Date: Thu, 25 Feb 2016 14:52:18 -0600
From: Jack Schaeffer <jack.schaeffman@gmail.com>
Subject: Forever - Book II - Chapter 15

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Comments welcomed: jack.schaeffman@gmail.com


FOREVER
By Jack Schaeffer
Copyright © 2014-2016. All rights reserved.

BOOK TWO - CHANGES
Chapter 15

The gleaming white Gulfstream perched on the tarmac at Centennial Airport,
engines whining in the bright sun. I still had trouble believing it was
mine. Sam stirred next to me in the backseat as Ben parked the car in front
of the hangar.

"See you on board, guys," said Ben, grabbing his small backpack from the
front seat. Outside, he adjusted the leather holster under his arm and
threw a black sports jacket over his shoulder. Ben was mine, too, in a
manner of speaking. Private jets and body guards. Everything in my life was
so different now.

"You still want to do this, Jack?" asked Sam, dragging himself awake. He
looked deep into my eyes, somehow infusing me with his confidence and
strength. I had a daunting task in front of me today. I wished we had time
for him to infuse something else into me, but we had a schedule to keep.

"Yes. Let's do it," I replied, sounding more confident than I felt. Sam
nodded and we slid out of the car, walking hand in hand to the front of the
aircraft.

"Morning, guys," shouted Captain Ron from the top of the stairs, straining
to be heard above the engines. We scrambled up into the much quieter
cabin. "We'll have you airborne in ten minutes. Great day for flying."

"Cool, Ron," replied Sam. "Anything to eat on board?" I laughed. Sam had
wolfed down a large stack of Maggie's hazelnut pancakes with real maple
syrup for breakfast barely an hour before. He had the metabolism of a
hummingbird.

"I'm sure there's something in the galley," said Ron. "Coffee's on if you
want some." He left to do his final inspection and safety checks. I assumed
Justin was already in the right hand seat in the cockpit. Ben was seated in
the back row, his eyes closed.

"You're awfully quiet this morning. Long night?" I said, stowing my suit
coat in a narrow closet.

He cracked an eyelid and groaned. "Peggy and I hooked up after her catering
event last night. My ass is dragging this morning, but I'll be fine by the
time we get to Oklahoma City. Assuming you don't yap at me the whole way,"
he said with a wry grin. I smiled. He closed his eyes again.

The rear lavatory door popped open and Justin stepped out, wiping his hands
on a towel. He looked up at me and smiled.

"Mornin', Jack. Lav's are all cleaned up and ready to go."

"Good morning, Justin. And why is my co-pilot cleaning the bathroom?" I
asked.

"Somebody's got to," he replied with a blank look.

"Well...yeah, but don't we have a service for that?"

He shrugged. "We used to, back when Phillip Franklin first bought the plane
and had us flying more. But lately it's just been Ron and me - seems silly
to hire it out when one of us can do it."

I nodded, dropping the subject for now. Sam came back from the galley, a
large chocolate chip muffin in one hand and a tall travel mug of coffee in
the other.

"Moanin', Jufin," said Sam with a mouthful of muffin.

Justin grinned. "Mornin', Sam. I see you found the muffins. Good thing I
got one before you climbed aboard."

"This is so good. Where'd you get `em?" asked Sam after he swallowed.

"Ron's wife Nancy made `em, I think."

"Mmmm. You want a bite, Jack?" said Sam

I looked at the offered half eaten muffin. "Uh...no thanks. You enjoy it,
Sam." He smiled and took another big bite.

"Jack," said Justin. "I just want to say thanks again for letting Gary and
me crash at your house after the party. I haven't been that wasted in a
long time. I hope I didn't make a fool of myself." Sam snorted and I
elbowed him in the side.

"What?" said Justin. "Oh shit...tell me...what did I do?"

"Well...thankfully most of the other guests had gone home already, so..."

"Jack! Tell me!" His face was pale now.

"It was no big deal. You and Gary started getting a little...frisky...and
one thing led to another, and somehow you ended up in the pool."

"Huh. I don't remember my clothes getting wet," he said.

"That's because you weren't wearing any," said Sam, grinning.

"Oh fuck," said Justin, lowering his eyes, his cheeks bright red. "I'm
sorry, guys. I hope I didn't embarrass anybody."

"No harm done. Like I said, by that time it was only Sam and me, Sully and
Mark, and you and Gary. Everybody else had gone home. We were all out on
the pool deck. Somehow you and Gary ended up in the hot tub in just your
underwear, and at some point, you ripped yours off, tried to get his off,
he resisted, and then you got out and ran over to the pool and jumped in,
screaming about freezing your nuts off."

"What did Gary do?" asked Justin, looking horrified.

"Laughed hysterically, same as the rest of us," said Sam, chuckling.

"Shit. I can't believe I did that to Gary. No class," said Justin,
disgusted with himself.

"Gary seemed fine to me," said Sam. "I gave him a couple of towels, he went
over to the pool and wrapped you up when you climbed out, and then he
kissed you. You sort of melted in his arms. Then you leaned on him for
support while Jack led you guys to the bedroom downstairs. We didn't see
you again until lunch on Sunday.

Justin grunted. "That was a helluva hangover, man. My head hurt till
Tuesday." He rubbed his temple in remembrance. "No wonder Gary was so quiet
the next day. I've gotta find a way to make it up to him."

"Why?" I asked. "I mean, it's none of my business, but Gary didn't seem
upset. Nobody was. Sully and Mark definitely enjoyed your little show -
Mark said something about the joys of foolish youth - but that was it. It's
not like you guys had sex on the deck."

"I don't know. Gary's not comfortable with `foolish youthful
behavior'. He's a high class professional criminal attorney with a stellar
reputation. He's uneasy in more relaxed social settings. I was surprised he
even agreed to come to the party. I think he said yes just to meet you
guys. Then he started drinking with me, which he almost never does,
and...well...you know the rest. I'm sure he felt embarrassed the next day
after losing control."

"But...he didn't lose control," said Sam, confused.

"Sure he did...of me. He lost control of me, and when I get crazy in
public, even in a fun way, it drives him crazy in a bad way. We almost
broke up over it several times in the early years. I felt like he was
constraining me, trying to mold me into something acceptable in his
world. I rebelled at first, but eventually I settled down, because in the
end, I knew I'd be lost without him."

"So...you're saying you're an extension of him, and he's an extension of
you? What you do reflects on him, and vice versa?" I asked.

"Exactly. It took me forever to figure that out. No matter how much I don't
want it to be true, it is. If I'm going to be with Gary, then I have to
think about what I do and how it reflects on him. Obviously I blew it at
the party. Thanks for telling me, guys."

"No worries," I replied. "I hope it works out with you and Gary."

"We'll be fine. He's the forgiving type. Actually I'm surprised he didn't
give me a ton of shit for showing my junk to the boss," he said, smiling
sheepishly at me. I blushed.

"Just tell him you were angling for a promotion," said Sam, grinning. I
punched him hard in the arm. Justin laughed and turned back toward the
cockpit. Sam pushed me toward a pair of leather seats and we buckled in.

As the engines screamed down the runway, the only man's junk on my mind was
Sam's. I casually dropped my hand on his crotch, squeezing softly. Sam
grinned and slid down, spreading his legs to encourage my explorations. His
dick grew hard and tight against his zipper.

I leaned over to whisper in his ear. "One of these days, I want you buried
in my ass at takeoff. I want to feel the g-forces pressing you deep inside
me."

Sam gasped and grabbed my hand, stopping my strokes. "Fuck, Jack," he
hissed. "You're gonna make me cum."

"Too bad we aren't alone, or I'd do that thing you like," I whispered. Sam
groaned, then leaned over and kissed me softly. It was sweet and full of
promise. I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder.

In a week of getting fucked by Sam, sometimes twice a day, I had learned a
few things. My words, as much as my touch, had the power to turn him on and
push him to the edge. Or I could give him a look, the one that said I need
your dick in my ass now, and he'd cross the room and take me right on the
spot. We were getting very, very good at making love. We sure practiced
enough.

About the time the plane leveled off, Sam was more or less back in control
of himself, and Ben started snoring softly.

"Somebody jumps out of the cargo hold mid-flight, looks like we'll have to
defend ourselves," said Sam.

"Yeah. He's wiped. He and Peggy had a late night. I didn't even know he
went out last night, did you?"

"Nope. I'm sure he had his guy patrolling the grounds, though, plus the guy
down at the gate."

"Does it ever seem like overkill to you, all the security?" I asked.

"Yes and no. Maybe we don't need guards around the clock at the house, but
no amount of security is too much if it keeps you safe, Jack. We can't let
another crazy like Arnold Turner get to you. Charles may not always be
around with his shotgun, and as studly as I am, I'm no match for flying
bullets. But I'd take one to keep you from getting hurt."

"Sam...I..." I started. He put a finger gently on my lips.

"You don't have to say it, Jack. I know you'd do the same. All the more
reason why we can't take a chance on either of us getting hurt. Or anybody
else on the team."

I leaned my head on Sam's shoulder. "I love you, Sam."

"I love you back, Jack." Sam squeezed my hand.

"Speaking of the team, they've worked their butts off this week, haven't
they," I said.

"I'll say. Simon's out at the new building every morning before seven to
meet with Chris and the construction crew, then he holes up with you and
Todd the rest of the day. Mason and Danny are glued to their computers from
daylight till dark. And Will juggles IT and all the legal issues thrown at
him by everybody else. I worked with him a lot this week. I'm telling you,
Will is super smart."

I gasped. "Crap!"

"What?" he replied.

"I just realized we've been running so fast this week, I don't even know
what you've been working on."

"So."

"So? I've completely ignored you! I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Sam." I
couldn't believe I'd been so myopic as to be unaware of his efforts the
past week. Where was my head?

He laughed. "Relax. It's all cool. You've been tied up mostly with Todd and
Simon. My biggest job has been helping the guys coordinate the physical
move to the new place next weekend, assuming the construction gets
done. Todd suggested I start a big chart to track everything. The guys keep
giving me things to add to it, and I check them off when they're done."

"I still can't believe I didn't know, Sam. I feel horrible," I said.

"Why? You have a job to do, Jack, and it's not babysitting me. I'm fine. I
like working with the guys, way more than I thought I would. Hopefully I'm
able to take some pressure off."

"I'm sure you are, Sam. I just...I don't want work to get in the way of
us."

"It won't, Jack. We won't let it."

"How can you be so sure? We went a whole week and I hardly saw you. You
were working with everyone but me."

"I'm just trying to help as best I can," said Sam.

"I know, and the team really appreciates it. It's just..." I hesitated.

"What?" asked Sam gently.

I shook my head. "You'll think I'm being silly."

"No, I won't. Tell me."

I looked into his beautiful blue eyes. "I don't want to share you. I want
you with me all the time. I know it's selfish and impossible, but...it's
how I feel."

Sam squeezed my hand again. "I feel the same way, Jack. But other people
need us. We want to change the world, right?"

I sighed. "Yes...but it's more fun when we can do it together," I said,
looking down

"Hey," said Sam, pulling my chin up. "At least you get me all to yourself
at night. And we haven't exactly wanted to talk shop in the evenings." He
kissed me. My toes tingled.

"You do have a way of distracting me from my professional
responsibilities," I said with grin.

"I can't help it, when you've got the hottest ass I've ever laid eyes
on. You know how hard it is - and how hard I am - watching you walk around
the bank in your tight suit pants, or lean over the conference table to
grab a file, or fuck...just look at me from across the room? I can't get
enough of you."

"It's not just me?" I said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well...I mean...I start to feel...empty when you're not in me. It's
embarrassing."

"Embarrassing? I think it's fucking hot!"

"Really? I don't want you to think I'm some kind of slut or something," I
said.

"Jack...I would never think that. Has it been too much? I can dial it
back. I know I get a little...demanding sometimes," he said. He actually
blushed.

"No! Don't you dare change anything. I like it when you get a little
demanding. It turns me on big time."

"Yeah?"

I nodded.

He leaned closer and whispered seductively. "So you liked it when I pushed
you up against the shower wall, and made you stand perfectly still while I
opened you up with my fingers, then slowly pushed my rock hard cock deep
inside your ass?"

I nodded, my pulse quickening.

"And you liked it when I bent you over the back of the couch in the living
room and pounded your hole, holding your arms behind your back so you
couldn't push me off?" A tiny gasp escaped my lips as I nodded again.

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, pivoting to stand in front of
me. He reached down and unfastened my seatbelt, letting his fingers graze
my hardening dick. He smiled down at me, then slowly sat on my lap, facing
me, his legs straddling my hips. He leaned into my face until our lips were
nearly touching. "Do you like it when I invade your space like this?" he
whispered, his blue eyes dancing.

"Yes," I whispered back.

"You like knowing for a certain fact that when I get you home tonight, my
dick is gonna be all the way down your throat and deep inside your ass
until I'm satisfied?"

"Yes!" I squeaked.

"So...are you saying you like me?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

"Not even a little bit, you jerk," I said, grinning back.

Then he kissed me.

It was like the first time all over again. White heat, sparks flying,
tongues battling for control. My dick was so hard it hurt. Not being able
to just rip our clothes off and go for it created a powerful tension, the
restraints of time and place adding fuel to the fire. I could feel Sam's
heart pounding in his chest as I stroked his nipples through his dress
shirt. I pinched them a little harder, and Sam ripped his lips from mine,
gasping for air. His eyes were wild with lust and need.

I started to speak, but Sam put a finger to my lips. Our eyes remained
locked in a heated embrace. My senses were on hyperdrive. I could hear
blood rushing through my veins, the gentle hiss of the airplane slicing
through the atmosphere, even Ben's soft snoring coming from the back row. I
could feel Sam's rigid cock pressing hard into mine, the pressure of his
thighs squeezing, holding me down.

Sam grabbed my hands, interlocking our fingers, and pressed them back
against the leather seats. His eyes flared as he slowly ground his dick
into mine. I moaned. He pressed into me again, sliding his cock along
mine. Another soft moan escaped my lips. I saw it - his eyes telling me he
wanted this. Don't try and stop it - let him take me where he wanted to
go. I nodded in surrender.

Sam quickened his pelvic grinding. Keeping our hands locked against the
seats, he leaned over and kissed me, stoking the fire and pushing it
downward. I felt it in my own nipples, lightly rubbing against my shirt,
along with the tingling sensations of approaching orgasm building rapidly
from deep within my ass. Sam pressed harder now, intent on his goal.

All rational thought short-circuited. I started pushing up against his
downward thrusts, adding to the friction. He gasped and I could see he was
close. I nodded, letting him know I was right there with him. He smiled and
kept sliding our cocks together. I knew without looking down we both were
leaking heavily.

I was struggling to hold out for him, hovering on the brink. Without
warning, he sucked in a mouthful of air and started to shake all over. The
tremors of his orgasm pushed me over the edge, and I matched him pulse for
pulse. It seemed to last much longer than usual - maybe it was an altitude
thing. A minute later our breathing slowed, our heartbeats returned to
normal, and Sam fell against my neck, releasing my hands. I wrapped my arms
around his back and held him close.

No longer lost in lust, rational thought returned, and we realized we had a
big problem. Neither one of us had a change of clothes.

"Oh shit, Jack, I'm sorry. We're a mess," he said, leaning back.

I smiled. "No worries. We go commando. You take the forward lav, I'll take
the rear. We clean up as best we can and meet back here." He smiled, gave
me a quick peck on the lips and leaped off my lap.

"Sam?" I said. He stopped and turned.

"I love you."

"I know," he replied with a huge grin, then literally ran to the front
lavatory.

The next fifteen minutes involved trying to rid my suit pants of all carnal
evidence. Thankfully they were dark navy blue, so after wiping them off
with a damp wash cloth, and a couple of minutes under the blow dryer, I put
them back on, sans underwear, and checked the mirror. Good to go.

Sam came out a few minutes later looking sexy as hell, carrying his soiled
underwear wrapped up in a hand towel, same as me. I could see the outline
of his big dick hanging against the still damp spot on the front of his
dark grey pants. My ass twitched. I couldn't wait to get this trip over
with so I could get that thing inside me again.

We met in the aisle and gently kissed. I smiled and took his towel and
dirty underwear, along with mine, and hid the pile in the bottom of a
closet across from the galley. Returning to Sam, we sat across from each
other at the four-seater table. It was odd not to see Todd's crap spread
all over it. This was normally his domain when we flew.

"Don't let me forget to grab our underwear before we leave tonight," I
said. "I don't want Ron or Justin finding them. We'd never hear the end of
it."

"That was so hot, Jack. Fuck...I lose all control when you kiss me like
that," said Sam.

"Like what?"

"Like you just did. I don't know...you just...it's like you kick it into a
different gear. You kiss me and everything inside catches fire, and I swear
there's only one way to put it out."

"Hmmm...so I'm like your little firefighter?" I teased.

"More like my little arsonist," he laughed. I reached for his hand across
the table, and we sat there in a comfortable silence, gazing into each
other's eyes. Until Ben grunted, made some strange gurgling noises, and
settled back into a soft snore.

"Yikes," said Sam. "I'm glad he didn't wake up when we were...you know."

"Me too," I said.

Sam looked deep into my eyes. I was so used to this move, I calmly let him
in. I don't know what he saw, but his eyes clouded over. "Are you really
okay, Jack? I've pushed you pretty hard this week."

I knew what he was asking. For a guy who was very mild-mannered and easy
going outside the bedroom, Sam was aggressive and dominant in our sex
life. More shocking was the fact I liked it - even needed it. I'd spent my
whole life being in control of everything around me, both personally and
professionally. I had to be to survive. Sam made it possible to let my
guard down and give in to my deepest desires.

"I think I'm okay," I answered. "I mean...yeah...I am. Physically I'm
fine. I feel good. So far I've enjoyed everything we've done. I had no idea
I would feel the way I do about it."

"How so?"

"Well...growing up it was all fantasy, right? Until you, I'd never done
anything with anyone. I always assumed getting fucked would feel good
physically, otherwise why would anybody do it. But...I never counted on the
head trip."

"The head trip?"

"Yeah. There's something mysterious and amazing about having you inside me,
Sam. It's like it resets a switch inside my head, or somewhere deep down in
my soul. Like there's something in there out of whack, and when you fuck
me, it fixes whatever's broken or out of alignment. Half the time I don't
even care if I cum. Does that make any sense?"

He paused and thought about it. "Kind of. There were a few times when I was
with Jeremy, and he was being sweet and nice to me...yeah...I see what
you're saying. It does sort of create a connection...or something...on the
inside." I saw a flash of pain cross his face, then it was gone.

"Are you okay, Sam? I didn't mean to upset you," I said.

"I'm fine."

"I wasn't trying to bring up bad memories. I'm sorry."

Sam squeezed my hand. "I'm okay...I promise. There was a time I felt a deep
connection to Jeremy. He obviously didn't feel the same. But that's all in
the past, and I'm with you now, and I couldn't be happier." He smiled at
me. I almost believed him.

Sam was the most unselfish person I'd ever met. He always put others above
himself.  He did the same in our sex life. I loved the aggressive,
possessive, dominant side of Sam, and I encouraged him to be free and do
whatever he wanted with me. But no matter how forceful he was during sex,
he never stopped paying attention to how I was feeling and responding. I
saw it in his eyes and felt it in his touch. He still made it all about me.

I loved him, and part of loving him was making it all about him. He didn't
make it easy. Was there something Sam needed I wasn't giving him? Was I
really being selfish, always expecting him to take charge in sex? Did he
not feel the same deep connection to me as I did to him? Did he want me to
take a more dominant role sometimes? If he did, could I do it?

I took a deep breath. "Sam...can I ask you something?"

"Sure...anything."

"I know you said you didn't like it much when Jeremy...how do I say it?
Forced you?"

"I hated it. I still can't believe I let him do it."

I swallowed hard. "Would you ever...with me...would you ever want to do it
with me?"

"You mean have you fuck me?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. Only if you wanted to, though. I don't know if I'd be any good at
it, but I'd try if you wanted me to." He squeezed my hand. His eyes were
suddenly moist. Uh oh.

"Jack...I...shit." I squeezed his hand tighter and waited. And watched, as
Sam waged a mighty battle deep inside himself. It played out on his face as
he wrestled with his inner demons. Finally, he sighed and leaned back. He
never let go of my hand.

"I might...maybe...yes," he whispered, looking into my eyes. A single tear
fell over the edge on his left eye, and he wiped it away with an annoyed
sweep of his hand. The full gravity of his answer hit me - Sam trusted me.

He had been brutally betrayed by Jeremy Reynolds, physically and
emotionally, so I knew trusting me in this way was a gigantic step of
faith. It humbled me, and came with a heavy weight of responsibility. Sam
wasn't just offering me his ass - he was handing me the final piece of his
heart, saying, "Here, I want you to have this...but please don't break it."

It all made sense. When I first met Sam I was terrified of my own
shadow. But he had proven himself trustworthy from our first night
together, sitting on the beach in Hawaii. I knew he would never
intentionally hurt me, physically or emotionally, so I willingly submitted
to whatever he wanted to do sexually with no fear. I knew my heart was safe
in his hands, therefore my body was in no real danger, no matter how rough
he might get.

Now Sam was saying he was ready to do the same with me - to trust me with
everything.

I looked across the table into his radiant blue eyes and smiled. "Only if
and when you want to," I said. He grinned.

"We'll see. But tonight...your ass is mine, Schaeffer."

"Oh goody," I replied, and Sam laughed.

"You really do like getting fucked, don't you," he said, grinning.

"I love it. I need it, Sam. You don't think that makes me weird, do you?"

"Nope, not as long as I'm the only one enjoying your sweet little butt."

"As Billy would say, my ass belongs only to you, Sam."

"Hot diggity," he said, and we both burst out laughing.

Ben grunted loudly, twisted in his seat, then settled back down. Sam and I
waited until he was snoring again.

"I don't want to wake him up if we can help it. He gets cranky with no
sleep," I said.

"Yeah, we don't need `cranky' Ben. We want him alert and vigilant," said
Sam.

I sat back, lost in thought. On the one hand, I liked having Ben around. He
was totally cool with protecting a gay couple. He teased us mercilessly,
and we gave him back as good as we got. It was the right dynamic for the
unusual situation we lived in. Another plus - he was very dedicated to his
job. After the Arnold Turner affair, I didn't feel safe until Ben took over
our security permanently. But did I still need a full-time body guard?

"What are you thinking, Jack?" asked Sam.

I sighed. "I was talking to Charles the other night, and he told me the
Franklins never had security guards or drivers. They were obviously
wealthy. Plus, they were publicly known in the medical research world - he
was the CEO of the company at one point. If anybody would have had a target
on his back, it would have been Phillip."

"So? They never had a homicidal maniac come after them."

"True, but don't you think Turner was just a fluke? I can't imagine it
happening again."

"You don't think anybody could be gunning for you?"

"I don't see why they would. I mean, our company is a week old. I'm not a
public figure in any way, and I don't intend to ever be one. I'm sure Clyde
managed to hide my identity so I don't even show up in the company's
corporate structure."

"How'd he do that? Aren't you the CEO of Schaeffer & Associates?"

"In practice, yes. But on paper, Todd is the main guy. My trust owns the
company. This way, all transactions are done by the company, and no one is
the wiser. And if they do dig into our corporate structure, all they'll see
is the shares are owned by the trust, which is a legal dead end."

"Even so, your company's already starting to make waves. Think about
it. Just this week your team backed some pretty heavy hitters into a
corner."

"You mean Myron and Aaron Davidson down in Ft. Hancock? How so?"

"You bought the medical clinic right out from under them! If they ever find
out about your relationship with Andy and Mike and put two and two
together, they'll know they were played. As it is, they'll be furious when
the clinic stays open with the same gay doctors."

"My team was never able to determine if the Davidsons had anything to do
with trying to shut the clinic down. We still don't know who convinced the
Salus Society to stop funding it."

"But you went ahead and bought the building?"

"We thought it was the only way to guarantee nobody could bounce them out
of the community. They built the clinic - they have a right to stay there."

"I agree, but somebody doesn't want Andy and Mike practicing medicine in
Ft. Hancock. They somehow stopped their funding. Whoever it is, if they
find out you're behind keeping the clinic open, they could fix their sights
on you."

"I doubt there's much they could do to me or my company. We aren't beholden
to anyone or anything. Besides, I don't see how they'd ever find out. Todd
and Simon structured the deal through a local company called Bain
Brokerage. They've been around the area for a dozen years, buying
properties and managing them for a small profit. Bain bought several
buildings in Ft. Hancock from the Davidson brothers this week. Nothing
points to us. Unless they dig into Bain, they'll never know. Even Andy and
Mike don't know it was actually my company behind the deal. All they know
is their lease was renewed yesterday by Bain, with no restrictions."

"Let me guess - you now control Bain Brokerage," said Sam, smiling. "Is
that why Todd had me working with Clyde this week, setting up subsidiaries
for S&A? One of them now owns a majority share in Bain?"

"I think so. To be honest, the details escaped me once Danny and Todd
started arguing about real estate taxes and filing fees."

"The two of them do go at it, don't they," said Sam, chuckling.

"Yeah, but it's how they work together. They respect one another deeply, so
their squabbling somehow brings out the best in each of them. I just try to
stay out of the line of fire."

Sam laughed. "You're a great leader, Jack. You're learning to play to your
team's strengths. No wonder they accomplished so much in just a week. How'd
Bain get the Davidsons to sell them the clinic building?"

"My guess is by offering more than it's worth on the open market. Simon
suggested we buy more properties than we really wanted, to avoid any focus
on the clinic. Bain put together a package deal and the Davidsons went for
it. I think Simon picked a couple of their properties which were real
losers, knowing they'd jump at a chance to unload them. Whatever he did, it
worked. They didn't even counter."

"Simon's a sneaky devil, isn't he? So now you own a bunch of worthless
buildings in Texas. Did I hear Todd say yesterday you also bought the house
Andy and Mike rent?"

I nodded. "A different deal, but also through Bain. I don't know how he did
it, but Simon tracked down the owners and made them an offer they couldn't
refuse. Turns out it was a brother and sister who live in Dallas. I guess
they inherited it five years ago from their grandparents. They tried
selling, but couldn't find a buyer to cover the balance on the mortgage, so
they were renting it until the market turned up. The deal closes today. Now
Andy and Mike won't have to worry about getting evicted because the owner
doesn't want to rent to gays."

Sam looked confused.

"What's the matter, Sam?"

"I don't get it. You fixed everything for Andy and Mike - the clinic is now
in your control, and their house is now yours, too. So why are we going to
see the guy at the Salus Society?"

"Because the clinic still needs operating funds. We took away the immediate
local threat, but they have to have a steady influx of cash to keep the
doors open. And I want to know who tried to shut them down."

"You've got millions, Jack. Why don't you just fund them yourself? Why stir
things up?"

"I will, if it comes to that. But I have a different idea, which is why
we're paying the good folks at the Salus Society a friendly visit."

"What are you going to say to the guy we're meeting? What's his name
again?" asked Sam.

"Nelson Weaver, the managing director. And I'm thinking of offering him a
sizeable donation." Sam looked at me like I had grown a third eye. I
laughed.

"It's not funny, Jack. Why would you give them a dime after they
discriminated against Andy and Mike, just because they're gay? Mason said
they are definitely a Christian-based organization. I hardly think they'll
roll out the red carpet for the two of us."

"First of all, there are two sides to every story. Not every Christian
organization hates gays, and we have no idea where the Salus Society stands
on the issue, or the real reason why they stopped their funding. Nobody
would talk to Mike when he called. The best Mason could do was get us an
appointment today. I intend to ask Mr. Weaver face to face. It may very
well be they do discriminate against gay people, in which case I will NOT
be giving them any money, and we'll find a different way to get the clinic
funded."

"As for you and me, unless not wearing underwear is a dead giveaway, I
don't think we particularly stand out as gay men. But we probably shouldn't
hold hands when we walk in."

Sam smiled, then looked at me with a strange expression. "You remember when
I told you how my dad taught me character matters more than money?"

"Sure. I was convinced once you found out I was loaded, you'd dump me like
a hot rock."

"Hardly. What you're doing today - confronting Weaver - you're walking in
there with more character than all your money could ever buy. You're right,
we don't know the full story. It takes balls to look a man in the eye and
ask him straight up. I'm proud of you, Jack. I've got your back."

"Thank you, Sam." I couldn't look at him or I'd start crying. Damn! First
he gives me his trust, then he gives me his respect. Between his confidence
in me, and Amanda Franklin's admonishment to "do it afraid", I might just
be able to pull this off.

"Gentlemen, this is your co-pilot speaking," came Justin's voice over the
cabin PA system. "The captain will be doing a walk through the cabin before
we land in Oklahoma City. Make sure you're decent back there. He's old and
we don't want to give him a shock. And strap in tight, might be a little
bumpy on the way in."

Sam hopped up, washed his coffee cup in the galley sink, dried it, and
locked it away in a cabinet. He looked across to where I had hidden our
cum-filled underwear and winked at me. I smiled at my co-conspirator and he
pulled me into his chest, wrapping me up in his big muscular arms. He
hugged me until Ron crashed the party.

"Sorry to interrupt, guys, but you need to find your seats. Anything lying
around back here needs to be locked down."

"I think we're all set, Captain," said Sam.

"Great. See you boys on the ground."

Ben was standing up in the aft section, yawning and stretching, his hands
pressing against the cabin ceiling. He stowed his backpack under a seat and
moved up to sit across the narrow aisle from Sam and me.

"Feeling better, Ben?" I asked, cinching my seatbelt tight across my lap.

"I'm good. Do we have an agenda for today?"

"Lunch first, then our meeting is at one this afternoon. I don't know how
long it will last, but then straight back here and fly home," I replied.

"Roger. Our ride will be waiting at the hangar. Anything I need to be
concerned about with this meeting?" said Ben.

"Sam and I are meeting with the managing director. I doubt there will be
anybody else in the room, but I trust your instincts, Ben. If you feel like
you need to be with us, just say so."

"Cool."

Nothing more was said as the plane started shaking and dipping up and down,
like a runaway roller coaster. I grabbed Sam's hand and he squeezed until
it hurt. We all sucked air as the wheels hit the runway hard. My stomach
lurched as we bounced up ten feet, only to settle down for good a moment
later.

"Damn," said Ben, as we were thrown forward by reverse engine thrust and
heavy braking. The plane swerved sideways to the left, then a sudden shift
had us sliding in the opposite direction. We all had white-knuckled grips
on our armrests. Ron and Justin managed to wrest control from the cross
winds, and the plane settled into a straight line, coming to full stop
moments later.

"That was fun," said Sam, sarcastically. "You alright, Jack?"

"I think so. Hope the plane is."

"Me, too. I love this thing," said Sam. I looked over at Ben. He seemed a
little shaken.

"You okay, Ben?" I asked.

He didn't respond. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring far ahead
and seeing things not really there. His left hand shook against the
armrest. Not knowing what else to do, I reached across the aisle and put my
hand on his. He felt hot to the touch, and his breathing was fast and
shallow.

"What's happening to him?" I whispered to Sam.

"I don't know," he answered.

Ben suddenly yelled, "Is everybody alright?"

"We're fine, Ben. Everybody's fine," I said.

He nodded, shook his head as if to clear it, then looked down at my hand on
top of his. "Why are you holding my hand, Schaeffer?" I pulled it away.

"You didn't look so good there for a minute. Are you okay?"

He swallowed. "Yeah." He didn't look okay.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," I said.

He sighed. "Kind of. I was on a plane that crash landed in Italy, back in
my military days. Flashbacks suck."

"Were you hurt?" asked Sam.

"No, not really. We lost the landing gear and an engine from under one
wing, but the plane held together. Just bumps and bruises. The two-star
general I was protecting at the time was shaken up pretty good, though. He
insisted on travelling by train for the duration of our NATO tour."

"I hope we don't have to take a train back to Denver," I said, as the plane
started moving again. We taxied for a couple of minutes, finally coming to
a stop. The engines cycled down to a soft idle, and I unbuckled my
seatbelt. After the rough landing, I was a little shaky on my legs.

The cockpit door opened and Ron walked back toward us.

"Everybody okay back here?" he asked.

"We're good," said Sam. "What about you guys?"

"Sorry for the rough landing. The cross winds were worse than we
thought. Justin's up there giving the tower holy hell right now. We should
have never attempted to land with those gusts. Well...all's well that ends
well, I guess," said Ron.

"Is the plane okay?" I asked. "That was quite a bump on the landing."

"She's a tough bird, Jack. But Justin and I will give her a close going
over while you're doing your thing today. If I find any problems, I'll text
you. Planes are made to take a hard landing here and there. I think we'll
be fine."

"Will we be able to take off again later?" asked Sam.

"The winds are forecast to die down by this afternoon, so I think we'll get
out with no worries."

"Keep us posted, Ron," I said.

"Have a good afternoon. See you in a few hours," he said, then turned to go
back and let down the forward stairs.

Our car - yet another black SUV - was waiting on the tarmac as
advertised. I had no idea how Ben arranged such things. He wasted no time
throwing his backpack in the cargo space in the rear. Sam and I slid in
back, and he jumped into the driver's seat.

"Fast food or fancy lunch?" asked Ben, slipping on a pair of Revo
sunglasses. I looked at Sam and he shrugged. He'd eat pretty much anything.

"Something easy. You pick," I said, settling back and leaning my head on
Sam's shoulder. He held my hand and kissed the top of my head. I closed my
eyes, hoping to settle my nerves a bit before the meeting.

Fifteen minutes later, Ben pulled into a strip mall and parked in front of
a Subway restaurant. We had the place to ourselves. I ordered a roasted
turkey sub, Sam went with a steak and cheese smothered in hot peppers, and
Ben ordered a foot-long meatball with extra sauce. Brave man - I'd be
wearing most of that. We found a table near the back of the restaurant and
sat down to eat. Ben and Sam ripped into their sandwiches. I picked at
mine.

"You're not eating, Jack. You nervous?" asked Sam.

"A little," I replied.

"Well, if it helps, I doubt you're in any physical danger. Shouldn't have
any trouble," said Ben, taking another big bite of his sandwich.

Sam and I exchanged looks. "And how do you know that?" I asked.

"What? You think I just wing it with security?" asked Ben. "As soon as Todd
told me your plans to come here, I started surveillance and background
checks."

"Background checks? On who?" asked Sam.

Ben looked at his phone. "Nelson Weaver and Sherrie Walker. Far as I can
tell, they're the only regular staff at the...Salus Society. What's up with
that name?"

"It's Latin. It means health or healing, according to Mason," I said.

"Well, Mr. Weaver and Ms. Walker check out. Threat assessment zero. No
history of violence or trouble with the law. No questionable financial
transactions. They've both been at this place for over ten years."

"Any chance of surprise guests?" asked Sam.

"I had a buddy do a little reconnaissance yesterday. You should be safe
enough."

"What kind of reconnaissance?" asked Sam.

"He drove by the office building and watched for a while. It's a small
outfit, very little foot traffic. The only visitors he saw were FedEx and
UPS. Two doors, front and back. Only two cars in the lot. License plates
match cars registered to Weaver and Walker. He's sitting there now, keeping
an eye on the place."

Sam grinned at me. I nodded in agreement - Ben was very good at his
job. Feeling a lot less nervous, I took a full bite of my sandwich. Turned
out I was really hungry. I even ate a few of Sam's potato chips, narrowly
avoiding getting my hand slapped.

We arrived at our destination ten minutes early. Ben cruised through the
collection of single-story, modern bungalows arranged inside a large oval
of flat land. Each building had yellow brick walls and a high pitched
roof. In front, a dozen parking spaces pushed up against the sidewalk. Two
clusters of pine trees swayed in the strong winds, filling in the common
area behind the office buildings.

Ben parked. A small plaque on the building we faced identified the Salus
Society headquarters. Nice, but hardly impressive.

Ben's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then looked to his right,
stared at a man in a blue Toyota 4-Runner, and nodded. The man nodded back.

"We're all clear. You guys can go in. I'm going to take a stroll back
behind the buildings, keep an eye on the rear entrance. Text me when you're
ready to roll."

"Thanks, Ben. We shouldn't be long," I said. I turned to look at Sam. He
smiled, kissed me softly, and focused his deep, blue eyes right into my
soul.

"You've got this, little man. Ready?" I nodded. "Okay then, let's go."

We exited the car and strolled up to the front door. I pulled on the
handle, but it was locked. Sam noticed a doorbell and poked it. Somewhere
inside a pleasant chime announced our presence on the front stoop.

"May I help you," said a sweet voice with a strong Southern accent.

"Yes," I said, in the general direction of the speaker above the
doorbell. "My name is Jack Schaeffer. I have a meeting with Nelson Weaver."

"Oh my, yes....yes, of course. Come on in," said the sweet voice. The door
lock clicked, and Sam pulled it opened, waving me through first. I winked
at him and walked in. His hand brushed the small of my back. It's the
little things.

The small lobby area was sparsely furnished. Nothing fancy, but not too
shabby. Simple and utilitarian. A couple of side tables, some lamps, maybe
six chairs total, arranged in a conversational cluster around a low square
table. The carpet was beige, the walls were beige, and the fabrics were
beige.  An overgrown green ficus tree standing in one corner near the
window provided the only color in the room. Its leaves needed serious
dusting.

A small woman sporting a platinum blond beehive came around from her
desk. "Welcome to the Salus Society. My name is Sherrie. May I get you
gentlemen anything? Coffee, tea, water?"

"No, thank you," I replied, shaking her delicate hand. Up close, she had to
be in her fifties. The shock of magenta on her lips was odd. I tried not to
stare.

"If y'all change your minds, just let me know. Why don't y'all have a seat
in the conference room there across the hall. Mr. Weaver will join you
shortly."

"Thank you," said Sam. We moved into the small conference room and found
seats on the far side of the brown Formica-topped conference table. My
chair squeaked as I sat down, but thankfully didn't collapse. There was
nothing else in the room, just a table and six chairs. No pictures, no
credenza, no telephone, no big computer screens. Just beige walls to stare
at.

Thankfully the managing director only kept us waiting two minutes. Nelson
Weaver arrived flustered, settling his bulky body in a chair across from us
after offering his hand in welcome. He sighed heavily.

"I'm so sorry, gentlemen, for my unfortunate delay. I was speaking with one
of our regular donors, and ending a conversation with her can be quite
difficult at times. But never mind that, how may I help you?"

"Mr. Weaver, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. We really
appreciate you taking time out of your busy day."

"No problem. And please, call me Nelson. We aren't very formal around
here."

"Fine. I'm Jack, and this is my partner, Sam."

"Nice to meet you both. My assistant said you had some questions about
making a donation to the Salus Society. How can I help?"

"Can you tell us a little more about what you do here and how you choose
the projects you fund?" I asked.

He smiled for the first time. "I'd be happy to. The Salus Society has been
around for about forty years now. I am the third managing director for the
organization. We focus exclusively on supporting medical professionals
whose purpose is to better the health and welfare of underprivileged
communities. We fund free medical clinics, medical testing and immunization
programs, and physicians and dentists who specialize in providing routine
outpatient procedures."

"How do you choose which organizations to support?" I asked.

"It's a process. Three medical doctors, two dentists and two local church
pastors sit on our Advisory Board. I meet with them once a month to discuss
operations and any new requests for funding. Part of my job is to conduct
background checks, perform peer reviews, and ultimately interview potential
recipients. The Board makes the final decision on who we support."

"I see. You mentioned part of the Board is made up of pastors. Would you
say the decision to fund a particular organization is heavily based on
church concerns?"

His eyes clouded over for just a second, then Nelson's smile returned. "I'm
not sure what you are asking?"

"I'm just wondering how much autonomy the Salus Society has in making its
decisions on which projects to fund."

"If you're asking is there a specific denomination or group of church
leaders directing our operations, the answer is no. If you don't mind my
asking, is this a particular concern of yours?"

I paused, not expecting his challenge. I wanted to hold Sam's hand for
moral support, but that wasn't an option. I swallowed and forged on.

"Not...necessarily. I'm just trying to understand what factors influence
your decision making process."

"I see. Well, the decision of who to support is largely based on the impact
a particular individual or group can make on the community it serves. Those
who demonstrate a solid operational plan with proven results will receive
the highest regard from our Board. As you can imagine, we have limited
resources, and our goal is to partner with medical professionals who are
changing people's lives for the better."

"So you do not have specific requirements for an organization to adhere to
particular church teachings or doctrines?"

"Of course not," said Nelson, now visibly irritated. "We obviously won't
support an organization that is openly hostile to Christians. We could
hardly be expected to do so, since the vast majority of our funding is
provided by people of Christian faith. But I can assure you, the men and
women who dedicate their lives to serving indigent people - of all faiths -
possess certain characteristics. The very work they do could be said to
support the basic tenets of Christian charity, if not in doctrine, then
certainly in action. I'm curious...why the heavy focus on church
involvement? Are you really here to discuss making a donation, or find ways
to criticize what we do?"

Clearly he was offended. Floundering, I looked to Sam to rescue the
conversation, but he just looked at me. I stared into his blue eyes,
silently begging him to take over.

"Well? I'm waiting for an answer," said Nelson. Sam nodded to me, and I
knew what to do. I turned back to the man across the table and tried hard
to smile.

"Nelson...I didn't mean to offend you with my questions, and I sincerely
apologize. I promise you, we are not here to criticize your organization,"
I said. "Let me ask a different question. What factors would influence the
Salus Society to withdraw support from an organization they had previously
funded?"

"Can you be more specific?" he asked, clearly on guard.

"Well...let's say you've been funding a medical clinic for years. Why would
you decide to no longer fund the clinic, assuming they are, as you said,
still making a significant impact in their community?"

"We wouldn't, generally speaking. However, as a donor-directed charitable
organization, we are required to honor the wishes of our donors."

"What does that mean?" asked Sam. Nelson looked at Sam.

"It means our donors can direct where their funds are spent. For example,
the woman I was on the phone with earlier - she has donated to us for
years, with the understanding all of the funds she gives will be directed
to vision care services only. Her father was a practicing ophthalmologist
and went on many missionary trips, performing cataract surgeries by the
hundreds in India and Africa. Her giving is a way for her to continue his
legacy. We have several different groups we fund who provide such services
around the country."

"So...if we were to make a donation, we could request the funds be given to
a particular organization?" I asked.

"Yes. We provide all potential donors with a list of the medical
organizations we support. You can choose to direct your donations to a
specific project, a group of projects, or to the general fund, leaving the
choice to us."

"So if I'm understanding correctly, you're saying decisions on who receives
support are heavily based on donor wishes, and not subject to outside
interference."

"For the most part, yes, I think that's a fair assessment. The Advisory
Panel has, on very rare occasions, made the decision to withdraw funding
from an organization, but to my knowledge, only when there has been a
proven charge of financial malfeasance or other...legal difficulties."

"Meaning...they turned out to be not nice people?" asked Sam.

Nelson smiled grimly. "Sadly, yes, that's exactly what I mean. Thankfully
it's only happened once during my tenure here over the last twelve years."

"So...is there any other reason why the Salus Society would withdraw
funding?" I asked, now slightly confused.

"None that I know of. As I said, we are a donor-directed operation. If a
donor decides they no longer want to support a particular organization,
there is little we can do to prevent it. We counsel donors to avoid abrupt
changes in funding, as these can harm an organization dependent upon our
support. To minimize the impact of one donor's decision, we spread funding
for each project across as many different donors as we can."

If what he was saying was true, there must have been one major donor
supporting the medical clinic in Texas. That donor must have pulled the
plug on Andy and Mike. But why not explain this turn of events to the
doctors? Why leave them in the dark?

"Nelson...I have just a couple more questions. If you can't answer them,
just say so." He nodded. "It has come to our attention there is a medical
clinic in Ft. Hancock, Texas which the Salus Society has supported for a
number of years. They have suddenly had their funding withdrawn. We came
here today to find out why, and to see if we could find a way to get their
funding reinstated."

Nelson's eyes registered his shock. "How do you know about this? Who sent
you here? What's this really all about?"

"No one sent us. We know the doctors who run the clinic personally. They
told us, and we'd like to help if we can."

"But...I don't understand. I haven't even..." His voice trailed off as he
looked down at his hands. A strange sadness washed over his face. Nelson
looked sideways, avoiding our eyes for the first time. Sam and I waited as
Nelson slouched into his chair, debating with himself - should he confide
in us or not? Finally he sat up straight in his chair and looked at us.

"I don't know why I'm doing this, but if you really want to help, I'm going
to tell you what I know. Maybe you know something I don't. I can't reveal
any donor's name, of course, just as I would never reveal yours should you
gentlemen decide to partner with us. All I can say is we have received a
number of calls from donors who have requested we suspend all funding to
the medical clinic immediately. Normally we require a sixty day notice
before such changes take effect, to give us time to remediate the impact,
if we can. I've been working diligently to find other funding. Just when I
think I've got it covered, I receive another call. They say the same thing,
and I'm back to square one. I'm running out of time. I don't want to have
to notify the doctors running the facility of the change in status. I don't
know how they found out."

Sam and I looked at each, stunned. He didn't know? What was going on here?

"Uh...sir...didn't you send a registered letter to Dr. Andrew Munroe and
Dr. Michael Branson, informing them of the loss of funding and requesting
they close their clinic at the end of this month?" asked Sam.

"Excuse me? I did no such thing! First of all, I've already managed to
secure funding from other sources to cover half the loss to the clinic. If
I get no more cancellations, I'm hopeful I can restore the full amount
within a month. That's my job, gentlemen. I find money, and get it into the
hands of those who can do the most good with it. The clinic in Ft. Hancock
is one of our biggest success stories in the last decade. They don't know
this, but I've spoken with several community leaders there and they all
rave about the good being done at the clinic. To be honest, I was shocked
when the requests came to cease funding. I did everything I could to change
their minds, but it's like someone is deliberately poisoning the well, so
to speak."

I pulled a document from my briefcase. "This is a copy of the letter the
doctors received. It's on Salus Society letterhead, signed by you. You're
saying you didn't send this?" I pushed the letter across the table and
Nelson grabbed it. He read it quickly, his face reddening with each line.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Dr. Michael Branson gave it to us," I said. "He's tried to call here
several times for answers, but is rebuffed by someone with each call. He
asked us to look into it, which is why we're here."

"I did not write this letter. This is not how we do things here. I need to
think," he said. He stared at the wall to our left for several minutes,
working out something in his head. I saw his eyes flicker with an idea.

"Gentlemen, hang tight for a minute, if you would," he said. "Sherrie, can
you come in here for a moment," he yelled across the hall. A flustered
Sherrie appeared in the doorway a few seconds later.

"Sherrie, did you write this letter?" He handed it to her. Her hands shook
with fear as she read it.

"No, sir, I would never do such a thing. Besides, that's not how I sign
your name." She leaned in closer and half-whispered. "But I might know who
did."

"These boys know all about it, so no need to be secretive. Who do you think
did this?" She looked very uncomfortable. I felt bad for putting her in
this situation.

"Dr. McAdams, sir."

"Bernard? Why would he do something like this? He has no authority to act
in this manner. His role is advisory only." Sherrie shifted nervously,
wringing her hands. Nelson stood up, his bulky size towering over her small
figure. "Spill it, Sherrie. What else?"

"He...he...he asked me for some blank stationery after y'all's last
meeting. I didn't think it was a problem, so I gave him a few sheets of
letterhead. He called me the next day and said if either of the doctors
from that clinic called here, I was to politely refuse to answer them. He
said it twice - be polite, but tell them nothing. And whatever I did, don't
bother you with it. You're much too busy with more important things, he
said."

"And you did what he said?" She nodded, nearly in tears.

"When Dr. Branson called again yesterday, I was beside myself. I planned on
speaking to you about it this afternoon, after your meeting. It didn't feel
right, keeping the doctor in the dark, bless his heart. What's going on,
Nelson?" she begged.

"I'm not sure, but I'm going to get to the bottom of it. Can you boys wait
here for a few more minutes while I make some calls?"

"Of course," I replied.

"Pull it together, Sherrie. I need your help. Get me a list of every donor
who currently funds the clinic in Ft. Hancock. I need names and phone
numbers. Bring it down to my office. Quickly now." She turned, grateful for
something to do, and Nelson followed her out.

I turned to Sam and whispered, "Holy crap! We stirred up a hornet's nest,
didn't we?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm glad he's letting us stay to see how this plays
out. You okay, little man?"

"Yeah, now that he knows we're on the same side. Whatever's going on, I
hope he can put a stop to it."

Sam tried to distract me by whispering sexy things he planned on doing to
me later, but it only made me more nervous. I watched through the open door
as Sherrie flew up from her desk, rushed to a printer, and pulled off a
sheaf of papers, presumably the donor list. She gave me a flat line grin as
she raced down the hallway to Nelson's office. I could hear him yelling on
his phone, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.

Twenty minutes later, Nelson and Sherrie returned. He issued orders. "Send
an email to every name on this list. Here's the text for it," he said,
handing her a piece of notebook paper. "Let's try to get postal letters out
today as well. I'll start phone calls in a little while. If anyone calls,
put them through to me, okay?"

"Yes, sir. I'm on it." She sat down at her desk and concentrated on her
computer screen.

"If you need us to get out of your hair, we can. We certainly don't want to
be in the way of you doing what you need to do," I said, standing up as
Nelson came back into the conference room.

"No, no. Sit back down. I have information for you, and maybe a question or
two." I looked at Sam and slowly sat back down in my chair.

"Bernard McAdams is a retired physician and now the pastor of a small
church here in Oklahoma City. He's managed to find his way onto several
charity boards. Apparently he has also taken it upon himself to launch a
crusade of sorts against the medical clinic in Ft. Hancock. I've spoken to
all but one member of our advisory panel, and they each told me he has been
lobbying to have the clinic removed from our approved list. A few seemed
inclined to agree with him at first, but I believe I was able to help them
see things more realistically."

"Excuse my interruption, but...why? Why would McAdams want to shut down the
clinic?" I asked.

"Ah...yes. Well, that brings me to a question for you. You arrived here
today with some very specific concerns about our funding decisions. Did you
think the Salus Society intended to shut down the clinic because Dr. Munroe
and Dr. Branson are a gay couple?"

I looked at Sam and he grinned. Nelson was full of surprises. I swallowed
hard. "Yes...Nelson...we thought that might be the reason. But we didn't
know for sure, and I wasn't comfortable making any assumptions, so I
decided to come here and ask you in person. I was hoping it wasn't true."

"It's not true. The fact that Dr. Munroe and Dr. Branson are gay did not
escape me during the review process, back when we all worked together to
establish the clinic in the first place. You'd have to be willfully blind
not to see they were in love with each other. As are the two of you, if I'm
not mistaken." He smiled widely.

"You are not mistaken," said Sam, reaching for my hand under the table. He
looked at me, willing me to stay put. I forced myself to breathe again.

"The members of the advisory panel had no objection to funding a project
run by two gay doctors?" said Sam.

"We discussed it. It doesn't come up often, but we're citizens of the
modern world, same as everybody else. What is important to the Salus
Society is bringing first class medical care to the needy, not the romantic
involvements of the doctors themselves. So long as their personal
relationships don't interfere with providing quality medical care, and they
aren't publicly advocating against the church in some way, it's a non-issue
for us."

"I take it Dr. McAdams does not share this opinion?" said Sam.

"Apparently not. He only joined the Board three months ago. How he
discovered the sexual orientation of the doctors, I don't know. Maybe
another Board member told him. At any rate, from what I can piece together
so far, he's called every donor who supports the clinic and encouraged them
to withdraw or redirect their giving. Thankfully less than half agreed with
him. What good he hoped to accomplish by shutting down the only medical
care facility in a one hundred mile radius of that God-forsaken dust bowl,
I can't imagine. At the very least, it's clear he does not possess the
ideals and vision of the Salus Society, and his involvement has been
terminated effective immediately. We are not a personal platform from which
to pontificate certain points of view."

"This is very good news, Nelson. Thank you very much," I said.

He nodded. "Actually, it's you I need to thank. I might never have looked
internally for the root of the problem, without you taking the time and the
expense to come here today. I will call every name on the list and
personally apologize for this fiasco. Hopefully I can persuade some to
reconsider. We'll see. And...I have been directed by the Board to do
whatever necessary to ensure full funding for the clinic. I will call
Dr. Branson this evening and tell him everything. I don't want to disturb
him during clinic hours. I would appreciate it if you would give me the
opportunity to make this right, and avoid speaking with him until I've had
a chance to do so."

"Of course. And we'd like to help, too." I reached inside my suit coat and
pulled out a piece of paper. "I have a check here from The Phillip and
Amanda Franklin Foundation in the sum of one hundred thousand dollars,
payable to the Salus Society. Do you think you could find a worthy project
to fund with this money?"

Nelson smiled broadly. "Why, yes...I believe I have the perfect project in
mind. A couple of doctors in the Texas desert are in need of some new
equipment for their clinic. I think this will be more than adequate." I
handed over the check, and he studied it for a moment.

"Phillip and Amanda Franklin...I've never heard of them," said Nelson.

"The Franklins were pioneers in medical research. They believed advances in
medicines could make a huge impact on the quality of life for others. Like
the Salus Society, we intend to carry on their legacy and follow the
Franklins' vision to change people's lives for the better in every way we
can. It's an honor to partner with you, Nelson. I hope this is just the
first of many worthwhile collaborations."

Nelson looked at us across the table. "Gentlemen, I am humbled by you
taking the time to come to see me today. Lesser men would have assumed the
worst and gone their own way. Thank you, both, for your respect and the
trust you've shown me and my organization. We won't let you down."

We stood up and all shook hands, sealing the relationship. I had a very
good feeling about this new partnership. And I was relieved Andy and Mike
would not lose a dime of their funding.

As we stepped out of the conference room, Sherrie was all smiles again. Her
boss was happy, so she was happy. We said our final goodbyes and departed.

The earlier strong winds had diminished. Hopefully we would be able to take
off with no delays. I texted Ben to let him know we were ready to leave. He
sauntered across the lawn from behind the office, and together we all piled
into the SUV. Sam pulled me into a big hug.

"I'm beyond proud of you, Jack. You solved the big mystery and got Andy and
Mike's funding restored. You're doing it, man. You're really doing it."

Ben started the car and backed out of the parking place. He nodded to his
guy in the blue Toyota. "We're doing it, Sam. All of us. You, me, everybody
on the team." I kissed him gently. "Even Ben."

"Aww...you gettin' sweet on me, Schaeffer?" said Ben with a grin.

"You wish," I replied. "Hey, can't you make this thing go any faster? I've
got a hot date tonight with my man."

"Floor it, Ben," said Sam. Ben and I rolled our eyes in tandem, then we all
burst out laughing.

Changing lives made me happy. Apparently it also made Sam horny. Lucky me.



Author's Notes: Jack, Sam and the rest of the team (even Ben...grin) have
saved the day for the clinic in Texas. Dr. Andy and Dr. Mike can continue
to save lives, and Jack has found a new partner in the Nelson and the Salus
Society. Will the boys be able to get back to Denver or is their plane
grounded? Will Ben have another flashback? Can the team get everything
ready for the big move in a week's time? And will Sam ever flip roles with
Jack in the bedroom? Stay tuned for much more to come...

With each chapter, I am further indebted to my amazing editors. Harry M.,
Darryl R., and Mark H. have been indispensable in helping me keep this
story high quality and true to the characters themselves.

And as always, I am grateful to the many fans of Forever. It is so humbling
to read your encouraging feedback and hear how this story has had a
positive impact in your life, even if only to provide a pleasant escape for
the everyday.

If you have never written me, or if it's been a while since we "spoke", or
even if you write to me after every chapter, I love hearing from readers.
Please share what you love about the story, and even what you don't like.
Your feedback is my greatest reward, and the best motivation for me to keep
this story going.

You can reach me at: jack.schaeffman@gmail.com