The Magic in Your Touch

by Sara Bell

  Mike said, “Start her up and head east out of town.” Nate reached for his seat belt, but Mike shook his head. “You won’t be needing it.” Nate did as he was told.

  The road was completely deserted, just as Nate new it would be. Brandon must have ordered all the roads from town cleared, willing to take no chances with Nate’s life. Nate was thankful for the cell phone still in his pocket. At least Brandon would know what was happening inside the car. Nate was so caught up in wondering what was going to happen next that he didn’t realize Mike was still speaking to him.”

  “It’s a shame it had to end this way, Nate. I’d planned on killing you slowly and then going back to finish Leda later, but that old bitch Marjorie woke up too soon and ruined everything.” He sighed. “I really thought it would take Nash longer to figure out where we were. If I’d known he was gonna get here so fast, I’d have just killed you back at the house.”

  Frustration and fear came spilling out of Nate like poison. “So why didn’t you? Why put yourself at risk by going through an elaborate execution? Why didn’t you just shoot me when you had the chance to make a clean getaway and be done with it?”

  Mike tightened his grip on the gun. “Because killing you like that would have been too fucking merciful. I wanted you to know what Leda had done to you, to see your own mother’s hatred for yourself. I wanted you to loose everything the way I’ve lost everything. It wasn’t enough to destroy your body. No, sir, I was after your soul.”

  Nate knew he was running out of time. Mike would kill him the second he got a chance. Mike was going to off him whether Brandon came after them or not. Time and again, Brandon had saved his life. Hell, Brandon had given him back his life by loving him, by showing him how beautiful it could be. This time, Nate could depend on no one but himself. His first thought was to swerve off the road and wreck the car, but he’d seen enough auto accidents as a doctor to know that the outcome was anyone’s guess, a crap shoot at best. Even with the roll cage, the Ford could still become his coffin if he was the slightest bit off. It was when he saw the hairpin curve ahead that he remembered Cain Lucas’s warning about the doors and their tendency to fly open under pressure. Without a second though, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator and took the curve at about sixty miles an hour. Since Mike had never given him the chance to arm the power locks, the passenger door flew open the minute Nate guided the car through the sharp bend.

  Mike was still going on about Nate’s impending demise when Nate rammed his foot down on the accelerator. Mike waved the gun around wildly and said, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Nate?” He aimed the pistol and would have fired except at that exact moment the door came open.

  Mike reached for the handle. The minute his fingers fastened on the door, the force pulled him forward. He grabbed at Nate with his right hand, but his futile efforts were no match for the strength of the wind and the speed of the car. Mike was hurled outwards just as Nate lost control and ran off the other side of the road.

  * * *

  Brandon heard the crash over his cell and increased his own speed. He’d instructed his men to follow at a safe distance and to keep their lights turned off, his own SUV leading the way. As soon as he heard that crash all bets were off. He switched on his lights and sirens and ran the SUV wide open. Just as he approached the curve, his headlights made out the still form of a body sprawled across the pavement. He slammed on the brakes, threw the car into park, and jumped out, his heart in his throat.

  The minute he realized the body was Vaughn’s, he didn’t spare the bastard a second glance. From the corner of his eye he saw Sam and some of the other deputies running towards the scene, but he keep going at breakneck speed towards the wrecked Ford and his only reason for living.

  The car wasn’t near as damaged as Brandon expected, giving him hope that Nate had made it through unharmed. He expected Nate to be trapped behind the wheel, maybe even unconscious. The ambulance was already on its way, so all he could do was bide his time and hope they got there fast. The last thing he expected to find was an empty car.

  Brandon’s heart dropped to his stomach. Nate must have been thrown out. Oh God, it was worse than he thought. He raced around to the front of the car, searching desperately for any sign of him. He almost knocked him over in the process.

  Nate sat in the grass, staring off into the distance. Bran looking him over, seeing no visible signs of injury or trauma. Bran knelt down beside him and was about to reach for him when Nate spoke.

  “You heard everything.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Brandon nodded, but Nate was still staring off in the distance and couldn’t see it. Finally, and keeping his voice as soothing as possible, Bran said, “Yes, baby, I heard it all. If you hadn’t called me, I never would’ve found you in time.” He forced a smile. “I’ve always said I hooked myself a smart one.”

  “Yeah. Well, if I’m so smart, why didn’t I realize that my own mother wanted me dead? Why didn’t I see that Mike resented me to the point of homicide?” Nate shuddered. “You want to know the worst part?”

  Brandon was terrified of the answer. He remembered the three weeks of isolation Nate subjected himself to after Amy’s death. He’d go out of his mind if Nate shut him out again. Swallowing, he said, “What’s that?”

  Nate turned to look at him for the first time, his eyes unnaturally bright in the light of the Ford’s still burning headlights. His voice was low, but the detachment was no longer present. He said, “The worst part is, I don’t care, Bran. Let them hate me all the way to hell, but God help me, I don’t give a flying fuck. Leda’s dead—Mike too for all we know—and I could care less.” He reached out, his hand shaking, the tears falling freely as he caressed Brandon’s cheek. “All I care about is that I’m alive, and I can touch you again. Oh God, Bran, I thought I was never gonna get to touch you again.”

  Brandon gathered him close and rocked him back and forth in the glow of the headlights, stroking his fingers through Nate’s dirty hair, savoring the smell of him. Kissing Nate’s temple, Brandon closed his eyes and thanked God.

  Chapter 17

  Brandon complained all the way to the car. "I told you, I don't want a bachelor party."

  Keith shook his head. "I don't remember asking whether you wanted one or not. Every guy has to have a bachelor party. Back me up, Wayne."

  Wayne grinned. "I'm not sure, but I think maybe it's a law."

  Les, home from college for the wedding, opened one of the rear doors on Keith's Stratus and said, "If I ever talk about getting married, just shoot me." He raked his fingertips through his dark red hair, which glowed orange in the glare of the security lights brightening Brandon's driveway. "I think single's the way to go, but I'm happy for you and Nate."

  Randy, the youngest Nash brother, also home for the wedding, grabbed the handle of the opposite door. "I second the well wishes for you and Nate, but unlike Mr. Single-and-Loving-It, here, I hope I do get married." His expression turned grim. "Not that I think I ever will. Gay and bipolar isn't exactly a sought after combination."

  Brandon climbed into the passenger seat. "That's bullshit. We've known you were bipolar for years, and it's not like you don't keep it under control with meds. I admit, the gay part was a shock, but since I'm on the verge of marrying the man of my dreams tomorrow, I think you can probably tell that you've got my blessing." He turned around to Randy and cracked a grin. "Everyone says you look just like me with that black hair and those big ole blue eyes. How could anyone not fall for you?"

  Randy ignored that and said, "Yeah, but you guys are my family. You have to love me."

  Wayne squeezed into the back seat with Les and Randy. "We do? Damn. I didn't know that."

  Keith slid behind the wheel just as Randy popped Wayne on the back of the head. "Cut it out. Don't make me come back there. We're running late enough as it is. Grandpa and Dad were expecting us to be at Shorty's a good half-hour ago."

  Brandon glared at Keith. "Hey
, it's not my fault the rehearsal ran late. Since Nate started working at Chicago General, his hours have been crazy. He was almost an hour late getting there, himself. And since you're the one who got him the job, it's conceivable that I can blame the whole thing on you."

  Keith snorted. "Don't even think about it. Who gets married the first Friday in January, anyway? You could have at least waited until Valentine's Day. At least that makes more sense."

  Brandon shook his head. "No way. We had to postpone for two months, anyway. As it was, I was afraid Nate would shut down again, like he did when Amy died. I thank God it didn't happen."

  Wayne stretched his legs out as best he could in the cramped back seat. "I still can't believe Nate went to Leda's funeral. I'd have been hoping the old bitch rotted in Hell, myself."

  "Me, too, but Nate's not like that. I do think he went more for Seth's sake than anything. And there was no way I was gonna let him face Calder alone, no matter how much I hated Leda for what she did." He turned around and looked at his brothers as Keith started the car and pulled out of the drive. "In case I never told you guys, I really appreciate the way you rallied around Nate at the funeral. And at Vaughn's arraignment."

  Keith shrugged. "Nate's family. We wanted to be there."

  Wayne said, "What got to me was the way Calder refused to even look at Nate or Seth during the service. Seth was sobbing his heart out, and Nate was all to pieces, but that old bastard never even glanced their way."

  Les adjusted his seat belt. "At least it looks like Vaughn is going to get his. I'm just sorry it took so long to arraign him. No telling when he'll actually go to trial."

  Randy shook his head. "I can't believe he's pleading not guilty. Who does he think he's gonna fool?"

  Keith turned the car onto the Reed Highway. "He probably thinks a jury will feel sorry for him because he lost the use of his legs. Being paralyzed from the waist down is humane compared to what he did to Nate, not to mention to his own wife."

  Desperate for a topic that didn't make his stomach turn, Brandon said, "Speaking of Nate, does anybody know where Seth was taking him tonight?"

  Randy laughed. "Like we'd tell you if we did."

  "I'm just curious." And if Seth took him to one of those gay strip-clubs, he'd skin him alive.

  Conversation continued in a teasing vein until Keith whipped the Stratus into the parking lot of Shorty's Pub. Brandon noticed the parking lot was unusually empty, even for nine o'clock on a Thursday night.

  Brandon saw his dad and Grandpa Taylor leaning against the backend of his dad's mini-van, or as Brandon liked to call it the Paw-Paw wagon. Dean used it to haul around all eight of his grandkids in one shot. Brandon and his brothers climbed out of the car and walked over to where the two elders stood.

  Dean looked down at his watch. "You're late. Good thing we rented this place for the whole night."

  No wonder the pace looked so deserted. Brandon grinned. "Sorry, Daddy, but you know the rehearsal got a late start. You were there. And I thought we'd never get away from Mama when the thing ended."

  "The woman is a sucker for weddings. By the way, did you and Nate ever settle the argument of who's gonna wait at the altar and who's gonna walk down the isle?"

  "Yep. Nate's a walking and I'm a waiting."

  Grandpa Taylor said, "How did you talk Nate into that?"

  "We flipped for it. I won the coin toss." And just the thought of watching Nate come down that isle and into his arms was enough to make his heart beat a little faster.

  Dean clapped him on the back. "Well, let's get to it, then. I promised Gale we wouldn't keep you out too late. She's scared to death you'll be all bleary eyed and hung over for the wedding photos." He led them all into Shorty's. The old pub had been in existence since before Brandon was even born, and little had changed about the place since. Same old neon signs, same vinyl covered chairs and stools. The only difference now was the shiny, silver-foil banner hanging above the cigarette-scared bar which read, "Congrats Bran and Nate."

  Earl, the bartender, came out and shook Brandon's hand. "Congratulations, Sheriff. Shorty says the drinks are on him tonight. What can I get you guys?"

  Dean said, "Bring us all a beer, please, Earl. And tell Shorty we said thanks."

  "Will do, Mr. Nash."

  While Earl went to fetch the beer, Dean led them all to a table at the far end of the building. When they were all seated and the drinks arrived, Dean held up his glass. "To my boy, Brandon. Not only do I thank the Lord every day for making you my son, but now you're giving me a new son, and I didn't even have to watch Gale puke her guts out for nine months to get him."

  Brandon said, "Gee, Daddy, that's very, um. . .touching."

  Dean laughed and a round of toasts and well wishes followed. A few minutes later, the door opened and Sam came in. He gave Bran a pat on the back and slumped into the chair beside him. "Congrats, Boss. Or I guess I should give you my condolences. After all, your bachelorhood is about to die an agonizing death."

  Brandon's smile went from ear to ear. "Yeah. Ain't it great?" He took a swig of his beer. "Hey, who's on duty tonight?"

  Sam shook his head. "Oh no, you don't. You officially went on vacation at two o'clock this afternoon. For three weeks, that station is not to see or hear from you."

  "Yeah, yeah. I hear you." Not that he minded. Three weeks alone with Nate was the closest thing to heaven on earth he could think of. He was so intent on what he was going to do for those three weeks, he didn't realize his father was talking to him.

  "I think it's time for phase two, men. We're losing him."

  "Sorry. I was just--"

  Grandpa Taylor finished it for him. "Thinking about Nate. We know. And I'm with Dean. Time for phase two."

  Brandon sighed. "I'm afraid to ask, but what's phase two?"

  Keith did his best imitation of an evil cackle. "Phase two is the entertainment."

  Brandon was beyond skeptical about what six straight guys and a twenty-year-old gay virgin considered entertainment for a gay man's bachelor party, but he followed his dad and the rest to the back room, anyway.

  The backroom was legendary. Since Shorty's was neither a strictly gay nor a strictly straight establishment, the backroom--where the stage was--had seen its share of varied entertainments, including everything from Best Breast Contests to the Reed Annual Arm Wrestling Championships. Brandon couldn't wait to see what they had in store for him, but he had the sinking feeling they'd hired a stripper. He appreciated the thought, but there was only one man he wanted to see naked.

  Dean escorted him to a chair placed directly in front of the stage. But instead of sitting down with Bran, he and the others turned to leave.

  "Where are you going?"

  "This is a one man show, son." And before Brandon could ask him any more questions, the lights dimmed, the spotlight came on, and the music started. The others were gone before Brandon even realized it. He shrugged and turned his attention back to the stage.

  When the curtains parted and a figure dressed in scrubs, a surgical mask, and a cap stepped out onto the stage, Brandon had to fight the urge to flee. It wasn't until the guy started dancing that Brandon's urges shifted from flight to desire. He'd recognize that uncoordinated wiggle anywhere. Nate might work magic as a doctor, but he couldn't dance for beans. Bran cupped his hands in front of his mouth and hollered, "Take it off, Nate."

  Nate stopped dancing and pulled off the mask. He gave Brandon that crooked grin he loved so much and said, "How did you know it was me?"

  Nate looked so darn cute with that stethoscope draped over his neck and that silly smile on his face, Brandon had to force himself not to grab him up and rip his clothes off. Instead, he said, "It wasn't hard for me to figure it out, Nate. No offense, baby, but you have no sense of rhythm."

  Nate's eyes took on a wicked gleam. "I don't know about that. You've never complained about my rhythm before." He slid the cap off his head and tossed it on the stage. "As I recall, last night you thought my rh
ythm was right in step." He drew the scrub shirt over his head and pitched it alongside the hat.

  Brandon's body went into overdrive as he stared at Nate's bare chest. He swallowed hard and said. "You think so, huh?"

  "Yep. As I remember it, my rhythm last night was right in keeping with your breathing." Nate undid the drawstring to his scrub pants and Brandon's mouth went dry.

  He squeaked out, "My breathing?"

  "Yes, sir." He twitched his hips. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already? Every time you took a deep breath, I thrust into you. And when you exhaled, I pulled back out and did it again." And with that last remark, he grabbed the left leg of his scrub pants and ripped them completely off.

  He was wearing a g-string made of gauze and medical tape. It looked so ridiculous, Brandon couldn't believe it when he got so hard he actually started aching.

  Nate danced to the edge of the stage. "So, Nash, you gonna stuff a dollar in my g-string or what?"

  Brandon stood up and pulled a twenty out of his pocket. He didn't have to be asked twice. Nate came out of the dressing room, freshly clothed in the jeans and t-shirt he'd brought with him. He walked over to Brandon and grinned at the satisfied smile on his face. He looped his arms around Brandon's neck and pulled him close. "What are you smiling at?"

  Brandon rocked him back and forth. "That's the first time I ever made it with a stripper."

  "Well, what do you know? That's the first time I've ever been a stripper."

  "I never would have guessed. The rip away scrub pants were a nice touch, by the way. What did you do, go to a stripper outlet center?"

  Nate snorted. "Not even close. I'll have you know, those pants were designed by my own personal tailor. Grandma Taylor, to be exact. Get it? Tailor, Taylor?"

  Brandon groaned. "I want Pastor Oakley to make you swear off those bad puns during the marriage vows." He reached down and stroked Nate's cheek. "So, this whole bachelor party thing was a family effort, huh?"