The Magic in Your Touch (37 page)

 

Cain said, “I’ll just go put this in the office safe and gather up the paperwork.” He left before Brandon and Nate could protest.

 

Nate pulled Brandon into his arms and said, “Look, Bran, we just got our lives back. Do you really think I would do something reckless or stupid to screw all that up?”

 

Brandon sighed and rested his forehead against Nate’s. “No. I know you better than that. But a guy’s got a right to try and protect his family, you know?”

 

Nate moved his hands from Brandon’s waist to slide them into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling him even closer. “Yeah, I do know, Bran, but you gotta trust me.”

 

Brandon gave up. “You win. You know I can’t argue with you when you go all logical on me. I won’t say anything else about the car” He narrowed his eyes. “But you can’t stop me from thinking it.”

 

Nate nodded in agreement, pleased to have won that round. Lucas came back a few minutes later with a manila folder in his right hand and something brown and fuzzy in his left.

He handed the folder to Nate. “Here’s the title and registration. I’ve still got temporary insurance on her, so all you have to do today is buy the tags and get the registration changed over into your name.” He stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, Doctor Morris. You just bought yourself a car.”

Nate felt like a sixteen-year-old with his first set of wheels when he shook Cain’s hand. “Thanks, Cain.” He looked to Lucas’s left hand. “What’s that?”
Cain held up a raccoon’s tail. “If you’re gonna drive a car like that, you’ll need one of these for the antenna.”

Brandon just shook his head.

 

* * *

Clive Rogers opened the door to his office at the Carlin Bank and Trust with an engaging smile. He looked to Brandon to be the stereotypical description of every British banker Hollywood ever cast. He had the three piece suit, the salt and pepper hair, even the accent. Despite his resemblance to a stodgy bean counter, Brandon found him to be warm and friendly as they shook hands. When Rogers had called to say the tapes were in, Brandon had wasted no time driving to Chicago.

“Sheriff Nash, please come in and have a seat. May I offer you something to drink? A cup of coffee, perhaps?”

 

“Thank you, but I had a cup on the way over.” Brandon cracked a smile. “Coffee? I thought the English all drank tea.”

Rogers shivered. “Nasty stuff, that. Give me a good cup of coffee over a mug of tea any day.” He pointed to a pair of wingback chairs perched in front of a tall cherry armoire. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll fetch the cassette.”

Brandon settled himself in one of the chairs and waited. Rogers came back in a few minutes and opened the doors of the armoire, revealing a television with a built in VCR. He slipped the cartridge into the port and said, “I’ve used the time stamp on the check to narrow down the cassette number. I believe this is the one you’re looking for.” He settled in the other chair and pushed the play button on the remote.

Brandon did his best to be patient while Rogers ran through the film. When a familiar, red head can into view, Brandon sprang to the edge of his seat and said, “Stop the tape.”

 

Rogers pushed the paused button. “I take it that’s your man?”

 

Brandon nodded. “That’s him. Damn. I was sure the signatures on the check and the cancellation agreement were different.”

“Sometimes it’s difficult to tell.” Rogers stopped the tape, walked to the VCR and ejected it. He handed the cartridge to Brandon. “I’ve already made the necessary copies.” He then looked Bran directly in the eye. “I assure you, Sheriff Nash, we were shown the proper form of identification or we never would have cashed that check. We have a strict policy concerning the cashing of notes, especially when the person in question doesn’t have an account with us. None of my people would violate that.”

Brandon stood up. “I’m not placing the blame on you or your employees. The man on this tape was a pro. He was more than capable of making a fake I.D.”

 

“You used the word was, Sheriff. I take it your man is deceased?”

 

“Yes.”

Rogers gave him a blank stare. “Then, there won’t be a trial?” Brandon shook his head. “Oh, there’ll be a trial, alright, just not for Wilson.” Under his breath, he said, “I just pray to God we’ve got the right man.”

* * *

 

Nate was in the kitchen, stirring a stock pot full of beef stew when Brandon got home. He yelped when Bran slid his arms around his waist. Only then did Brandon notice Nate was wearing headphones.

 

Nate clicked off the portable CD player and slipped the earphones around his neck. “Jesus, Bran. Give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you?”

Brandon kissed his cheek. “Sorry, babe, but I didn’t see the headphones.” He turned Nate in his arms so he could watch his face. “What’s with that, anyway? We have a perfectly good system in the living room.”

Nate ducked his head a little bit. “Yeah, but Sasha’s in there sleeping.”

 

Brandon did his best not to laugh, but failed miserably. “Are you telling me you’re in here listening to headphones so you won’t disturb our dog?”

 

Nate stepped lightly on his foot. “Don’t laugh at me, Nash. I’ve had a hard day.”

 

Brandon pulled him closer and cuddled him to his chest. “Wanna tell me about it?”

 

Nate sighed. “I will, but you aren’t gonna like it.”

 

Brandon moved back enough to see him clearly. “Might as well tell me and get it over with, then.”

 

Nate said, “I ran into Mike today.”

 

“Where?”

 

“At the courthouse, when I went to register my car. He was there probating Amy’s will.”

 

Brandon reached up to push a lock of Nate’s hair off his forehead. “Why would I be mad about that? You can’t help who you run into.”

 

Nate took a deep breath. “That’s true, but I sort of invited him to dinner.”

 

Brandon did his best to cool his temper. He kept telling himself he wasn’t angry. He counted to ten and back four times. He tried deep breathing, and even prayer.

 

To his credit, Nate didn’t even flinch when Brandon yelled, “You did what?”

Nate went back to the stove and pretended that Brandon wasn’t standing in the middle of the kitchen looking at him like he was insane. “I ran into him, he asked if we could talk, and I invited him to dinner. I figured you’d rather have him over here, with you to chaperone, as have me go somewhere with him.”

Brandon walked over to the table and fell into a chair. “I’d rather you tell the bastard to fuck off. He did his best to take your head off at Amy’s funeral. Why in the hell would I want that son-of-a-bitch in our house?”

Nate put a lid on the stew pot and came over to the table. He took the seat next to Bran and reached for his hand. “He was grieving, Bran. The guy lost his wife not three days before he went after me. Don’t you think we should cut him some slack?”

“Nate—”

Nate shook his head. “Just listen to me for a minute. How would you feel if someone had been after Amy, and I’d gotten caught in the crossfire? Would you have been Mr. Calm and Cool if I’d been the one laying in that box?”

Brandon shuddered at the very thought. “Hell, no, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit across the table with the guy.”

Nate’s voice hardened. “Brandon, I’m not asking for your permission here. If this is really my house, too, then I have the right to invite anyone I want to sit at this table. If I don’t have that right, then we have a much bigger problem on our hands than Mike.”

Brandon pulled back his hand and stood up. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower.”

 

“Bran—”

 

Brandon shook his head. “Just give me a few minutes, okay?” He went upstairs before Nate could respond.

 

* * *

Nate was setting the table when Brandon came back downstairs. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans with ripped knees and a black t-shirt that showed every ripple of his chest muscles. His hair was still damp, and Nate could see a little trail of water trickling down his neck. He had the urge to walk over and lick the moisture away, but he resisted. It was going to be up to Brandon to make the first move. He only hoped he didn’t have a long wait.

He didn’t. Brandon came around the table and took him into his arms. “I owe you an apology.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Brandon grinned. “You aren’t gonna make this easy, are you?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Brandon bent him back over the dish-free-section of the table. He leaned over him and started sucking on his ear. “I was a real jerk about the whole thing.”

 

Nate could feel himself boning up, but he wasn’t about to let Brandon off the hook. Not just yet anyway. “Keep going.”

 

Brandon kissed his neck. “This is as much your house as it is mine, and you have the right to invite anyone you want to come and eat with us.”

 

“And?”

 

Brandon rested his head on Nate’s shoulder. “Do I have to say it?”

 

“’Fraid so.”

 

Brandon grinned again. “You were right and I was wrong.”

 

Nate reached up and wiped the water from Bran’s brow. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 

“Hell yes it was. Damned apology gave me heartburn.”

 

Nate kissed Brandon’s chest through his shirt. “There. I kissed it. Did I make it better?”

 

“If I’d know you were going to start kissing my body parts and making them better, I’d have chosen blue-balls over heartburn as my disease of choice.”

 

Nate wrapped his arms around Brandon’s neck. “Blue balls, huh?”

Brandon turned his head and kissed the inside of Nate’s wrist, taking the time to trail his tongue along the fine blue vein leading up to his hand. “Yep. Classic case of blue-balls. If I don’t get some relief, and get it soon, one or both of those suckers is gonna pop right off.”

Nate flexed his hips in an evidence gathering attempt. “I think you’re right, Bran. Maybe you should see a doctor.” He pretended to think about it, and then said, “Wait a minute, I’m a doctor.” He was about to give Brandon a thorough examination, when Sasha came in from the living room and started barking.

Nate looked up to see Mike standing in the kitchen. He said, “Sorry to interrupt, but the door was open.”

 

Brandon couldn’t have gotten up any faster had his pants been on fire. His eyes went from sparkling blue mischief to icy control in the space of a heartbeat.

 

“Vaughn.”

 

Mike nodded. “Hello, Nash. I take it you didn’t know I was coming.”

Brandon shook his head. “Oh, I knew you were coming, all right. See, Vaughn, Nate and I don’t keep secrets from each other.” Ignoring Nate’s warning stare, he went on to say, “No, I knew all about your visit, I just couldn’t think of a damn thing to do to stop it. What I’d like to know now is, when the hell are you leaving? I’d like enough advanced notice to be suitably relieved when you make your exit.”

Nate started to say something, but Mike interrupted him. “He’s right, Nate. After the way I treated you at Amy’s funeral—” He broke off, but not before Nate saw the wetness in his eyes. Mike stood in silence for several tense minutes, working to gain control. Finally, he said, “After the way I treated you, I don’t blame him for not wanting me here.”

Nate knew better than to hope for Brandon to do the polite thing and make Mike feel welcome. Instead, he took up the reins. “Supper’s almost ready, Mike, if you want to have a seat at the table. Brandon, why don’t you take Sasha for a quick walk while the cornbread is finishing up?”
If Brandon wanted to argue, he didn’t show it. He seemed as relieved to get away from Mike as Mike seemed to have him go.

The minute they heard the back door closing, Mike said, “Listen, Nate, I really appreciate you letting me come over tonight, especially after all that’s happened.”

Nate went back to the stove and took a peek at the bread. Straightening and turning to face Mike in one motion, he said, “Like I told you at the courthouse, Mike, I understood. As Brandon will tell you, I went a little crazy after Amy died, myself.”

Mike said, “Yeah, well, you didn’t take a swing at one of your best friends, either. And no offense, but I doubt Nash is gonna want to tell me anything besides ‘go to hell.’”

Nate went to the refrigerator and removed a stone-ware jug of sweetened tea. After pouring three glasses full he said, “Brandon’s just upset. He’ll come around eventually.” He managed to sound half-way convincing, too.

Mike shook his head. “That I seriously doubt, my friend, but it won’t matter, anyway. I’m leaving Reed, Nate. I’ve already turned in my resignation with the firm and put my house on the market. All that’s left now is to decide where I want to go, and to get the hell out of here.” When Nate muttered a protest, Mike just shrugged. “You know it’s for the best. It’s not like I’ve lived here long enough to establish a whole lot of ties.” He looked down at the scarred oak surface of the table and fingered a knot in the wood. His voice was dull, emotionless. “ You and Amy were my only real links to Reed in the first place. Now that Amy’s gone and you and I—” He broke off and looked up at Nate. “You and I will always have a bond, but it’ll never be like it was. Not with all that’s happened. I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Nate wanted to argue, but he did know what Mike meant, because he felt the same way. The friendship they’d shared was forged more out of a mutual love for Amy than any real affection for each other. And as bad as he felt about it, Nate still couldn’t look at Mike without seeing Amy’s smile, or hearing her laughter. It was damn painful just to be in the same room with the guy. When the time came for him to speak, all Nate could manage was, “Any ideas on what you want to do next?”

Mike sank a little further into the chair. “Not really. The only real family I have is my aunt in Atlanta and a handful of cousins. I may just drift for a while, traveling around and trying out new places. It’s not like the five-year plan Amy and I came up with when we moved here means anything, anymore. Fucking bomb saw to that.” He gave Nate an apologetic smile. “That sounded like I’m still blaming you, didn’t it? For what it’s worth, I’m not.”

“It’s a damn good thing you aren’t, Vaughn.” Brandon stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed on Mike. “There wasn’t a single thing Nate could have done to save Amy, and you know it.”