“This is the life,” Will said contently.
“Yep.”
Will reeled in his line, glancing back at Taylor, absently admiring both the graceful line of his lean body — even in chest waders — and the beauty of that forward cast. Taylor whisked the fly over his shoulder so that it seemed to dance in the air for an instant — the line looping lazily and straightening out behind him — then snapping his forearm to send the shining line singing out ahead.
The line hummed sweetly and the fly dropped lightly to the green water.
Yes, this was the life. Taylor was smiling at him, his dark hair falling boyishly in his eyes, and Will grinned back.
Taylor was not a big outdoors guy, not by any stretch — unless the outdoors was a warm beach somewhere — but he’d have to be blind not to appreciate the beauty of this scene, the distant, snowcapped, purple-blue mountains and the surrounding dense forest, red-gold foliage blazing in contrast to the green and gray spikes of conifers and pines. Even the white thunderheads moving in slowly from the east like airborne glaciers, were beautiful and dramatic.
“Worth getting up at four in the morning?” Will asked.
“For this? Sure.”
Protection details, not so much. But they would have to make due with the work they could get until things turned around.
“Richard never called back?” Taylor would probably not have forgotten to mention it, though he’d had a lot on his mind that morning between last night’s bonding exercise with Grant and nearly being run off the road by the Dooleys.
“No.” One little word, but Will knew Taylor was troubled.
“We’ll find another way.”
Taylor didn’t reply.
Will walked backwards a few steps, eye on a boulder on the far side of the river. He lifted the tip of his fishing rod, swinging the rod back and over to create the loop in the line and casting forward. The line glinted, snaking through the air and dropping down.
“Nice,” Taylor observed.
“We should try salmon fishing in Alaska some day,” Will said. “Supposedly there’s nothing like it.” Someday when they could afford to take a real vacation again. Will’s stomach growled. “You getting hungry?” he called to Taylor.
“Always.”
They hadn’t caught much that morning, but that wasn’t really the point of the exercise. Even exercise wasn’t the point of this exercise. A little time to themselves, a little communing with the Great Outdoors. Mostly a little time to themselves.
Will felt a drop on his face and glanced at the slate skies overhead.
“Same here. You ready to call it a day?”
In answer, Taylor began to reel in his line.
“Thanks for this,” he said.
“For what? Fishing? My pleasure.”
Taylor’s expression was serious. “No. For letting me come along on this trip.”
“Let you? There was no let you about it. Of course you were coming on this trip.” Will said it heatedly because he was unhappily aware that he had not initially wanted Taylor to come. What a dumbass he was sometimes. Now he couldn’t imagine having made this trip without him. Just when he thought they couldn’t get any closer, too. But somehow he felt closer to Taylor than ever.
“I like your dad,” Taylor said, still serious, still following his own thoughts.
“Me too.”
Taylor made an absent, amused sound. “You’re lucky though. I love my parents, but I don’t have that. What you have. I never did.”
Will had known that for a long time. Taylor was close to his siblings and had a polite, distantly affectionate relationship with his mother. He rarely spoke about his father, but Will had the impression Taylor would have liked a closer relationship. It bothered him to picture a much younger, much more vulnerable Taylor yearning for what should have been his by right.
Families were complicated. But some people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids. That was a fact.
“Grant’s okay too. In his way,” Taylor added.
Will laughed. “Thanks for, you know, not pulverizing him. Of course, I may pulverize him myself.”
“Nah. I like him. He’ll grow out of what I don’t like about him.”
They reeled in their lines, waded out of the water, and stood beside the Land Cruiser, stripping off their protective gear. Will wore Polypropylene long johns under his waders, but Taylor, as usual, had worn Levi’s, and the cotton had acted as a magnet for the damp cold.
“God damn it,” Will said. “Why will you never listen to me? You’re turning blue!”
“Then the rest of me will match my balls,” Taylor said tartly. He was kidding of course, except…not entirely. All at once his smile was too tight and his green eyes looked gray. Glacial.
“Huh?” Will stared at him and he had that sinking feeling again. “Wait a minute.”
“Forget it. I’m joking.” Taylor flashed him a brief, meaningless smile and threw his waders in the back of the SUV with the ice chest of fish. The boots clunked heavily and fell away from each other.
“Taylor.” Will put a hand on his shoulder and Taylor slid out from under it.
“Let it go, Will.”
“No. I’m not going to let it go.” Will’s hand closed on Taylor’s bony shoulder, and he turned Taylor to face him. “It’s been a little awkward, that’s all.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.”
Frowning, Will regarded Taylor, taking in the flushed cheeks, the stormy eyes, the sulky mouth. Taylor was not a guy who sulked, but that was definitely an unhappy curve to his lips. Not just unhappy. Hurt.
“You’re wrong,” Will said. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” He angled his head and covered Taylor’s mouth in a coaxing kiss. Taylor kissed him back reluctantly. Will deepened the kiss, and Taylor’s lips parted with a tiny sigh.
It was the sigh that did it, that helpless concession, Taylor suddenly receptive and accessible and so sweet as he opened to Will, even leaning against him as though he was suddenly too tired to fight.
Which was probably true. He sure hadn’t seemed to do much sleeping the night before, had even turned down Will’s offer of a backrub.
Maybe that made sense now.
“You’re nuts,” Will said softly. “This is every bit as frustrating for me. I just don’t let myself think about it, that’s all.” He reached down and found Taylor’s waistband, undoing the metal button, popping the rivets of his fly…pop…pop…pop…
“How do you mana…” Taylor’s voice gave out as Will pushed his hand in, worked his way through the front of Taylor’s boxers, meeting his cock halfway.
Yes. Beautiful. Velvet skin stretched taut over that tensile thrusting hardness. He could only spare a brief caress, reaching further for those painful, much-neglected balls. He cradled the plush, fragile sacks in his palm.
Taylor sagged back against the side of the SUV, arching a little, moaning, “Will…” Stricken and beautiful, eyes shut, trembling, making those small sounds as Will petted and stroked him, occasionally jumping as Will pinched his thigh or butt cheek.
This was crazy. A forest ranger could be watching them right now. Another fisherman could drive up any second — with a carload of kids. And his mother. And the family minister. But no way could Will stop now. He flexed his hand, pressed his thumb to the hot entrance between Taylor’s butt cheeks, and Taylor gasped, shuddered.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” Will’s voice was rough with excitement and longing.
“Whatever you want, Will.”
Christ almighty. Hearing those soft, submissive words, Will’s cock went so rigid so fast he nearly did himself a permanent injury. Sheer crazy fantasy because there was no one less submissive than Taylor. When he handed over control it was on a strictly limited basis, and even then Will always had a suspicion Taylor was secretly directing the action.
“I’m going to fuck you,” Will said.
Taylor shivered, started shoving at his Levi’s. Will turned him to face the SUV, yanked his jeans down, yanked his boxers down. And Taylor leaned against the side of the car, docile, pants around his ankles, goose bumps on the pale perfect globes of his ass. Waiting for whatever Will was going to do to him. Beautiful. Taylor rested his forehead on his bent arm, and the nape of his neck looked boyish.
Will swallowed dryly, shoved down the clinging long johns, taking himself in hand, pressing against Taylor. The exquisite sensation as the head of his cock pressed against the hot bull’s-eye of Taylor’s body… Taylor whimpered.
Will stopped. “Hell. Hold on…”
Taylor’s head jerked up. “What. The. Hell. Now?” he asked, sounding anything but submissive.
“Hold on,” Will said desperately. He yanked open the driver’s door, crawled inside, rifling through the glove compartment until he found the small pink bottle. “Got it.”
“My cock is about to freeze to the side of this fucking car, Brandt!”
“I said hold on,” Will said, ducking back out of the car. He held up the sample-sized baby lotion.
“Oh my God.” Taylor’s head flopped down on his arm again. His shoulders shook. Will couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying. Either way, Will was damned well going to have him. He slicked himself thickly, briskly with pink-smelling lotion, and pressed against Taylor again, guiding himself. Taylor’s body offered token resistance, Will pushed, and he was in, enveloped in that warm, suede grip.
Taylor made a small, satisfied sound — a sound of almost heartfelt relief — and pushed back. Will braced his hands on either side of Taylor. Whoa. Taylor was right. The car was like a block of ice. He gathered Taylor close, wrapping him in his arms, holding him tight against the warmth of his own body. He turned so that he was leaning against the SUV and Taylor was leaning back against him. Taylor folded his arms over Will’s, so they were melded tight all the length of their bodies.
Will thrust tentatively, and Taylor let his head fall back on Will’s shoulder. “Oh, God, Will.”
“Good?”
“Don’t stop. Please God. Don’t stop.”
“I won’t. I won’t.”
They’d caught the rhythm now, sliding into it like a runner hitting his stride, only two runners, a relay team, working together. Will thrusting, Taylor pushing back. The paced themselves, picked up speed, and then they were running full out. Will lifted Taylor a little, changed his angle, and felt that jolt roll right up Taylor’s spine and hit the back of his skull. The sound Taylor made that time was a sound there was no faking, a broken sob of something way beyond pleasure or even delight.
Will did it again, aimed for the sweet spot, and felt Taylor jump in his arms and give another breathless sob. “Will.”
“Oh you do like that,” Will muttered. But then they both liked that.
Third time was the charm. Taylor arched in his arms and went rigid like he was having a seizure, and then he was coming in a hot, sticky mess, shooting white across the wet grass and wild flowers. Over his shoulder Will could see a buck several yards away staring at them in astonishment.
Taylor went boneless in his arms, hanging onto the band of Will’s arms like he needed Will’s support to stay on his feet. Will kissed the damp side of his face, thrusting faster, moving to short strokes. He felt flecks of wet hitting his skin. It was raining now, really raining. He thrust harder, straining to get there, to reach the finish line, stretching out for it. And there it was. The road rising up to meet him and he was home. Homecoming. It was never sweeter.
He hung onto Taylor as release rippled through him, so sharp, so bright, so intense it blinded him for a few seconds. Reaction nearly made his knees give way. He and Taylor clung to each other, which was all that saved him from sitting down in the mud. The rain peppered down harder and harder. Will opened his eyes and Taylor was smiling at him, looking more warmed and relaxed than he had in days, maybe weeks — despite the fact that his hair was plastered to his head, his skin shining.
Will opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but two rifle shots, clear as the crack of doom, echoed through the valley, ringing off the mountains and rolling away into silence.
Hunters.
It could easily be hunters.
But it wasn’t. He could feel it in his bones, in that sick coldness pooling in his gut. That was instinct. The same instinct that had Taylor moving away from him, alert, tense, trying to place the direction of the shots in relation to the house.
“Is the house over those hills?” asked Taylor, watching Will.
Will nodded, already getting behind the wheel. His legs were shaking, whether from recent sex or fear, he wasn’t sure. Taylor ran around the front of the SUV and jumped in beside him. “My SIG is in my knapsack.”
“My backup piece is in the glove compartment.”
Handguns against a rifle. Those were not good odds.
The SUV bumped and bounced over the rough terrain as Will headed for the dirt road that led out of the valley. Taylor was on his cell phone to the Columbia County Sheriff’s Department.
“It could be a hunter,” Will said for the sake of argument, but Taylor did not relay this info.
He disconnected and said, “Your dad might not even be at the house. He was going to drive into Mist Bend for groceries for the Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, remember?”
Will nodded grimly. The thought of Grant there on his own was not a lot more comforting.
“You want me to try and contact the Marshal’s Service?” Taylor asked.
“By the time you get through, we’ll be there,” Will said. He realized that until that moment it hadn’t crossed his mind that this could be anything but Jem Dooley seeking vengeance. But of course Taylor was right. It was even odds that this attack — if attack it was — had to do with Cousin Dennis.
And the idea of Grant trying to deal with mob hit men was even more terrifying than the idea of Grant squaring off against Jem Dooley.
Will stomped on the accelerator and the Land Cruiser slammed onto the road. Taylor had dragged his knapsack into the front and was checking his weapon. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out Will’s backup weapon. His calm focus steadied Will. This was what they did. This was who they were. And the fact that this time it was personal — family — was beside the point.
It didn’t feel beside the point. It felt like the longest drive of his life. The car smelled of sex and rain and fish. Will was sure he would never forget the scent of these seemingly endless miles.
Suddenly the elastic band of road snapped and they were racing up over the final rise.
He didn’t see the red Corolla until it was almost too late. It came flying over the top of the hill and nearly crashed into them. Will jerked the wheel left, the Corolla careened right, skidded off the dirt road and went out of control down the hillside. It shredded the brush and crashed into an oak tree.
“What the hell was that?” Taylor said.
Good question. Will shook his head and pulled off the road into the grass. Taylor passed him his SIG. They got out into the rain. There was no movement inside the Corolla. Steam rose from the crumpled hood.
Will turned. He could see his father’s house in the valley below. There were no lights, but smoke drifted from the fireplace chimney, pale against the stormy skies. He heard the crack of a rifle coming from the direction of the house, but at first couldn’t place where the shooter was. Then he located Grant hunkered down on the back deck with a carbine.
At the same time he heard the sound of another vehicle racing up the road toward them. Will identified the angry lug of a truck engine in need of a tune-up before he spotted the white pickup hurtling their way.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Taylor dropping down in a speed kneeling position. He stepped out into the road and brought his weapon up.
The pickup crested the hill. Will got a good look at the three men wedged inside the truck cab at about the same instant they got a good look at him. The truck swerved wildly, tried to complete a 360 and drove off the side of the hill. The pickup rolled once and slid on its cab to a stop at the bottom of the road.
Taylor rose, lowering his pistol. “What is this, some kind of demolition derby?”
“Let’s find out,” Will said. “I’ll take the pickup. You take the Corolla?”
Taylor frowned, staring down at the upside down truck. The engine was still running, tires spinning. Shouts and curses floated from the cab. “You sure you don’t need a hand?”
Will gestured to Grant running from the house, carbine in hand. “Under control.”
Taylor nodded and turned, jogging down the hillside to the smashed Corolla.
Will started down the road to the pickup. The Dooleys, bloodied but largely unhurt, were crawling from the wreckage of their truck when Will reached them. He reached in and turned off the engine. A small arsenal of weapons lay scattered around the cab.
As Grant jogged up, Will said, “You okay?”
“Sure. Luckily none of these jerk-offs can shoot straight.”
That seemed to touch a sore spot and the Dooleys began snarling obscenities again.
“I’m going to sue you!” Tobe shouted at Will. At least Will thought it was Tobe. He’d gone to school with Tobe, but it was hard to keep all the facial hair and camo straight. Every one of them looked about a decade older than their natural years.
“That ought to be an interesting court case,” Will replied. To Grant, he said, “Do me a favor and start collecting these guns and knives and whatever else they’ve got stashed in there.” He turned back to the Dooleys. “I want you all prone — that means face down — on the ground. Hands locked behind your head. Do it now.”
“We’re injured,” protested Vin, who was, true enough, bleeding profusely from a cut on his scalp.
“All the more reason to lie down and stop moving around. Help is on the way.”
He’d already picked up the distant wail of sirens through the wash of rain. “Where’s Pop?” he asked Grant.
Grant, holding a Bowie knife as long as his forearm, said, “Pop’s not even here. Cousin Dennis is hiding in the safe room.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. They drove up and started firing at the house.”
“That’s not exactly nothing.”
“I mean, nothing happened to start it,” Grant said. “They pulled up and started shooting.”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Will asked Tobe. Tobe screwed his face up and spat at him. Given his position and the direction of the wind, it was a strategic error.
Will shook his head and turned his attention back to Grant. “How much damage did they do?”
“Probably took ten years off Cousin Dennis’s life.” Grant grinned. “They knocked out some windows and that globe lamp that belonged to Grandma Mills. That’s about it. They turned tail the minute I started firing back.”
Will studied the men lying in the mud. They were using their clasped hands to shelter their sodden heads from the rain. Three more bedraggled and miserable specimens he’d rarely seen. Tobe, Hal — who had somehow managed to hang onto his sunglasses — and Vin. No Jem.
“Where’s Jem?” Will asked. “Did he put you up to this?” The three men stared at him sullenly.
“You do realize you crossed a line, right? You don’t get off this time with a fine or community service?”
They stared back at him with silent loathing. Maybe stupidity wasn’t a crime, but it sure played a role in plenty of crimes. The scary thought was that Jem was — had always been — the brains of this outfit.
“Fine. You want to share the rap with your brother, go right ahead. But Jem is going straight back to prison for this. Maybe you can share a cell. Wouldn’t that be cozy?”
Tobe snarled, “No it wouldn’t and no Jem ain’t. ‘Coz he’s gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s gone?”
“What I said. He’s gone.”
“Where did he go?”
“Wherever he wanted to.”
Hal lifted his head. His sunglasses were askew. He said, “Jem left last week. That’s how much you know about anything.”
“He can’t leave the area without violating his parole.”
Hal shrugged, then winced, rubbing at his shoulder.
“If he left last week, what was all this?” Will asked. “All this driving around, raising hell, claiming Jem was coming for revenge?”
Hal and Tobe stared sullenly at him. Vin stared down at the mud.
Will gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re saying this was all your idea?”
Well, idea was probably an exaggeration.
Taylor whistled sharply from up the hill, and Will turned at once. “Grant, if any one of them moves, shoot him,” he instructed, and switchbacked up the road at a brisk jog.
“My pleasure,” Grant called from behind him, which started the Dooleys snarling and swearing again.
Will topped the hill and looked down the gully. The driver of the red Corolla leaned against the side of his car, talking to Taylor. Taylor turned as Will approached.
“Look who it is,” Taylor told him.
“Who?” As far as Will knew, the driver, a big man in a black leather jacket, was a stranger to him. He was taller than himself or Taylor. Beefy but well-groomed with one of those geometrically precise beards that nobody besides actors and male models bothered with. There was a cut above his eye where the airbag must have caught him, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.
“I keep telling you, I didn’t have anything to do with this,” he said as Will reached them. Will’s boots skidded a little on the wet weeds. He steadied himself on the hood of the car.
“You do,” Taylor agreed. “But you’ve yet to convince me.”
“Who the hell are you?” Will asked.
Brown eyes met Will’s briefly. “I was parked in the trees over there when that truckload of rednecks arrived and started shooting up the place.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. And those trees where you were parked are private property. So who are you and what were you doing parked over there?”
“Nothing. I was taking a little rest stop.”
“Resting on your way to where?”
“Look, I don’t know why you’re hassling me. I had nothing to do with anything that happened here. Those hillbillies opened fire and I tried to leave the area as quickly as possible. You almost crashed into me.”
“You didn’t think about maybe calling for help?” Will asked. “Your only thought was to flee the scene?”
“I figured help was on the way.”
“That’s convenient.”
“What happened to the Porsche?” Taylor asked.
The man blinked. He looked from Will to Taylor. His expression changed. “Hey, wait a minute. It’s not what you think,” he said quickly.
Taylor said, “I think you’re a PI by the name of Stuart Schwierskott and you’ve been hired to run surveillance on us.”
Rain pattered down on the ground around them.
“Okay, it is what you think,” Schwierskott admitted. “But listen, you can read my reports. I don’t have anything on you. I’m no threat to you.”
No threat to them? Did he think they were going to shoot him? Who did he think they were?
“What is it you think there would be to have on us?” Will asked.
“I don’t understand the question.”
“You understand my question. Who hired you?” Taylor asked.
“I don’t know,” Schwierskott said, a little desperately. “That’s the truth. I don’t know who hired our firm, and I don’t know what they hoped to uncover.”
“There isn’t anything to uncover.”
“I want to see these reports,” Taylor said.
“Go ahead. Be my guest. My notes are in my briefcase on the front seat.”
Taylor yanked open the car door, lifted out the briefcase, and set it on the hood of the car. He shuffled through the sheets of notes, glancing over the reports, frowning.
“Well?” Will asked.
Taylor rifled through the papers again. He raised his head and stared at Schwierskott in disbelief. “Are you supposed to be for real? People are paying you for this? Listen to this, Brandt. Due to extremely poor visibility and dangerous driving conditions, Investigator was forced to suspend mobile surveillance. This is last night when Grant and I went on our beer run.” He turned to Schwierskott. “You got lost, didn’t you?”
Schwierskott looked uncomfortable. He didn’t answer.
“I don’t think he was even here for half the stuff he’s reporting.”
Taylor looked at Will, and Will said, “Okay. He’s not good at his job. Is that really the p —”
“Well, it’s one point. Schwierskott & Associate is a big firm. A big, profitable firm. If they can make it, we sure as hell can.”
“You’re PIs?” Schwierskott asked.
“You don’t know?” Taylor questioned. “You’re running surveillance on us and you don’t know what we do for a living?”
“We’re not PIs,” Will said.
“I know you both left the DSS at the same time and under mysterious circumstances,” Schwierskott said. “Which in my book translates to you getting canned.”
“Oh, your book,” Taylor said. “Let’s read another page out of that, shall we? Investigator is forced to terminate surveillance when German shepherd dogs pursue him through woods.”
“Mysterious circumstances? There was nothing mysterious about it,” Will said.
“I want to know who hired you,” Taylor said again.
“First of all, that’s privileged information. Secondly, like I keep telling you, we don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m telling you the truth. We were hired by a third party. We’re supposed to observe and report until further notice. That’s it.”
“What third party?”
“I don’t —”
“Tell him,” Will said to Schwierskott. “Unless you want to spend the rest of the day on this fucking hillside, tell him.”
Schwierskott scowled. “We were hired by a representative of the legal firm of Gently, Fallis & Landreth.”
“What? They’re ambulance chasers,” Taylor said, and now he looked as confused as Will felt.
“I already told you they were hired as a go-between.”
Taylor chewed his lip, thinking it over.
“This guy is a dead end,” Will told Taylor. “When we get back to L.A. we’ll contact Gently, Fallis & Landreth. See what we can find out then.”
Taylor nodded. “Okay.”
Schwierskott swallowed. “What about me?”
“What about him?” Will asked Taylor.
“Personally, I’d look for another line of work,” Taylor said. “I don’t think you got one thing in this report correct. Maybe the part where the dogs chased you.”
Schwierskott said, “But wait. I’m doing you a favor, right?”
“I don’t see it that way,” Will said. He nodded at Taylor. “I guarantee you he doesn’t see it that way.”
“No. Look. You don’t have to mention any of this, do you? When you talk to my old — my boss. I’ve been cooperative, haven’t I?”
“Is that what you call this?”
“I’m just trying to earn a living. I’m one of the good guys.”
“Actually, we’re the good guys,” Will told him. “You’re someone who spends his time digging through other people’s garbage cans.”
“Wait a minute,” Taylor said.
Will waited. Schwierskott looked both uneasy and hopeful. Taylor said slowly, “So if we don’t mention having this conversation with you, if we don’t share any of the events of the last few days with your boss, you’ll turn these reports in as is?”
“Yes. Yes,” Schwierskott said eagerly. “I’m happy to help. We’ll call it a professional courtesy. Where you’re concerned, I see nothing. I know nothing.”
“That last shouldn’t be hard to sell.”
“He’s a witness to the Dooleys shooting up my father’s house,” Will said.
“I know, but it’s not like he’s going to be needed to prove the case against the Dooleys.”
“That’s not the point.”
Taylor drew him aside. “I know this goes against the grain, but hear me out.”
“Go on.”
“This gives us an advantage, Brandt. Whoever is watching us doesn’t have to know that we know he’s out there. And meanwhile, Stuart’s feeding him — or her — wrong information.”
Will grunted.
“You see where I’m going with this?”
Yes. He saw exactly where Taylor was going. Will didn’t like it, but Taylor had a point. After a moment he nodded curtly.
Schwierskott let out a long breath. “Excellent. You won’t regret this, boys!”
“I already regret it,” Will said, but Taylor winked at him, and he sighed.
* * * * *
Taylor said sleepily, “I’m still not sure I get it. The Dooleys were waiting for Jem to come back and even the score, but when he finally got out of prison, he didn’t want to have anything to do with his loser family either. So Jem takes off, and Jethro and the rest of the clan are left with nothing. All those years of threats and warnings and predictions of what was going to happen when their big brother got out of prison turned out to be nothing but hot air?”
“Something like that,” Will said.
It was nearly midnight. They were lying in the too-small bed in Will’s old room, warm and comfortable, wrapped in each other’s arms. The Dooleys had been arrested and carted off by the Sheriff’s Department, Stuart Schwierskott was on his way back to L.A., and the Marshals Service had decided Bill Brandt’s Home for Wayward Fugitives was getting a little too much attention these days and had pulled Cousin Dennis out and sent him on the next leg of his journey.
Tomorrow they would celebrate Thanksgiving. The first Thanksgiving Will had made it home for in a couple of years. Maybe it wasn’t the actual official holiday, but what mattered was he would be with his family. All of his family, old and new. He smiled at the thought. He had a lot to be thankful for this year.
“So they were just…keeping up appearances?” Taylor was still thinking aloud.
“I guess.”
“Jem never was a threat?”
“Nope.”
Taylor yawned widely, belatedly smothering his exhalation in Will’s shoulder. Will absently kissed the top of his head. He smiled to himself. Taylor smelled like Dial soap, which was the soap Will’s father had bought as long as Will could remember. The deodorant soap smell was strangely sexy on Taylor.
Grant had stopped by his room while Taylor had been taking his bath, and they’d talked for a minute.
Grant’s face had worked. “He’s okay, Will. I see he’s a good guy. And I see how he feels about you. I just…can’t understand it. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem right to me. It doesn’t seem natural. I can’t help it.”
“Okay,” Will had said at last, wearily. “I guess I can’t fight that.”
“But…” Grant sucked in a deep breath. “But I’m glad you have him. I’m glad you found somebody and you’re happy.”
It was less than Will wanted, but by then more than he’d hoped for. “Thanks. Thank you, Grant.”
“You’re my brother,” Grant said more steadily. “I want whatever you want. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He wasn’t sure if they’d ever said the words out loud before. They’d always taken love for granted. But it wasn’t something you could — or should — take for granted.
“You okay?” Will asked Taylor softly.
“Hm?”
Will ran his hand under Taylor’s sweatshirt, stroking his back. “Not feeling neglected or anything now?”
He felt the curve of Taylor’s smile. “I’m okay.”
Will closed his eyes.
Taylor’s cell phone rang. Taylor jumped as though he’d been electrified and scrambled for his phone. He cleared his throat, swiped the screen. “Hi Richard. Thanks for returning my call.”
Will listened to Taylor’s half of the conversation, stroking Taylor’s back. He could feel Taylor’s heart pounding, and though Taylor sounded careful and calm as he explained their plans and business strategy, Will knew him well enough to recognize the nervousness beneath that even tone.
Taylor hated this and Will hated that Taylor found himself in this position. That they were both in this position. He ran his hand down Taylor’s back and he could feel the hint of dampness between Taylor’s shoulder blades.
Then Taylor said gruffly, “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” and Will sat up too.
“What?” he whispered. He hoped he’d heard that wrong. He knew he hadn’t.
Taylor ignored him. He listened to the tiny voice on the other side of the world for what seemed like a very long time.
“That’s very generous,” he said at last, and his voice cracked, making him sound about fifteen years younger. “But no. We appreciate it, but no, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t at least earn some kind of a percentage. We look at this as an investment not a —” He listened again. “I know, but family or not, we wouldn’t feel right.”
Will reached over and squeezed Taylor’s rock hard shoulders.
“That’s…”
More silence.
“Thank you. That’s…”
Taylor sucked in a sharp breath. “All right. Of course. Thank you, Richard. I’ll keep an eye out for the papers…yes…I appreciate it…love to Mom…”
Taylor clicked off. He fell back on his pillow. Will took the phone out of his unresisting hand.
“You got the money,” he said, still not quite believing it.
“I will have, within a week or so. But we’re paying him back, Will. Every cent. With interest. I don’t care what he says. We’re not…”
“Absolutely,” Will tried to reassure him. “I agree. It’s just a loan.”
“I can’t…”
“We’re on the same page.”
Taylor let out a long sigh.
A hundred and fifty grand. Will felt winded just thinking about it. The possibilities of it. They could pay off their credit cards. They could hire someone to answer their phone. They could buy the proper equipment. They could go after the big jobs. The lucrative jobs.
They were in business.
They were in debt.
He could feel Taylor thinking it over, absorbing it as well.
He said at last, “Taylor?”
“Hm?” No trace of sleepiness in Taylor’s voice now.
“Was I wrong?”
“Which time?”
But Will was serious. “I gambled everything on us striking out on our own, starting this new business. I risked everything. For both of us. I didn’t give you a choice, not really. I just shoved it through, made it happen, and now…if I’m wrong…”
Taylor raised his head, peering through the darkness. “Hey.”
“You were right to be angry. You were right about all of it. If I’ve fucked this up, it’s going to take us years to dig ourselves out.”
Taylor rolled onto his side. He ran his hand slowly up and down Will’s arm. “This isn’t like you.”
“What does that tell you, right there?”
Taylor made a sound of amusement. “That you usually think you’re right. And a lot of the time you are.”
“And a lot of the time I’m not.”
“True. But I pick up the slack there, so we’re okay.”
Will just shook his head.
They listened to the rain tick-ticking against the window panes. Nothing but rain ahead in the next few days’ forecast. It was going to be a damn long drive to L.A. on Monday.
“Will, listen.” Taylor sighed. “Maybe I haven’t been entirely fair. Or honest. Yes, I was pissed off at being hustled into making decisions I wasn’t ready to make, but the fact is, this is what I ultimately wanted. I did want us to be together, I did want us to start our life. I said from the start I wanted us to live together and work together, and I wanted it to happen as soon as it was feasible. Where we differed was on when that would be feasible. But ultimately the goal was always the same.”
“That difference might mean success or failure.”
“We’re not going to fail.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“Yeah, I can. I do.” Taylor said it with calm certainty. “We’re not going to fail. I don’t think it’s going to be easy, but we’re not going to fail.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it doesn’t matter if we fail.”
“What?” Will raised his head off the pillow.
“This was never about making a bunch of money or winning Businessman of the Year. If we’re not successful at this, we’ll be successful at something else.”
“You’re going a little too Zen master for me now, MacAllister. Ten minutes ago you were shaking at the idea of being in debt to your stepfather.”
“The main thing, the important thing to both of us, is what we already have. We’re together. And as long as we’re together, we’re okay. And if we’re okay, then really everything is okay.”
Will was silent for a moment. He said at last, “That’s beautiful, Tay.”
Taylor lay back again and settled his head on the pillow. “Thank you.”
“You realize if we can’t make this business work, we’ll be in hock to Richard for the rest of our natural lives?”
“Yes, I do.”
“This venture of ours really does have to succeed.”
“Yes, it really does.” Taylor added for good measure, “Really.”
Will started to laugh.
“Really,” Taylor said.