The Magic in Your Touch (31 page)

He should have known Abby wasn’t finished. “Every bedroom needs a quilt. I mean a real one, not those stamped monstrosities they sell in discount stores. I’m talking about a quilt that’s been cut and sewn by flesh-and-blood hands, not a machine.” Nate could hear the rustling of a paper sack and the unfolding of cloth. Abby laid the bundle in his lap and said, “I believe this belongs to you.”

Nate stared at the familiar hues of gray and burgundy in disbelief. “This looks just like my quilt, the one my Grandmother Morris made for me.”

 

“No, honey. It doesn’t look like your quilt. It is your quilt.”

 

Nate’s voice was struggling to rise. “That isn’t possible. That bastard destroyed my quilt, the same bastard who—” He couldn’t say it. If he said it, it would be true.

Abigail didn’t seem to notice the sudden stop. “He almost destroyed it. In fact, he did his level best. I’ll give him that. But you see, Nathan, your grandmother knew something that man didn’t.” She didn’t wait for him to ask. She just kept right on talking. “There are lots of ways to make a quilt. I learned to sew on my mother’s old treadle machine. When I was a teenager, electric sewing machines were still considered new and exciting. As they became more popular, strip piecing was all the rage. I know you don’t sew, so I’ll tell you that strip piecing involves sewing the whole quilt top together by machine and then attaching the backing. It’s quicker, and all us girls wanted to try it. My mother laughed when I told her I wanted to strip-piece a quilt, but I did it anyway. It was beautiful, all purples and reds. I can still see all those little squares floating around in the water after it fell apart on the first washing. No, Nathan, your grandmother was smart. She foundation pieced your quilt.”

He didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What’s ‘foundation piecing?’”

“Your grandmother sewed each piece by hand to a muslin backing. She didn’t scrimp on the fabric either. No sir, she bought the best fabric money could buy and secured each scrap of fabric with the strongest thread she could find. That nasty Mr. Wilson or whoever he is damaged the top of the quilt—the surface—but he didn’t touch the foundation. I was able to repair the surface because the foundation was so strong.” She looked at the bandages on Nate’s shirtless chest. “Looks like your surface took a beating, too. I’d be willing to bet your foundation is still just as strong as that quilt’s, though.”

Nate’s laugh was bitter, resentful. “Strong? How can you say that? I’ve spent the last three weeks staring at a wall because my best friend is . . . If it weren’t for me, she would. . .”

Abigail said, “She would be alive. You’re right. If she’d gotten into that car instead of you, Amy would be alive and Brandon would be the one up here staring at the wall. The only difference is, you’ve got a man down there who would stop breathing if you asked him too. If you’d died, Brandon would have had no one.”

“He’d have you, and Gale, and—”

“No, he wouldn’t. Because if you had died, a vital part of Brandon would have died, too. I know that Amy was your friend, and I also know that you blame yourself for her death. She held a piece of you that went into the ground with her. But she didn’t own you, not like you own Brandon. Not like he owns you. You can punish yourself by cutting him out of your life, but you’ll never cut him out of your heart. You could die tomorrow or eighty years from now, but it wouldn’t matter. The two of you have the real thing, Nathan. You gave Brandon a piece of your soul, and he did the same. You can’t take back something so freely given.”

Nate got up and paced in front of the shrouded windows, still clutching the quilt in his hands. “You don’t understand. It’s my fault Amy is dead. If I hadn’t left her there by herself, she’d still be alive.”

 

“Maybe, and maybe you would have died with her. But the fact remains that you’re alive and she isn’t. Do you think if God had given her a choice, she would have had you die in her place?”

 

The very thought was blasphemous to Nate. “Of course not. Amy loved me. She would have given her life for me in an instant.”

 

“And so she did. Is this how you chose to repay her, by ruining the life she so generously paid for?”

 

Nate sank down to his jean-clad knees on the carpet, the quilt held tight to his body. “You’re right. Amy paid the price for my life. This time. Who has to pay next? Brandon?”

“If giving my life is the cost of loving you then I’ve already paid it, Nate. I paid it the first time I touched you. You were mine from that moment on, you just didn’t know it. It took some doing, but I finally convinced you. You can’t just give me your heart and then take it back. It doesn’t work that way, dammit.”

Nate looked up to see Brandon standing in the doorway. He looked tired and worn, his glorious eyes red rimmed from lack of sleep. Nate thought of Amy’s hazel eyes, eyes that would never open again, never see. He thought of Mike, and all he’d lost. What would he do if he was in Mike’s place? The thought of standing by Brandon’s grave and watching him being lowered into the ground was too much. Nate let loose with an anguished wail and collapsed fully onto the floor, his entire body racked with the sobs that had been fighting for release for days now.

Abigail slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her. Nate heard Sasha scratching to come in, but he couldn’t have gotten up if he’d wanted to. He felt himself being lifted and carried to the bed by the same strong arms he’d been denying himself for days on end. Well, no more. If he and Brandon were just living on borrowed time, he was going to take what he could get and be damn grateful for it. The tears kept coming until Nate finally fell asleep.

* * *

 

Brandon felt a slight stirring next to him and opened his eyes to see Nate, propped up on his good elbow looking at him. He smiled. “Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

Brandon wasn’t sure how to proceed next. Finally, he said, “Are you all right?”

 

“Not quite, but I will be.” Tears filled Nate’s beautiful eyes. “I’ll always miss her, you know? For a long time, Amy was all I had.”

 

Brandon reached out and stroked his unshaven cheek. “I know, but you aren’t alone anymore, Nate. You have a family now who wants to help you.” He lowered his voice. “You have me.”

The tears started falling then. “I know that, and it scared the hell out of me. All I could think about was if losing Amy hurt that bad, what would it be like to lose you? I mean, Wilson is still out there, even if my father is in custody. What if he comes to finish the job? I was trying to protect myself.” Nate reached out his right arm and flexed his fingers awkwardly around Brandon’s hand. His cast had been damaged during the blast. When the ER doctor who treated him after the explosion took it off, he’d replaced it with a cotton sling. For the first time, Brandon noticed that Nate wasn’t wearing it. “How’s your arm?”

“Better. I don’t even need the sling anymore.” He looked down at their joined hands. “It’s well enough to do something I’ve wanted to do since before the car accident.”

 

Brandon raised a brow. “What’s that?”

 

“Hold you with both arms.”

Brandon wanted to cry out his relief. He also wanted to jump into Nate’s arms and do all the things he’d been denied for so long. Rather than rush him, though, he said, “Why don’t we get you cleaned up first? No offense, babe, but you’re looking kinda scruffy.”

Nate rubbed his fingers over his scraggly chin and laughed, the sound rusty from disuse. “Yeah, I guess I am. Not exactly a sex object, am I?”

 

“If you knew what I was thinking about doing to you right now, you wouldn’t even ask that.” He got up and offered Nate his hand. “Come on.”

Brandon led him into the bathroom and turned on the taps. While the sink was filling, Brandon gathered Nate’s shaving cream from the medicine cabinet. Instead of reaching for Nate’s safety razor, he grabbed his own straight razor.

Nate eyed him with suspicion. “There’s no way I’m going to shave myself with that, Bran. Grandma Taylor may have fixed my quilt—for which I owe her a big thank you, by the way—but I doubt she’ll be able to patch me up if I shave with that thing. I’ll turn my face into hamburger meat.”

“I don’t want you to try shaving with it. You aren’t used to using a straight razor.” He swirled a washcloth around in the sink and then moved closer to where Nate was standing. “I’m going to do it for you.” “Brandon—”

 

“Let me do this for you, Nate. You know I’ll be careful. I would never hurt you.”

 

Nate looked up into his eyes. “I know.” He eyed the razor again and then sighed. “Where do you want me?”

 

Brandon positioned him so that he was leaning with his back against the sink. “I think this ought to be about right.”

 

“You’ll have to reach around me to get to the water.”

 

Brandon grinned. “I know.”

 

Nate rolled his eyes. “I should have known you had ulterior motives.”

 

Brandon smoothed the warm cloth over Nate’s heavy stubble. “How does that feel?”

 

Nate closed his eyes as Brandon’s fingers worked the cloth against his skin. “Good. It feels good.”

When he was satisfied that the hair was sufficiently softened, Brandon tossed the cloth onto the counter and reached around Nate to get the shaving cream. He sprayed a big glob of cream into his hand and smoothed it all over Nate’s face and neck. When he reached for the razor, he expected Nate to flinch, but he didn’t.

Brandon brought the edge of the blade against Nate’s cheek and removed a wide strip of hair with one smooth stroke. When he reached around Nate to rinse it off, Brandon’s groin pressed directly into Nate’s growing erection.

Brandon grinned. “Someone’s decided to wake up, I see.”

 

Nate’s eyes became cloudy. “I know. I tried not to get turned on, but with you leaning up against me like that, I couldn’t help it.”

Brandon took off another strip of Nate’s beard. “Why were you trying not to get an erection? It’s perfectly natural, under the circumstances.” He paused with the razor in midair as reasoning dawned. “You feel guilty about wanting me when Amy’s only been gone for a few weeks.”

Nate nodded in misery. Brandon wanted to take him into his arms, but he didn’t. Nate was grieving, and Brandon was going to have to be careful not to do or say anything to make it worse. He resumed shaving him without saying a word. Finally Nate said, “Aren’t you going to tell me how stupid that is?”

Brandon rinsed the razor and started on another strip of hair. “Nope. Amy was your friend. You have the right to mourn her however you see fit.”

“Don’t you think it’s wrong to be thinking about sex when her body is barely even cold?” “No, I don’t. I think sex is an expression of life, a way to show how glad you are to be alive. Every time you and I make love, it’s sacred. Nothing can make that wrong or dirty.” He started on the other side of Nate’s face. “But it isn’t what I think that matters. You’re the only one who can say what’s right for you. I’m willing to wait as long as it takes.”

Nate kept his eyes on the floor. “Physically, I’m ready, as I guess you could tell. My body is raring to go. It’s my mind that’s holding me back. Grandma Taylor helped me a lot, but I guess there are still some things I have to work through.”

Brandon shaved the last strip of hair and then grabbed the washcloth from the counter and scrubbed away the remnants of the shaving cream. “You don’t have to explain it to me, Nate. You’ve had a shock and you need time to adjust.” He threw the cloth into the hamper beside the sink. “I’m not in this for the sex, although, I gotta tell you, baby, the sex is great.” He took Nate’s hand. “I’m in this for life, Nate. We’ll take care of what you need right now, and let the rest take care of itself.” He turned Nate around so that they were both looking in the mirror. “Well, what do you think?”

Nate ran his hand over the smooth surface of his face. “I was starting to forget what I looked like without all that hair.” Brown eyes met blue in the mirror. “Thanks, Bran.”

 

Brandon kissed his hairless cheek. “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.”

 

* * *

A week passed before Nate returned to some semblance of normalcy. Though he was still skittish about sex, he seemed to be healing, albeit slowly, both physically and mentally. The cuts on his chest had been minor, requiring bandages but no stitches. His arm was almost as good as new, with only the occasional twinge. His heart was healing, too. He’d started sleeping with Brandon again, even though all they did was sleep. Yesterday, he’d called his mother and Seth, and was relieved that they seemed to be taking Calder’s arrest in stride. And he’d actually smiled this morning. That smile had been on Brandon’s mind all day.

He was sitting in his office on Friday afternoon, going over the case against Calder, when the intercom went off. He pressed the button and said, “What is it, Lorna?”

 

“Agent Howard is here to see you, Sheriff.”

 

“Send him on back.”

 

A few minutes later Rex Howard stuck his head in the door. “Hey, Nash, how’s it going?”

 

“Come on in and have a seat. Haven’t seen you since the funeral.”

Howard sat down and pulled some papers from the inside pocket of his overcoat. “I’ve been a busy boy since the explosion. It took some doing, but we’ve finally pieced together what happened. We also have enough evidence to tie Wilson to the bombing, and we think we may have found a connection between Calder and Wilson.”

Brandon leaned back in his chair. “You know how Wilson managed to disable the alarm, sneak past both of our men, and plant that bomb?”

 

Howard shook his head. “That part I’m unsure of, but we do know that the blast originated upstairs, and that Wilson used plastic-probably C4—with a remote detonator.”

 

“Damn. So he could have planted that bomb at any time.”

 

“Yep. He must have been watching the office. When he saw the red Saturn leaving, he assumed it was Dr. Vaughn and detonated the bomb, thinking Dr. Morris was still inside.”

 

Brandon shuddered “He very well could have been.” He forced his mind away from what could have happened and said, “Tell me about this other evidence.”

 

“Apparently Wilson used to live in Atlanta. One of his brothers works for Mor-co at the home office in Georgia. Naturally, he denies introducing Calder to Wilson, but I doubt a jury will buy it.”