Drawn Together (20 page)

118

Z. A. Maxfield

“You shower and I’ll pack up. Shout out if you need me.” Rory seemed convinced Yamane needed a bodyguard.

“I like that; it makes me feel safe,” said Yamane, hugging his towel to him.

Rory took Yamane’s hand and pulled him back. “Yamane, I’m just a man. This could all go terribly wrong. We could both be hurt or killed. Please, don’t see me as something I’m not.”

“Are you a man who loves me? Even just a little?”

“Yes,” said Rory distinctly. “You know I am.”

“Then I’ll take my chances with you,” Yamane replied. “Whatever happens.”

* * * * *

They arrived at the car dealership in a cloud of foul-smelling exhaust. A man in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt that read “Dick’s Chevrolet, Wyoming’s #1” came up to greet them, shaking their hands and eyeing the car. “I hope you’re planning to buy a car today. It doesn’t look like that one will make it back off the lot.” He had a car salesman smile, but it seemed genuine enough to Rory.

“My name is Ted, but people around here call me Boomer since my football days.” He looked Rory over. “You ever play?”

“Nope.” Rory eased into the southern-boy talk as naturally as if he were home. “You sound like you come from the South, sir.”

“Yep, I’m originally from Savannah, and I played for the Crimson Tide, but I married a girl from Cheyenne whose daddy owns this very dealership. What are you going to do, right?”

“Right,” said Rory. “I need wheels, Boomer. I’m dead tired of driving that car.”

“I hear that.” Boomer was looking at Rory’s car. “Got no plates.”

“I know, can you imagine?” Rory prevaricated. “Somebody took them right off my car at a campground. I can give you the numbers and you can look them up. I have my registration.”

“Oh, sure, okay.” Boomer seemed relieved. Then he looked at Yamane, and like all people who saw him for the first time, required time to process him. “Stolen at a campground, what people won’t get up to these days.” Rory waited for Boomer to stop staring.

Yamane said finally, “Rory, what kind of car should we get?” Boomer seemed to come back to himself. “How about you just look around the lot, and I’ll look back in on you after a bit?”

“Thank you,” said Yamane. “That would be fine.”

“I’ll be by the trucks,” said Rory.

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Boomer smiled. “Sure thing.”

Yamane and Rory walked up and down the rows. Rory had the feeling Yamane was teasing him, but he also had the feeling that the Japanese sensibility where cars were concerned might prove an insurmountable obstacle to their continued harmony.

“This one’s cute.” Yamane looked into the window of a royal blue Chevrolet Aveo.

“I’m six-two. Please, can’t we look at the trucks?”

“But this one is very fuel efficient as well as maneuverable and easy to park.”

“Yamane, we’re going to war. You don’t go to war in a Chevy Aveo. That’s a damned clown car!”

Yamane laughed.

Rory gave Yamane’s hair a tug. “Are you messing with me?”

“You bet I am. Get what you want.”

“Thank you.” Rory sighed. “Let’s go talk to Boomer.” Boomer showed Rory around the trucks, finding a black Silverado crew cab with a tow package, an impossibly powerful engine, and a light package that made it look like an emergency vehicle.

It seemed to Rory that Yamane was still in a mood to tease even as he went through the motions of paying for it. “Now, you’re sure it has enough stuff, Rory. I wouldn’t want you to miss out, if there’s a truck with more lights or a more powerful engine available.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Rory, content.

“Or if one might possibly reflect a more manly character, say if it had those really big wheels or something.”

“Rory Delaplaines has no need to compensate.” Boomer watched this exchange. “Now, then, Mr. Yamane, I have the wire transfer, and I’ll need your signature, right here, here, here, and your initials all down that page.”

“Is it possible to get some sort of cargo box for our camping gear?” asked Rory. “I don’t want it to get soaked if it should rain.”

“If you’re heading east, then three stops down the I-80 there’s a truck parts store that carries tool boxes and cargo boxes, and cargo nets if you need one. You’re doing more camping?” he asked idly while waiting for Yamane to fill out the paperwork.

“Well, Yamane doesn’t much care for it; he’s kind of a city boy.” Boomer shot Rory a look that said I feel your pain. “Too bad. There are wonderful places to camp on I-80. And I just took my kids up the I-90 to see the faces.”

“Faces?” asked Yamane.

“Mount Rushmore,” said Rory. “I hear that it’s awesome. But we’re short on time this trip. We’ve got something at home that can’t wait.” 120

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“Too bad,” said Boomer again. “Well, next time then.”

“Yes.” Rory smiled at Yamane. “We have a lifetime to explore together.” Boomer said, “Well.” By which Rory thought he meant blech, but was too good a salesman to admit it. “Here you go.” He held a key out to Rory. “When it comes out, I’ll have a key for each of you. Some of my guys are going to clean it up, and you can just take it with best wishes and good luck to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Rory.

“Thank you,” said Yamane. “It was a pleasure.” He held his hand out, and Boomer took it, giving it a firm, solid handshake.

Rory began to unload the camping gear from his ancient Corona and felt not one smidgen of sentimentality knowing it would be towed to the junkyard for scrap metal. He removed the money he’d carefully hidden under the seat, and when he was satisfied he’d gotten everything he needed out of it, he tossed the key on the driver’s seat and left it without a backward glance. Yamane seemed no more sentimental. He practically danced with joy when he opened the door to the new truck.

“Could you even buy a bigger truck? Not compensating, my ass.”

“Do you like it?” asked Rory, placing the key in the ignition. “I mean, you bought it. If you hate it…”

“I like it,” said Yamane. “It suits you, and that suits me because I love you.” Rory’s hand dropped from the key to his lap. He turned to look at Yamane. “This is just crazy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Yamane. “But I don’t really care, do you?”

“No.” Rory keyed the ignition. “Let’s go.”

Rory drove the new truck east on the interstate, and sure enough, at the third exit there was a truck accessories warehouse. He and Yamane went in and he had the feeling that someone had been apprised of their arrival.

“Damn,” he heard someone say in a hoarse whisper. “Old Boomer was telling the truth.”

“Hello there,” said Rory. “I need a gear box for my truck and some other things.” As always, Yamane was the subject of what Rory thought was pretty harmless scrutiny.

“We need a trash bin,” he informed Rory.

“Are you camping along here?” asked one of the clerks. “It looks like you’re going to hit some weather. You might want to rethink it.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” said Rory. “I need batteries for my weather radio too.”

“You know your truck has the satellite so you’ll get the Weather Channel, but it’s a good idea to keep a radio close by if you’re camping. I’ve been watching the news and you’re driving into some unstable air.”

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“Thank you, we’ll probably stay in a motel tonight, but I appreciate the warning,” Rory said. He and Yamane waited while the men installed a big silver steel cargo box with a diamond pattern stamped into it. Yamane found an organizer with a trash container in it that he could strap onto the back of the driver’s seat. He placed some of his art supplies in it so they’d be handy.

“Well” -- they shook the clerk’s hand -- “we have a long way to go ahead of us today, thanks so much.”

“You be careful out there,” said the clerk.

“Thank you,” said Yamane.

They got back on I-80, and Rory had one thing in mind: to get to St. Antoine’s Parish by Saturday. “This is nice.” Yamane played with all the buttons. “I think I like trucks.”

“It dwarfs you.”

“You’d better not have just called me a dwarf,” Yamane told him. “I’m hungry.”

“Can you wait a little?” Rory was concerned by how much time they’d spent at the dealership.

“Drive as long as you need to. When we do stop, I’ll get some food so we don’t have to stop at all except for bathroom breaks.”

Rory patted his hand. “It’s not quite as desperate as all that, cher.” Yamane stroked his fingers. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done, Rory. For now I think I’ll catch up on some sleep; somebody kept me awake until late last night.” If his grandparents hadn’t been in danger, Rory would have considered it one of the perfect moments of his life. This truck, his lover, and the open road all conspired to make him feel on the threshold of amazing possibilities. That Amelia Gianfranco was at the other end waiting to destroy everything he cared about gouged away at any pleasure he might feel.

As mile after mile swept beneath his truck, he vowed he’d never allow her to harm one hair on the head of anyone he loved again.

* * * * *

Yamane woke up when it nudged at his conscious mind that the truck was no longer moving. He could see they were at a rest stop, a nice one, and Rory was returning from the bathroom. The sun, which had been bright that morning, was now sliding behind dark and ominous clouds.

Rory opened the passenger door and asked him if he’d like to use the toilet. “I didn’t want to wake you, but…”

“I’ll be back in a minute.” The first fat rain droplets were coming down just as Yamane was returning from the men’s room.

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“It looks like we’re in for something,” Rory said as he handed Yamane some food he’d purchased from the vending machines.

Yamane looked at the sky. “I really like the rain.” Rory stared at him. “I have an awful feeling you’ve never seen rain like the rain that’s about to come down here. Have you spent much time in the Midwest?”

“No, this is my first trip.”

“Prepare yourself, Yamane,” Rory said. “It’s going to rain frogs.”

* * * * *

Six hours of the unrelieved, flat landscape of Nebraska under a blinding electrical storm later, Yamane was vowing it would be his last trip to the Midwest, ever. He was not new to weather, but driving under a huge sky lit up almost constantly by giant slashes of lightning, relentless explosions of earsplitting thunder, and buckets of rain was enough to shatter any illusions he had. Weather was a bad thing. Weather could get you killed.

“I’m stopping just outside of Omaha, cher. Just a little more, okay?” Rory watched Yamane put his game face on. “It’s fine, Rory. This is a nice, safe truck.

We’ll be fine.”

“Liar. I can feel you trembling over here. We’ll find a place to stay soon. Just hang on a little more.”

“Okay.” Yamane closed his eyes.

They pulled into a Quality Inn with a vacancy sign and parked the truck. Rory came around and opened the door for Yamane, and without even gathering their bags, led him into the office. He got a key and walked Yamane up the stairs to the second floor where their room looked over the motor court. As soon as Yamane was inside the room, he slammed into Rory like a rocket and clung to him.

“Crap,” he whispered into Rory’s ear. “Crap, crap, crap. How the hell do people live in this godforsaken place?”

“Shh.” Rory soothed him. “That was just bluster. It’s only when the winds pick up that it gets really bad.”

“I just couldn’t. I was hanging on like you said, but I hate this place.”

“Shh,” Rory whispered, even as his hands undid the button on Yamane’s fly. He didn’t know what compelled him. The explosive weather, the hint of danger, the terrified man clinging to him. It all combined to explode in his brain as a heat wave of such powerful attraction that it manifested itself in the irresistible urge to put his mouth on Yamane. Not later. Not in a minute. But now.

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Rory fumbled with the man’s zipper as he dropped to his knees, freeing Yamane’s erection from the fabric of his jeans and knit briefs. He gripped Yamane’s hips and drew him forward. When Rory closed his mouth around Yamane’s cock, the man’s knees buckled and he fell back against the door with a thud.

“Oh, shit,” Yamane whispered, hands wrapped in Rory’s hair.

Whatever else could be said of him, thought Rory, he was generally a quick study. All the while he was using his hands and his tongue on Yamane, he was relieving him of his clothing until Yamane’s trousers, briefs, shoes, and socks were gone.

Rory licked his fingers.

“Open for me, cher.” He circled and tapped against Yamane’s puckered hole. He used his mouth and fingers to turn Yamane into jelly, and when Yamane’s climax left him boneless, Rory held him pinned to the door like a butterfly specimen.

Rory relaxed his hold and Yamane fell on him, over his shoulder, and in that way he carried Yamane to the bed.

“Just a storm, Yamane,” he whispered. “Nothing we can’t handle. I’m going to get our things. You rest.” His feelings were all jumbled up, so he just stroked the fine hairs around Yamane’s face back from his forehead and left.

Even with the cold rain drenching him, Rory’s plans for what he was going to do when he got back to that room remained unchanged. He got into his truck to grab their bags, and when he heard his cell phone ring, it took him a minute to locate it.

“I’m here,” he said, thinking it was Yamane calling from the hotel.

“Hello,” said an unfamiliar man’s voice. “This is Ethan Calderon; you might remember me as Jenks. Are you enjoying your new truck?” 124

Z. A. Maxfield

Chapter Nineteen

Rory froze with shock. He stared dumbly at the telephone in his hand.

“Rory?”

“I’m here.”

“Good, I’ll make this brief. Amelia doesn’t know where you are right now. You’ve done a really good job of eluding us.”

“So?”

“This is an information-driven world, and I’m the king of information. Sometimes however, like now, I choose not to pass it along. I assume you’ve decided not to try to hide anymore?”

“That’s right, why bother?”