The Magic in Your Touch Ch. 15

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.”

Nate knew that look, and he also knew there would be a free-for-all if he didn’t step in and put a stop to it. He said, “Brandon, if you’ll bring the tea to the table, I’ll take the bread out of the oven and we’ll be ready to eat.”

Brandon grumbled, but he did what Nate told him to do. Nate rescued the cornbread, and then carried the stew pot to the table. Within five minutes, they were all seated at the table and ready to eat.

To say the meal was tense was an understatement. Aside from the initial saying of grace, they ate in complete silence. Dinner at home with his parents had always been like that. His father wanted complete quiet at the table, and that’s what he got. But dinner at the Nash house was different. Whether it was just him and Brandon or the whole noisy clan, there was always laughter and conversation. And when he and Brandon were alone, the food was often abandoned for much more pleasurable pursuits than eating. Tonight, though, the silence was almost more than Nate could stand. He picked at his food, and watched Brandon glare at Mike over his bowl of stew. Nate was more than a little relieved when the phone rang and broke the silence.

Brandon started to get up, but Nate shook his head. “I’ll get it.” He was across the room before Bran could argue.

Nate picked up the phone and said, “Hello.”

“Doc? It’s Sam. Is the sheriff around?”

“Sure, Sam. He’s right here.” He held the phone out to Brandon. “Bran, it’s for you.”

Brandon took the phone, while Nate went back to his seat. He studied Brandon’s face, noticing as his expression went from intent to elated. He was practically hoping up and down when he said, “Alright, Sam. Keep everyone out of her room until I get there.” Pause. “No, Eva and the doctor are fine, but no one else goes in until I have a chance to talk to her.” Pause. “Alright. See you then.”

Brandon hung up the phone and gave Nate a radiant smile. “Sam was calling from the hospital. Marjorie Newman is awake.”

* * *

Brandon grabbed Nate and swung him around the kitchen. “She’s awake, Nate, and according to Sam, there doesn’t seem to be any signs of permanent damage.”

Nate caught his breath and gave Brandon a wet kiss right on his lips. Brandon pulled him closer and deepened the contact. He barely heard Mike clear his throat. He reluctantly broke away and turned to find Mike standing by the table.

Mike said, “Excuse me guys. I forgot I was supposed to call one of my clients about the closing of his condo. It’s been rescheduled.”

Nate said, “You’re welcome to use the phone in here. Or there’s one in the living room if you need some privacy.”

Mike pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ve got my own phone, but I’ll take you up on the privacy. I’ll just step outside for a second.” He slipped out while Brandon was still staring at Nate.

When he was gone, Brandon said, “You realize what this means, don’t you Nate?”

Nathan nodded. “With Marjorie awake, and my father pleading guilty, it’s really over.”

Brandon pulled him close and kissed his temple. “You got it, baby. This is the last link in the chain. As soon as I take Marjorie’s statement, I can sign off on this case and pronounce it closed.”

Nate leaned his head against Brandon’s chest. “Is that why you didn’t want just anyone in her room, to protect the integrity of her statement?”

“Yep. More than likely, she won’t remember anything, but just in case she does, I don’t want Calder’s lawyer to be able to say she was coerced or coached in any way.” He gently pushed Nate towards the mudroom. “Get your coat and lets go.”

Nate shook his head. “I can’t go with you, Bran. We’ve got company, remember.”

Brandon snorted. “Yeah, as if I could forget. Look, just tell him you have to go to the hospital with me and send him home. He’s a big boy. He can take it.”

“No, Brandon. This is the first time since the funeral that Mike has reached out to me, and I’m not going to let him down now.”

Brandon did his best not to lose his temper. “Nate, you aren’t responsible for that guy. You don’t have to baby-sit him.”

Nate firmed his jaw. “Brandon, I’m not going to argue with you about this.”

Remembering their argument earlier, Brandon sighed. “Fine. I know better than to try to force you. Look, just promise me you’ll call if you need me.” He reached over to the counter where Nate’s cell phone was charging and handed it to him. “Carry this in you pocket until I get back.”

“Brandon—”

Brandon pulled him into a hug. “Please Nate. Just this once. For me?”

Nate pulled back and grinned at him. “You’re getting pretty good and that pitiful whining thing, you know?”

Brandon grinned right back at him. “Did it work?”

Nate slid the phone into his hip pocket. “As if you ever had a doubt.”

Brandon pulled him into a soft, slow kiss. When they were both sufficiently breathless, Brandon said, “I’ve had a lot of doubts about a lot of things in my life, Nate, but not about you. Never about you.”

* * *

Brandon spent a lot of time in hospitals. Aside from the births of his nieces and nephews, there were accident reports, victims’ statements, interviews with the coroner, and on and on. Usually he dreaded victims’ statements the most, but he was actually looking forward to this one. Marjorie Newman’s statement would put an end to this whole sordid mess, and mark the beginning of his marriage to Nate. He was practically skipping by the time he reached Marjorie’s room.

He greeted Sam, who was dutifully standing guard in the hall, and then knocked on the door. He opened it before receiving leave to go in. He’d visited several times since Marjorie’s attack, so he was prepared for the balloons, flowers, and cards littering the room, as well as for the sight of Marjorie’s partner, Eva, sitting near the bed. The only surprise in store for him was Marjorie, sitting straight up in the bed, her gray hair beginning to grow back from the shaving made necessary by a blow to the head. Her hazel eyes twinkled as Brandon came into the room.

Eva greeted him with a warm hug. Unlike Marjorie, Eva’s hair hadn’t grayed with age. It was jet black and secured in a braid down her back, clear signs of her American Indian heritage. Eva was a beautiful woman who looked closer to forty than her actual sixty years with her browned skin and petite figure.

“Brandon, come on in here and have a seat. Isn’t it wonderful about Marjorie?”

Brandon stood behind one of the two chairs next to the bed and waited for Eva to take her seat. When she did, he sat down and reached for Marjorie’s hand. He said, “Hey there, pretty thing. You look more like a woman who’s spent two months at a spa than in a coma.”

Marjorie pooh-poohed him with her hand. “Not . . . nice . . . lie to. . .me.”

Brandon gave Eva a quizzical look. She smiled and said, “The speech problems are only temporary, according to the doctor. Her mind is perfectly intact.”

Brandon nodded and turned back to Marjorie. “”You up to answering some questions, sweetheart?”

She bobbed her head up and down, so Brandon took out his notebook and said, “Most of these are yes or no questions, so just nod or shake your head, and save your voice.” When she acknowledged that, he continued with, “Okay, doll, first question: do you remember what happened the night of the fire?”

She nodded.

“Great. Do you remember the man that did this to you?”

Another nod, this one more forceful. Brandon reached for her hand again and gave it a squeeze. “You’re doing fine, Marjorie. Now I need to ask you another question. Did the guy who hit you just walk into the store and club you, or was he hiding, waiting for you to leave?”

“Hiding. . .in bathroom. Went to close. . .up. Heard noise. . .found him inside.”

Brandon let go of her hand long enough to reach into his coat pocket and pull out a picture of Wilson. “Last question, Marjorie, and then I’ll go away and let you rest. Was this the guy that hit you?”

Marjorie barely looked at the picture before shaking her head. Brandon held the photo up a little higher. “Take another look, Marjorie.”

Another shake, this one more emphatic. Brandon looked at Eva, who only shrugged. He turned back to Marjorie and said, “Are you sure? Remember, you took a pretty vicious knock to the head. Could you be mistaken?”

“No. . .mistake. Not him.”

Brandon folded up the picture and put it back in his pocket. He didn’t want her to get upset, but he had to keep trying. “Marjorie, do you know who it was?”

Marjorie fought hard to make her mouth work. Finally, she was able to say the two words that held the most power over Brandon at that moment. “Mike. . .Vaughn.”

{TO BE CONTINUED IN TWO WEEKS}