . oo . . . oo . . . it. I know, I can sell you copies for a buck. Eh? Great set of knockers she’s got. Want me to get some close-ups?”

  “I may kill you some day.” Jago’s threat had no teeth, though.

  Colin wasn’t fazed either. “I’m growing on you. Told you, I would.”

  Jago chuckled and then summoned a proper glare, looking Colin up and down. “How the bloody hell did we both end up in vampire costumes?” he asked.

  “Us? What about him?” Colin asked, swinging around and lowering the camera to snap pictures of the pudgy cat, wandering around in a Dracula cape. “Silly kitty, I think he likes the costume.”

  Asha entered the glasshouse, then pulled up when she saw the three of them. Steepling her hands before her mouth, she tried to contain her laughter . . . and failed. “I feel like I’m watching an old episode of ‘What’s My Line’ on the Game Show Channel. ‘Will the real Dracula please stand up?’”

  Jago grinned and raised his arms to flourish his cape. “I tried to buy a giant leech costume, but they didn’t have one. I bought the next best bloodsucker.”

  “And What’s His Name, too?” she patted the vampire kitty on the head.

  “I thought about a bunny costume. They had a pink one for kitties, just like Ralphie in The Christmas Story, but figured he’d think it beneath his dignity.” Jago lifted a strand of her black wig, toying with it, just needing to touch her.

  “I didn’t know fur-covered hogs had dignity.” Colin sniggered. Then suddenly his eyes grew wide. “Oo . . . oo . . . it’s Bobby!”

  Jago chuckled seeing the guest of honor coming around the pool with Derek—both in Dracula capes. “It’s an epidemic!”

  “There’s a distinct lack of originality around this place, Asha. We need a five Drac limit on this party. Any more show up flapping a cape, I say we chuck them out on their keister.” Excited, Colin rushed over to snap pictures of his idol Bobby Pickett.

  “Too late!” Jago raised his glass in salute as Liam, in the Count’s full regalia, escorted another Morticia Addams in through the glass door.

  “Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do.” Asha and her ‘spider feet’ wiggled over to face Netta who was equally lovely in the black wig. The two stared at each other, and then slowly circled to examine the other closely, their two sets of fake spider feet bouncing as they turned 360-degrees. Almost as if in mirror, both women raised their arms, glowered at each other and then in complete unison did the Addam’s finger snap.

  Everyone broke into a riot of laughter, including the two women.

  Winnie came out of the clubhouse in an Elvira getup. She paused, then blinked at seeing the two Morticias and the six Draculas.“Gee, I haven’t even had a drink yet,” she said.

  “OO . . . oo . . . it! Wow!” Colin nudged Jago in the ribs again, referring to Winnie’s black dress, cut lower than the Morticias. “Bet you wish Asha came in that costume.” He ran over and clicked at Winnie in her sexy outfit, moving in closer until he was obviously snapping chest shots.

  Liam pointed out with a bemused smile, “It seems the party should’ve been ‘Ladies in black and Vamps only theme.’ Halloween Express must have sold every Drac and Morticia costume they had.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Netta chided. “I’ll have you know I made my costume from scratch.”

  Asha sniffed envy. “No wonder yours fits so well.”

  “Thanks, I sew all my clothes.” Netta shrugged shyly.

  Jago was impressed; the quality of her costume vastly outshone Asha’s bought version. “You have a true talent, Netta. Ever thought about turning your skills into running a boutique? You could do a very exclusive, upscale store in one of the Lexington malls.”

  For a moment, Netta’s blue eyes shone with possibilities, then she clamped down on the dream. “Costs money. But I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Gather round, kiddies,” Colin called over the music and chatter of the guests. “Time for Bobby to do The Mash. Don’t forget to get a copy of his autobiography, Monster Mash, Half-Dead in Hollywood or his CD. After he performs, he’ll autograph them for everyone.”

  “What about ‘The Purple People Eater’?” Delbert asked, picking up What’s His Name.

  Jago swirled one side of his cape around him and quipped, “Purple-people-eater? More to the point, I vant to know vhat ever happened to my Transylvania Tvist?”

  Bobby Pickett joined the laughter, then shook his finger. “Hey, bud, that’s my shtick. You and the cat butt out. I work alone.”

  The night passed too quickly, Asha thought. The bash was a big success, drawing a huge crowd, with Bobby Pickett proving as popular as ever. It was a crowning moment—though it was repeated several times through the night due to encore requests—when he performed “The Monster Mash.” Colin stared at the man in complete adoration.

  It caused her pause when on a break Pickett thanked her for having him perform at the party. “This has been a really great gig,” he said. “The place hasn’t changed in all these years. Just endures, like my song. You even still have that funny neon windmill marquee for the drive-in.”

  Asha was ladling punch into the black and orange paper cups for everyone. She stopped and considered his words. “You were here before? At The Windmill?”

  “Yeah, back in 1963. When the song was still really hot—the first time around. The song went to the Top One Hundred three different times,” he informed her proudly.

  She forced a smile as he took the cup of punch and walked away. Glancing up the hill to the drive-in, she watched the pink and aqua neon tube lights outlining the wooden windmill, flicking back and forth so it appeared to be turning. Pickett had performed in the autumn of 1963, less than a year before Tommy and Laura had died. A circle had closed.

  A shiver crawled over her. While there hadn’t been any more incidents where she slipped into Laura Valmont’s life, she suddenly felt rather distant, the past sucking at her. Once again, the glass walls, rendered nearly invisible by the night, started to fade, giving way to a time when the pool was unenclosed.

  “Asha.” A hand grasped her upper arm and gave a small shake. “Asha, damn it.”

  She blinked three times before she saw Jago in his Dracula costume in front of her. Trying to fake it, she smiled. “Enjoying the party, Vlad?”

  “Don’t try to shine me on, Asha. This time I want an explanation,” he demanded.

  The man was bloody insistent, so she tried to distract him by waving the promise of hot sex under his nose. “Vlad the Impaler. Hmm, think you’ll be up to a little impaling in awhile?”

  “Your wish is my impale, Morticia.” She started to walk away before he could question her further, only Jago jerked her around to face him. “Imminent debauchery aside, I want answers. I’m male, so I can be led around by my”—he glanced down with a wicked grin, then raised his hand and wiggled his little finger—“uh, pinkie, but that doesn’t mean I’m forgetful. As soon as the blood comes back to my brain, I’ll remember I wanted answers to a certain situation.”

  Asha nodded, realizing despite the playful teasing he was quite serious in wanting to know about her spells.“You can have answers, Jago. Just, la
ter. When we’re alone. The party’s nearly over and I want to enjoy the last few minutes.”

  “Okay, reprieve granted. Nevertheless, I want an explanation soon, Morticia.”

  “Hey, Asha,” Delbert called, rocking in a glider, with the Dracula kitty sitting contently next to him. He patted the empty space on his other side. “Come sit by old Obi-Wan.”

  “Why, Delbert Seacrest, you’re tiddled!” Asha chuckled going over to him.

  He gave her a mellow grin. “May the force”—a hiccup popped out, shaking his whole body—“be . . . with you.” With that, he almost fell forward.

  “That’s it, Jedi Master. No more punch for you. Come on, Jago. Let’s help Delbert home and tuck him up.”

  They each took an arm to aid Delbert to his feet. As they helped the elderly man along, Jago slowed just enough to snatch up his copy of Pickett’s book and two CDs—“The Monster Mash” and Mike Duncan’s, on loan from Colin.“Mr. Pickett, it’s been an honor. Thank you for coming,” he said.

  “I was delighted to do the gig. Maybe you folks will have me back next year, but as a guest. I’m finally retiring next month.”

  “Count on it.” Jago waved the Mike Duncan CD. “Oo-It, thanks for letting me borrow it.”

  Colin beamed. “Hey, you finally called me Oo-it! Told you I’d grow on you.”

  As the cat waddled past, following them back to the bungalow, Bobby called to the kitty, “Good night, Clint.”

  Jago, Colin and Asha said in unison. “Clint?”

  Humming the theme to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Asha snapped out the light in the hallway leading to Delbert’s rooms. Sam came around the corner, still wearing his Darth Vader costume sans the mask, and gave her a smile. “You run on with Jago, and enjoy the rest of trick-or-treatin’. I’ll keep an eye out on our Obi-wan.”

  “Thanks. ’Night, Dark Lord of Sith.” She kissed his cheek. “See you in the morn.”

  Jago returned, toting the fat cat on his shoulder. “The office is now closed and locked tight. Almost the Witching Hour, sexy lady. Shall we go raise a little magic?” He took her hand and led her out toward the bungalows.

  “I thought since the party was winding down, we could go up to the drive-in and watch the horror movies until dawn,” Asha suggested as he opened the door and put Clint inside.

  Instead of replying, Jago swung her around and pinned her against the wall, kissing her slowly, thoroughly, his hands rubbing up and down from her hips to her breasts. He tasted like pineapple sherbet and rum from the punch. He tasted like Jago. Her hands did a little roaming, too. She loved the hard muscles of his back, the broad shoulders, loved how their bodies fit so perfectly as she pressed against him.

  He broke the kiss, panting. “Go get out of that dress—”

  “Mmm, that’s an idea.” She nipped his chin and rubbed against his strong body like a cat.

  “—and put on jeans.” He nibbled on the lobe of her ear.

  “Jeans?” Asha looked up into his glowing eyes, thinking she must have misheard.

  “Yep. Jeans and your leather jacket. I’m taking your for a midnight ride on the Harley.” He pushed her toward the bedroom. “Hustle that sweet arse, love. Vincent Price, Chris Lee and Oo-it are waiting. I’ll go get the Harley. I’d help you change, but if I did that we’d never make it to the drive-in. Colin worked hard to get the films. He’d be disappointed if we didn’t put in an appearance.”

  “You’re sweet. It is important to Colin.” Asha kissed his cheek. “But we don’t have to stay until dawn.”

  “Hum, when we come back you can reward me for being sweet with a little private trick-or-treating?”

  Still in the Dracula costume, Jago revved the Harley as she came out. Clint stood inside her bungalow, his nose pressed to the glass door. His tail snapped as he realized he was being left behind. In his vampire getup, he looked particularly comical—a true Kodak moment!

  Asha practically danced across the patio, swung her leg over the Harley and climbed on behind him. “Where’s my helmet?”

  “We’re just going up to the drive-in. I thought you might enjoy riding without one.” He looked over his shoulder and grinned wickedly. “Sort of like having sex without a rubber.”

  Their eyes locked as they both thought the same thing: He hadn’t used a condom with her. She wasn’t on birth control pills, either. As she’d told Delbert, maybe next year he might have a godson. Of course, she had no idea how Jago felt about that.

  So in tune with each other, Jago read her concerns. He brushed his lips against hers, then said, “Tomorrow, lass. We have a lot of things to talk about, important concerns. Tonight, I’m taking you for a ride up the hill. We’ll watch a movie to make Colin happy. Then we can come back, get fussed at by Clint the Cat for abandoning him, and finally, I’m going to make love to you so slowly, so exquisitely, that you might even count to twenty-one. Now hang on while we go riding thunder.”

  Pushing his cape over to one side, Asha slid her arms around his waist. She leaned her head on his back and just let him take her where he wanted. He kept the speed down, gliding up the hill and then through the gates of the drive-in. He cut the headlight and coasted into the parking lot. Jago motored along the first row, turned and climbed up to the top and then finally back down to the concession stand. Slow and easy.

  Some of the partygoers had already straggled up to the drive-in to sit on the lounges on the small porch off one wing, which had been decorated for the holiday.

  Colin waved. “Hey, Drac has a Harley! Where’s Clint?”

  Jago balanced the bike until Asha dismounted, then set the kickstand. “Who’s up for chili dogs? My treat.”

  “Hoo hoo, free food, I’m game. Bet I can eat more chili dogs than you, Jago. I once ate a frog on a bet for ten bucks.” Rubbing his hands, Colin started after Jago. “I’m sure Netta will want one, too.”

  Netta waved and rolled her eyes. “No, thanks. After the frog story, I’m not in the mood for mystery meat. But I wouldn’t mind a Big Red, lots of ice, and an Almond Joy.”

  Asha followed Colin and Jago inside, then touched his elbow. “I’m going to the little girls room to untangle my hair.”

  The concession stand always had a fun ambience—smells of cooking food, the sound of the movie playing outside, oddly muted, and the colorful signs and lights. As she passed along the windows she could see Peter Cushing chasing Christopher Lee. There’s no place like a drive-in, she thought as she pushed into the ladies’ lounge. Inside, elevator music played.

  Going to the mirror, she pulled a small brush out of her fanny pack and set it on the counter. She unbraided her hair, carefully straightened the tangles and then quickly plaited it. Several women came and went, most stopping long enough to thank her for the Halloween party and for the all-night drive-in. It pleased her to know everyone really enjoyed the entertainment her small oasis provided. Looking at her reflection she saw happiness shining in her eyes.

  “Glad you came back to take over the business, aren’t you, old girl?” she said to her image.

  As she came out of the restroom, she sidestepped the people rushing in. The current Dracula film had just ended and everyone was making a mad dash to the bathrooms and the concession stand before the next Lee-Cushing battle began. The crush made Asha feel like a fish trying to swim upstream!

  She spotted Jago at the end of the line, near the cash register, and all the people became faceless blurs moving about her; she could only see him. Being female and quite territorial, she then zeroed in on two women in line behind him, all giggly and bouncy as only women ‘in heat’ can be. One gave her friend a gentle push, shoving her into Jago’s back, trying to get his attention. Blushing, she twittered an apology as he reached for his wallet, then both women seized the opportunity to strike up a conversation with him.

  “Pretty men are such a pain in the bum. Where’s my claymore when I need it?” she muttered to herself, though strangely she didn’t feel the usual surge of jealousy. She tr
usted Jago, was secure in how he felt about her.

  Someone slammed into her shoulder, knocking her back a step. She blinked, putting out her hands almost defensively, her mind going from confusion to revulsion faster than she could form thought. Her attention shifted from Jago to the man before her, and she stared up into crocodile eyes.

  Monty Faulkner stood with a faint smile upon his face, no emotions in his yellow eyes. “Oh, I apologize . . . though it was your fault,” he pointed out. “You weren’t looking where you were going. You should be more careful. Good way to get hurt.”

  “You’re quite right. My fault. Please accept my apologies.” Asha simply wanted away from this man—now—and tried to move past.

  He had other ideas. He reached out and caught her upper arms.

  Asha summoned up her Scots warrior spirit and met his odd eyes, then looked down her nose to his hands.“Please take your hands off me.” Her voice was calm, something the lady of the manor would use on a serf who’d dared touch her.

  “Sure, Miz Montgomerie. I just wanted to tell you how great all this stuff is that you do around here. Gives people a place to go, a way to have fun. Not since back when they had the old skating rink open has there been such a nice place to spend an evening. Super job.”

  She forced a smile. This man was unsettling, but she wouldn’t permit him to see it. He was a bully who fed off weakness. “Thank you. I try. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  For a moment she feared he wasn’t going to let go, but then he released her. “Happy Halloween. Hope you get plenty of tricks-or-treats—whichever you want.” Then he turned and vanished into the crowd.

  Asha knew she was being silly. Every community had a black sheep, a ‘Boo Radley’ who creeped everyone out. That didn’t mean he was really dangerous. Local gossip always blew everything out of proportion, to where truths became exaggerated legend. Hadn’t Boo turned out to be the kindly protector of innocent children?