The Magic in Your Touch (17 page)

Brandon’s dad came in from the kitchen, Gale by his side. “Just remember, we’re going to give the Morris’s the benefit of the doubt. People can change, you know.” Gale nodded in agreement, but Brandon thought she looked doubtful.

“I’ll be polite simply because they’re Nate’s parents, but one homophobic comment and they’re out of here.”

 

Sasha lifted her ears to the sound of an engine. Bran looked out and saw Seth pulling into the drive. “They’re here. Mom, will you go upstairs and wake Nate, please.”

 

“Of course, honey. Should I help him downstairs?”

“No, he’s too weak for that. I’ll take the Morris’s upstairs. You guys can wait down here if you want, just as long as you come running to the sounds of glass breaking or flesh hitting flesh.” Brandon said it with a smile, but he was only half joking.

He heard the opening of the back door and the echoing of voices in the mudroom. He could hear what sounded like an argument.

 

Seth said, “I’m telling you right now, he won’t agree to it.”

A heavily accented voice drawled, “If he’s as hurt as you say he is, he has no choice. Nathan needs to be taken care of. Who better to do that than his mother and me? Who else is going to do it, his lover? No, Nathan is coming home with us, and that’s final, even if I have to force him.”

Brandon closed his eyes and tried counting to ten, but it didn’t work. He was mad enough to go in there and throw that old fart out on his ass. He would have if Dean hadn’t reached over and grabbed his arm. “Steady, son. You can handle this without bloodshed.”

The argument in the other room continued. Bran could see Nate’s father coming through the kitchen. He was almost as tall as Brandon, but the spare tire around his middle made him seem shorter. He had brown eyes, but they were dull, not vibrate like Nate’s. His thinning hair was a yellowed white. He was about the same age as Brandon’s dad, but where Dean looked younger due to hard work and effort, Calder Morris was definitely showing his age.

Seth was still trying to reason with his father, but Bran could have told him it was a loosing battle.

 

“Dad, there’s no way in hell you’re going to take Nate out of this house.”

 

“Really? And just who is going to stop me?”

 

As Bran stepped into the kitchen, Seth nudged his father. “I believe you’re looking at him, Dad.”

 

Brandon forced his tone to be civil, but his words were harsh. “I’m Brandon Nash, and you aren’t taking Nate anywhere he doesn’t want to go.”

 

Calder gave Brandon his most intimidating boardroom scowl, but Bran didn’t even flinch.

 

“I’m here to see my son.”

 

Brandon leaned against the kitchen doorframe. “From what I just heard, you’re here to fetch him, not see him.”

 

“Now see here—”

 

A slender woman with silvery blonde hair and Nate’s eyes stepped up next to Calder. “Calder, calm down. This young man didn’t say we couldn’t see Nathan.”

Brandon shook his head. “No, I won’t stop you from seeing him, but only because Nate has agreed to it. What I will do is whatever it takes to keep you from upsetting him. Nate nearly died from blood loss not five days ago. He’s weak and fragile, and if you hurt him, you’ll answer to me.”

Calder looked ready to argue, but his wife obviously had more sense. “And we would expect no less from the man Nathan has chosen. I’m Leda Morris, and I’d be grateful if you’d take us to Nathan.”

 

Gale came back downstairs. “Nate’s awake and ready to see his folks.”

 

Bran turned to his mother. “Is he alright?”

 

Gale gave the Morris’s an icy stare. “No, but I hope he will be soon.”

 

Brandon didn’t say a word. He started towards the stairs, leaving the Morris’s to follow.

 

* * *

 

Nate heard three sets of feet on the stairs and knew his time was up. The first face he saw was Brandon’s. He stuck his head in the door and gave Nate a tentative smile.

 

“You ready for this, sweetheart?”

 

“No, but I’ll do it anyway.”

Brandon nodded and opened the door wider, allowing the Morris’s to enter. Nate’s first thought when he saw them was how much older they looked. His father had more stomach and less hair, but it was his mother’s appearance that bothered him the most. Leda Morris was still a lovely woman, but she looked older, more fragile.

Nate propped himself up on his pillows. “Mom, Dad, come on in and have a seat.”

Calder stayed where he was, but Leda came forward. “Nathan it’s. . .it’s good to see you, son. Your father and I were so worried when we heard about your accident. I must say, I was envisioning much worse.”

Calder stepped up to the bed. “For God’s sake Leda, the boy has a cast on his arm, stitches in his head, and a bruise on every visible part of his body. How much worse do you want him to look?”

Leda never took her eyes off her son. Nate saw the tears well in the corner of her eyes. “He looks wonderful to me,” she whispered. Nate had no choice. He raised his left arm, tensing as his mother rushed to him.

Leda was a slight woman, but it didn’t stop her from hugging the daylights out of Nate. When he grunted, she pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to mash your bruises. It’s just so good to hold you again, Nathan.”

Nate brushed at the moisture in his own eyes. “You too, Mama. You look great.”

 

“Nathan Morris, your mama did not raise you to lie. I know how dreadful I look, but none of that matters now. I’m here, with you. That’s all I’ve prayed for every night for six years.”

 

Nate looked around for Brandon and saw him still standing by the door. “Come over here, Bran. Have you guys been properly introduced yet?”

 

Calder said, “If by properly, you mean being met at the door, threatened, and almost refused entrance to see our own son, then I suppose we have.”

 

Nate ignored the sarcasm in his father’s voice, a habit acquired over long years of practice. He said, “Well, just in case, allow me. Calder and Leda Morris, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Brandon Nash.”

 

Leda’s smile made her look a good ten years younger. “A wedding? You’re going to have a wedding? When?”

 

Nate felt the tight knot of tension in his stomach start to loosen. “We really haven’t had much of a chance to plan, but we’re hoping to take our vows in about three months.”

Calder came to stand behind his wife. “There is no way in hell you are going to marry this man in three months, Nathan.”
Nate felt all the blood drain from his face. He’d been hopeful, especially after his mother’s reaction, but it was obvious his father hadn’t changed. Nate hadn’t realized just how much he was hoping for a reconciliation until now. Still, he would hear his father out. If this was the last time he was to talk to him, he would allow Calder to say his peace.

Brandon was about to say something, but Nate held up his hand. “And why is that, Daddy?”

Calder said, “Because, you are my oldest son, and there is absolutely no way I’m going to have you married in some last ditch, thrown together ceremony. Your mother and I are going to see this thing done right. It takes at least six months to put together a proper wedding. We have to print the invitations, arrange the music, call the caterers, and so on and so forth.” He looked to his wife for help. “Tell him, Leda.”

Leda nodded, her smile even more radiant than before. “He’s right, Nathan. When your father and I got married, it took eight months just to make all the arrangements, and that was with both our mothers working together.”

Nate barely heard her. He was too stunned by what his father had just said. “Did you mean it, Daddy?”

Calder gave the first smile he’d given since arriving. “Of course I meant it. We’re going to do this thing right. When your children—” He stopped and looked at Brandon. “I’m assuming the two of you plan to adopt?” When Bran nodded, he continued. “When your children are older, they’ll want to know all about their fathers’ wedding. You’ll want to have some grand tales to tell them. I don’t want my grandchildren to think their parents got married in some tacky two-bit service.”

Nate said, “So, you want me to have children now?”

 

“Of course. Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger, son. It’s about time you settled down and started a family.”

God help him, but Nate wanted to believe his father was telling the truth. One part of him though, the part that was nearly destroyed six years ago, refused to give up that easily. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll molest them. Six years ago, you accused me of being some kind of deviant child predator.”

Calder shifted uncomfortably. “We all make mistakes, Nathan. I’ve come here looking for forgiveness.”

 

Nate looked to Bran, but he shrugged. “It’s your call, babe. I’m behind you, no matter what.”

 

He nodded. “I’m willing to try, Dad.”

 

A gleam sprang into Calder’s eyes. “That’s all I ask, son. That’s all I ask.”

 

* * *

Bran came downstairs to find his father surrounded by a throng of grandchildren, all enthralled by one of his many stories. The funny part was, his brothers and sisters, all of whom had heard that same story a hundred times, were just as wrapped up as the kids. His mother saw him and excused herself from the group. They walked into the kitchen away from the others. Bran pulled out a chair for Gale and sat down at the table opposite her.
“How did it go with Nate’s parents?”

Bran folded his hands on top of the table and looked his mother right in the eye. “It was perfect, Mom. It couldn’t have gone any better if the whole thing had been written down on paper.”

 

“In other words, it was too perfect.”

“Exactly. Nate’s mother seems genuine enough. It’s his father I don’t trust. I just can’t see the guy who wanted to have Nate sterilized for fear he’d reproduce and pimp out his kids suddenly having this immense change of heart. Not so much so that he’s up there right now helping Nate plan out our wedding. It just doesn’t gel.”

Gale played devil’s advocate. “People can change, Brandon. Seth did. I have no doubt his feelings for Nate are real.”

Since Gale knew all about the attack that led to Seth and Nate’s estrangement, Bran was sure she would understand his next point. “Neither do I, Mom, but Seth had very real reasons for feeling like he did. Even if you go on the theory that Calder was so traumatized by Seth’s attack that he turned on Nate, it doesn’t explain why he didn’t want to see the son-of-a-bitch that raped his son prosecuted. Hell, he didn’t even take the kid to the hospital, not to mention that shrink he sent Seth to who tried to convince him he wasn’t gay. No, that man is a bigot. I would bet my last dollar on it. And you know as well as I do that a bigot doesn’t change without some type of heavy intervention.”

Gale smiled and patted his folded hands. “Sometimes I forget you have a degree in psychology. For what it’s worth, I agree with you. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“At the moment, nothing. Nate wants to give his folks another chance, and if I interfere, he might end up resenting me for it later on. I love him too damn much to let that happen. If Calder does have an ulterior motive, he’ll tip his hat eventually. When he does, I’ll be waiting.”

The phone rang before Gale had a chance to comment. Bran grabbed the kitchen extension. “Nash.”

 

Sam sounded out of breath. “Sorry to bother you, Bran. I know you’d planned to spend the rest of the day with Doc Morris, but this is an emergency. We’ve had another fire.”

 

“Fuck!” Bran gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. “Who was it this time?”

“Marjorie Newman. Her book store was a total loss. That’s not the worst part, though. She was inside the building when the fire started. Marjorie always closes right at five, no matter what. At six o’clock, when she still hadn’t come home, Eva went looking for her. She got there just in time to see the windows blow out. The medics pulled Marjorie out about twenty-minutes ago and sent her to Chicago General. The Fire Department is on the scene now, but I haven’t received word on Marjorie’s condition.”

“I don’t suppose the fire marshal has found anything, yet.”

 

“No, and he may not. The last fire was ruled inconclusive as to origin. Marjorie might be able to help us, if she makes it.

Brandon glanced at the clock. It was six forty-five. He knew that the first two hours after a crime was committed were often the most crucial. “Sam, I’m on my way. Don’t let the guys from Fire and Rescue contaminate my crime scene any more than necessary. I’m bringing in my own expert on this one, so it may take me a few minutes to get there.”

“Hate to burst your bubble Bran, but it could take days to fly in a trained arson investigator.”

 

“Not when you happen to have one upstairs taking a nap in your guest bedroom.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Grandpa Taylor.”

 

“Shit, I forgot that he used to be the Reed County Fire Marshal. But Bran, he’s eighty-four years old. Think he’ll feel up to it?”

“We’re talking about the same man who just last week won the Third Annual Arm Wrestling Championship at Shorty’s Pub. Hell, he and Grandma still have sex four times a week. No, he’ll want to do this, especially if it means catching the guy who’s after Nate. I’ll be there as soon as I wake him up. I only hope he and Grandma aren’t naked when I go upstairs to get him.”

He hung up and turned to his mother. “I have to go, Mom.”

 

“So I heard. What do you want me to tell Nate?”

Bran kissed her and headed upstairs to retrieve his grandfather. “Just tell him I was called in on a case. I’ll tell him the rest of it when I know more details. Do me a favor, though. When Keith gets here, have him check Nate over. I’m afraid he’s had too much excitement over the last few days. And keep an eye on his father for me. I don’t trust that guy. The rest of the family can go home anytime, but I’d appreciate it if you and Dad would stay.”

“Of course, honey. We’re always here for you and Nathan. You know that.”

 

Bran nodded from the doorway. “I’m glad, Mom. I have a feeling we’re going to need all the help we can get before this thing is over with.”

 

* * *

Anyone looking at Gene Taylor would see the quintessential little old man. With his unruly shock of white hair and his faded blue eyes, no one would ever guess he had the mind of a crack detective. During his thirty years as fire marshal, not a single arson went unsolved. Bran was counting on those skills to pull this one off.