The Magic in Your Touch (35 page)

“I think I’ve had enough excitement in the last two months to last me a lifetime.”

Brandon said, “That’s not the kind of excitement I’m talking about, and you know it. Look, in a few years, after the kids come along, we’ll get you a nice, quiet mini-van. Right now, don’t you want something a little bolder?”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “How bold are we talking, here?”

 

Brandon was all but rubbing his hands together with glee. “As it happens, I know a guy who sells just the kind of cars I’m talking about.”

 

“I thought we’d just go to some of the dealerships in Chicago.”

Brandon shook his head. “We talked about that last night, Nate. Those places are all the same. Cookie-cutter operations selling the same old thing. The place I’m talking about has character. No one will ever accuse Cain Lucas of being a conformist.”

As soon as Nate sighed, Brandon knew he’d won. He leaned over and kissed Nate’s cheek. “I’ll pick you up after work this evening and we’ll head over there.”

 

Nate said, “I’m breathless with anticipation.” Brandon ignored him and finished getting ready for work, whistling as he went.

 

* * *

The minute Brandon pulled the Camaro from the paved street onto a gravel road leading into the woods, Nate knew he was in trouble. When Cain Lucas’s place came into view, he fought down the urge to beg Brandon to turn the car around.

“When you said you were taking me to buy a car, I thought you meant you were taking me to a dealership.”

 

Brandon never took his eyes off the road, a good thing because he was navigating his way through a maze of rusted truck beds and totaled car bodies. “I told you, babe, modern dealerships—”

“Are dollar-driven bastardizations of commercial greed. You told me that last night when I first mentioned car shopping to you.” When Brandon started to respond, Nate said, “Look, I understand how you feel, but when you said you had a little something different in mind, I never dreamed you were taking me to a junk yard.”

Brandon pulled up in front of a hulking cinder block garage and cut the motor. “I prefer to think of it as an ‘automotive rehabilitation center.’”

 

Nate snorted. “Rehabilitation, huh? I hate to have to tell you, Bran, but this is where cars come to die. We’re sitting in the only live one here.”

Brandon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If Nate didn’t know any better, he’d say Brandon was going for the ‘heartfelt sigh’ approach. Then he said, “Alright. If you really want to go, we’ll go. I understand that it isn’t fair of me to inflict my interests on you. A good marriage is about compromise, after all.”

Nate knew it was a crock the minute he heard it, but when Brandon turned big blue puppy-dog eyes on him, Nate was a goner.

 

“Fine. We’ll go in, but if I don’t see something really impressive in the next five minutes, I’m leaving.” He reached over and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “With or without you.”

 

Brandon smiled. “Deal. Come on. I called Cain this morning to tell him we were coming. He’s expecting us.”

 

Brandon led him around to the side door of the garage and knocked twice. A raspy voice yelled out, “It’s open.” Brandon turned the knob and opened the door.

Nate expected the inside of the garage to be as cluttered as the grounds, but it was surprisingly neat. All four walls were covered with peg boards holding various wrenches, sockets, and tools. Instead of the harsh fluorescent lights most garages used, this one had four large skylights assisted by several rows of track lighting. A lift held a battered Silverado about eight feet off the ground, while two more cars waited their turns in the bays nearby. It wasn’t until they got closer that Nate noticed a pair of legs sticking out from under one of the cars.

Brandon said, “It’s us, Cain.”

Nate watched as the legs got leverage against the cement floor and wheeled the man attached to them out from under the car he was working on. He wiped his dirty fingers on his coveralls and shook hands, first with Brandon, then with Nate. “How’s it going, Sheriff?”

“Fine. Cain Lucas, this is my fiancé, Dr. Nathan Morris. He’s looking for a car.”

 

“Sure thing. I think I might have something he’ll be interested in. Just give me a sec to wash up, and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

When Lucas walked across the room to wash his hands, Nate took that moment to study him. He was about thirty and had waist-length black hair secured with a leather thong at the nap of his neck. Most women would kill to have a silky mane like his, but there wasn’t anything feminine about Cain Lucas. He was tall, at least six-four, and had broad shoulders which threatened to burst the seems of his coveralls. When he turned back around, Nate noticed his bronzed skin and dark eyes. Nate was willing to bet those eyes didn’t miss much. His chiseled features reminded Nate of pictures he’d seen of American Indians in books and museums.

Lucas dried his hands on a clean shop rag and walked back over to where Nate and Brandon were standing. “So, what exactly did you have in mind, Dr. Morris?”

 

“Something dependable that gets good mileage.”

 

Lucas raised his eyebrows at Brandon. “And you brought him here?”

 

Those were Nate’s thoughts exactly, but Brandon wasn’t going to go down without a fight. “Nate just thinks he wants some wimpy little foreign job because he hasn’t seen your selection yet.”

 

Lucas looked as skeptical as Nate felt, but all he said was, “You know where the other garage is. Go on ahead while I lock up here and I’ll meet you up there.”

The drive to the second garage was more pleasant than the drive to the first. Whereas the lower part of Cain’s property was littered with car and truck remnants, the upper half was beautifully landscaped. Nate could just make out a house in the distance, but Brandon pulled the Camero off the main path and headed down another road through a stand of trees. He parked the car in front of another massive garage, this one made of brick instead of cinder block.

Brandon and Nate got out of the Camaro just as Lucas pulled up in a beat-up Chevy truck. He went around to the side of the building, motioning for Brandon and Nate to follow.

 

Lucas unlocked the deadbolt and flipped a switch just inside the door. He said, “Come on in. Everything in here is for sale except the Harley. That one’s mine.”

 

Nate walked inside and then stopped at the threshold, amazed at the display he was seeing. Brandon whispered, “This place is something else, isn’t it.”

It certainly was. Twenty cars, all of them classics and all beautifully restored, were lined up on each side of the garage. A chopped-out Harley Davidson, the only motorcycle in the garage, stood in one corner. Three of the walls were decorated with antique gas and oil signs, and a display of framed car adds from the thirties and forties took up the other. A restored bubble-top gas pump took up the corner opposite the bike.

Lucas pointed to a red fifty-seven Ford Thunderbird heading up the first row. “If your looking for something dependable, I’d say this one is your best bet. She’s as close to all original as you’re going to get. I bought her from the original owner. All I did was drop in a new motor and give her a new paint job.”

Brandon nodded. “She’s a beauty, but we’re a Chevy family.”

 

Nate said, “We are?”

 

Brandon looked absolutely offended. “Yes, we are.”

 

Lucas grinned. “In that case, I’ve got a great little fifty-five Chevy four door I just finished with. I changed the transmission from manual to automatic and painted it back to it’s original finish.”

 

Lucas led them down the row to the car he was talking about. Nate had to admit, the car was nice. He might have even considered it, if he hadn’t glanced over and seen the car at the end of the row.

 

Nate pointed to the striking black beauty with something akin to awe. “What’s that?”

 

Lucas followed his finger and said, “Oh, that’s a thirty-four Ford, five window coupe that I bought from a guy in Minnesota. But you don’t want that car, Doc.”

 

Nate didn’t hear him. He walked over to the coupe and caressed one round headlight. “What year did you say she was?”

 

“She’s a thirty-four, but—”

 

“Did you do all the restorations yourself?”

A trace of pride tinged Lucas’s voice. “Yeah. She was just a rusted out shell when I got her. Took me eleven months, but I finally got her done.” He saw the way Nate was tracing the car’s curves with one fingertip and said, “Look, Doc, I think you’d probably be happier with something else. I’ve got a couple of Sedans that are worth looking at.”

For the first time, Nate heard what Lucas was saying. “Why wouldn’t I want this car?”

 

Brandon spoke up. “Because she’s a Ford, and because she’s too much car for you, that’s why.”

Nate whirled on him so fast, Brandon took a step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Brandon put his hand on Nate’s arm in an effort to calm him down. “Nothing bad. Look, Nate. This morning you were talking about buying a Honda or a Nissan. Something quiet that gets good mileage.”

“Right. And you said I have the rest of my life to get a boring family car. You told me to live a little, to buy something bolder, something exciting.”

 

Brandon swore under his breath. “I never expected you to go from a four-door hatchback to a custom street rod.” He spoke to Lucas next. “What’s she got under the hood, Cain?”

“I took the motor out of a late model Corvette some kid smashed up. The body was a loss, but the engine was barely scratched. She’s got fuel injection and Flow Master pipes. The original transmission was a three-speed, but I converted her to four in the floor.”

Nate didn’t understand a single word Lucas had just said, but that didn’t dim his enthusiasm. “So that means it’s got a powerful engine, right?”

Lucas and Brandon both looked at him like he had an extra eyeball in the middle of his forehead. Brandon said, “Look inside her, Nate. She’s got a roll cage. This car was made for racing, not driving back and forth to work.” He turned to Lucas again. “Is that thing even street legal?”

Lucas nodded. “Barely, but yeah, she is. Technically, she would be okay for everyday use, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

 

Nate went on the offensive. “Why not?”

“Well, she only gets about nine miles to the gallon. And then there’s this.” He walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. Nate was surprised to see that it opened towards the back of the car instead of the front . Lucas saw his confusion and said, “They’re called suicide doors. They stopped making them in the late thirties, early forties. If you see them on later model cars, they were done custom, not factory.”

Nate watched as Lucas closed the door again. “Why are they called suicide doors?”

Lucas leaned back against the body of the coupe and put one foot on the running board. “Because if the car gets up enough speed, they have a tendency to come open. The natural inclination when your car door comes open is to reach out and grab it to close it up again. In the case of suicide doors, that’s a big mistake.”

Nate had never heard any of this before, and he was absolutely enthralled. “Why would shutting the door be a mistake?”

“With a regular door, it wouldn’t, but suicide doors are different. See, with a regular door, the wind is pushing against the door and whoever’s holding it. With suicide doors, the air pressure is misdirected. The minute you grab a hold of the door, all that force is on you. If you don’t let go, it will drag you right out of the car. I’ve heard of folks being thrown out and crushed beneath the tires. That’s why they stopped making them.”

Brandon was nodding right along with Lucas, but Nate wasn’t satisfied. “There’s got to be some way to keep the doors from popping open.”

 

“There is. I put power locks on both doors. As long as the switch is flipped, the doors stay closed. But you have to remember to lock it each and every time or the danger’s still there.”

 

Nate turned to Brandon and said, “See there, Bran. Nothing to worry about.”

Brandon said, “Look, Nate, that car—” His pager went off right in the middle of what looked to be a long-winded lecture. He glanced down at the number. “It’s Sam. I left my cell in the car. Let me run out there and call in.”

Lucas pointed to a door at the other end of garage. “No need, Sheriff. I’ve got a phone in the office. Just use it.”

 

“Thanks, Cain. I’ll be right back. Don’t let him talk you into selling him that car while I’m gone.” He left before Nate could protest.

 

When Brandon was gone, Lucas said, “You really want this car, don’t you?”

Nate didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, but I don’t really understand why. To me, a car’s always been a necessity. Something you had to have to get you where you needed to go. This is the first one I’ve ever felt like I just had to have. Do you know what I mean?”

Lucas grinned. “Actually, I do. My first car was a sixty-three Chevy Impala with the top chopped and the frame lowered to about three inches off the ground. I remember telling my dad I was gonna die if I didn’t get that car.”

Nate smiled back at him. “I think I’ll live even if I don’t get this car, but I do want it, make no mistake about that. How much are you asking for her?”

 

Lucas said, “Forty-six thousand, firm.”

 

“You take checks?”

 

Lucas whistled. “Damn. You are serious. You know that the Sheriff is gonna stick it to me if I sell you this car, right? I won’t be able to drive through town without getting a ticket from here on out.”

 

Nate shook his head. “Bran likes to talk tough, but he’s really a pussycat.”

 

“Uh-huh. If you say so, Doc.”

 

For the first time, Nate noticed the wedding band on Lucas’s hand. “How does your wife feel about you restoring cars for a living? I imagine it must be pretty time consuming.”

Nate saw the pain in Lucas’s eyes before he redirected his gaze to his foot, still perched on the running board. “My
husband
thought it was great. He was as big a car nut as the Sheriff is.” He looked back at Nate. “I was widowed three years ago, not long before I moved to Reed.”

Nate said, “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bring up any painful memories.”

Lucas shrugged. “You didn’t. It all happened a long time ago, anyway.” He switched back to business mode. “If you’re sure this car is really what you want, I’ll start the paperwork. But I want to include a thirty day trial period. If you drive it for a month and find out it isn’t what you want, bring it in and I’ll give you your money back. In fact, I won’t even cash the check until the thirty days are up.”