The McClane Apocalypse: Book Two (54 page)

He has not removed his hand from her arm yet. Reagan nods without blinking, feeling as if John has actually lulled her into him, into the space between them.

“Ok,” she answers mindlessly, and he steps closer.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Reagan,” he swears to which she nods again.

“I know,” she responds and finally blinks heavily. Reagan is vaguely aware that his other hand has slipped behind her neck while the one on her arm has tugged her slightly closer. She doesn’t pull away.

“You can trust me. You know that, right?” John whispers.

“Yes, I know,” Reagan answers in response.

“I promise I’ll always make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again,” John tells her solemnly on a frown and lowers his head slightly toward hers. Reagan feels as if she’s fallen under some sort of fatigue-induced trance by John, and her lips part.

“I’ll take care of you, just like I took care of you in the city,” he reinforces as his hand on her arm moves to her waist, and he slides it around her back, pulling her against him. Reagan nods again.

His gaze has become heavy, just as hers has. He stoops, ridiculously so. A line pinches between his brows as if he is contemplating something difficult.

“God, Reagan, you... you’re so...”

They are both fatigued beyond physically comprehensible. This is what she tells herself as John presses his mouth lightly against hers. Reagan’s head lolls back, her eyes close as if she’s been drugged, which she has. The drug just happens to be fatigue. She tells herself this again. His lips are soft against hers, not persistent or rough. He’s gentle, handling her with such careful, tender movements as if he’s afraid she’ll awaken from whatever spell he’s cast upon her. The arm behind her back pulls her more snugly against his front where her right hand falls against his bare, muscular chest. Her breath hitches in her throat at the skin on skin contact of his chest as her fingers delicately do a little tap dance against him, exploring there, finding the soft tuft of fur in the center.

John presses the kiss further, moving his mouth against hers, although she mostly stands stiffly against him and not moving her lips in return. A quivering in her stomach awakens something raw and unchartered within her. She whimpers against his mouth, and he pulls her to him tightly. Now his mouth moves more aggressively, and Reagan finally responds by trying to kiss him, as well. This is completely new to her, all of it. Her knees almost buckle, but he holds her up. Not only is this new to her, it’s also frightening to feel any of it.

His fingers crinkle into her shirt against her back. His other hand tangles into her curls and clenches a fistful of them. A tiny sound erupts from her throat unbidden. It helps to break her trance.

“Don’t,” she cries out and stumbles back from John. A look of shock is splashed across his handsome features.

“Did I hurt you?” he blurts quickly and runs a long-fingered hand through his already-tousled hair.

Reagan shakes her head as her fingertips cover her mouth. Her lips feel like they are on fire.

“Are you ok?” he asks more hesitantly as if he’s afraid of hearing the answer.

Reagan shakes her head again. Of course she isn’t ok! What the hell does he mean? He’s just kissed her! On the mouth!

“What’s wrong then?” John asks this time with more confusion and shoves a hand onto his slim hip like he’s trying to keep himself from grabbing her again.

His fingers appear strained, and he hooks his thumb into the waistband of his pants. Those sweatpants hang crookedly from his slim hips, giving her a glimpse of his hipbone and just a little lower, as well. His skin had been so velvety under her fingers.

“We’re just tired. We need to go to bed and get some sleep,” Reagan explains with a frown. Her ability to reason out this insane scenario is starting to return. It makes her more level-headed, subdued and in control again.

“I’m not that tired, Reagan,” John informs her with a confused scowl. “Did I do something you didn’t like? Is that it? Did I scare you? You know you don’t have to be afraid of me, babe.”

Reagan just shakes her head at him again and repeats, “We’re just tired.”

She walks around him and into her bedroom, leaving John to stand there in the closet alone. Anything is better than standing there staring at his bare chest any longer, or his feet. She gets into her bed, lies next to Jacob and flicks off the sconce beside her. The baby doesn’t even stir, but his tiny chest continues to rise and fall at a normal rate. A few moments later John comes into the room, too, and gets into his bed in the dark.

“We need to talk about that, Reagan,” he says in that darkness where he lay, probably in just his boxer briefs and bare skin and deep, baritone voice that has softened to an almost husky whisper. Reagan ignores him, hoping he’ll be quiet and go to sleep. It doesn’t work because after a few moments of silence, he starts again, “Hey, boss, I know you’re still awake over there.”

“Just go to sleep, John,” she orders, trying to return some of the bossy he’s always accusing her of being to her voice in order to intimidate him. Fat chance. Her voice just sounds high-pitched and flustered.

“I think you were starting to like that. Am I right?” There is hardly any uncertainty in his deep voice. He’s had enough experience with women to know if she’d felt something. Hell, he probably knew her body’s response better than she’d ever understand it.

“No,” she squeaks and then clears her voice.

“Uh, ok. But I think you did. I know I did,” he says in an emphatic tone.

“No, I didn’t. Just shut up and go to sleep. We were both just acting irrationally because we’re physically exhausted. Studies have shown that people can do strange and unlikely things when they are sleep deprived. It was a mistake, and it won’t happen again,” she returns with more gusto than she actually feels. He is silent for so long that Reagan figures he’s gone to sleep. But, naturally, he hasn’t.

“Oh it’ll happen again,” he says with his usual confidence and deep timbre. “Trust me, it was many things, boss. But a mistake isn’t one of them. It’ll happen again.”

And with that, he does go to sleep. He goes to sleep long before she does because he snores from time to time. Damn him for that, too! How the hell had that kiss even happened? And why had it happened? John had always joked around like he was interested in her, but she knew it was just teasing.

She is so scarred and emotionally screwed up. There’s just no way he’d actually be interested in her. When she looks in a mirror, all she can see is the four inch long scar on her cheek and if she’s in a tank top, the scars on her shoulder and chest, as well. How the hell could someone like John be attracted to her? Is he so desperate for action that he’d done that? It hadn’t felt like desperation, not that she has a whole lot of experience with anything like it. It had felt urgent the way he’d pulled her against him and held her so tightly. But not in a bad way. It had felt... interesting. Like most things that have to do with John, Reagan buries this in the deep recesses of her mind so that she doesn’t have to think about it. His final words to her haunt her thoughts until she finally succumbs to a deep and restful sleep in her own bed finally, in the safety of her bed at the farm where they all belong.

Epilogue

Herb McClane

“Thank you, love,” Herb says to his wife as they both sit on the cement stoop outside the med shed.

It’s after midnight, and she should be in bed. She’s brought him a mug of hot coffee so that he can better handle the long night ahead of him. His back is killing him, aching to the core, but he’s not about to admit it to his loving wife who would worry herself needlessly over him. He’s just a little out of practice for the long night hours that come with being a doctor. Well, truth be told he’s an old dinosaur, much too old to pulling midnight shifts again. The last time he’d worked odd shifts like this was when he was a young punk straight out of college. Now these old bones and ligaments are aching and his arthritic knee is crying out for some pain killer. But his darling granddaughter had spent a full day on the back of a horse, so it isn’t exactly fair to ask her to take the first night shift.

“I’m sorry, Herb,” his wife’s comment surprises him. Herb turns to his beloved wife of forty-eight years. It never ceases to surprise him how beautiful she truly is. How had he ever managed to get her to accept him and his numerous faults and agree to marry him so many years ago?

“What are you sorry about, Maryanne?” he asks. She also never fails to confuse him. A wise man never boasts of knowing how the female mind works. Only a foolish bachelor would ever brag something so silly.

She sighs deeply, folds her hands in her lap and replies, “For wanting to let them stay.”

“Honey, it’s ok. It’s not in your nature to turn people away who need help,” Herb tells her. His Mary has a heart the size of Texas with so much compassion for people, especially children. He tries to lighten her dark mood. “It’s one of your better qualities actually. Kind of why I love you.”

She smiles at him but continues. “But we don’t know anything about those other people with Peter. I shouldn’t have acted so illogically. You probably wouldn’t have let them stay. You have always been more responsible than me when it came to being careful. I shouldn’t have interfered. They could be bad, Herb,” she worries. “They could put the girls in danger, all of us in danger.”

Herb takes her hand in his, setting his coffee on the cement pad beside him. The moonlight and the shaft of golden light from the shed are all that illuminates the area. He rubs his thumb soothingly over the top of her hand where the skin has become thin and age-spotted. To Herb, his wife’s hands are quite lovely.

“Maryanne, don’t you go worrying. The men will take care of us. They know how to deal with situations like this better than anything else. They sure know how to handle this better than we do. They aren’t about to let anything happen to the girls.”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” she agrees and swipes a loose cluster of long gray hairs behind her ear.

She used to color her hair to cover the gray, but he’d made her stop because of the harsh, poisonous chemicals. He doesn’t mind the gray. Hell, he’d turned fully gray almost thirty years ago. Her gray is natural and earthy just like her.

“Besides, I don’t believe that Kelly or John would try to leave the farm until these people have moved on. They wouldn’t leave us here defenseless like that, even if they wanted to leave,” he explains. He’s hoping he’s right on this.

“I agree. They are all good boys,” she assesses which is almost comical. They are hardly boys. John, Derek and Kelly are more like brute warriors. Cory isn’t far behind them. Herb just smiles gently to himself.

“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get their sick well again and as quickly as we can so that they can move on,” he allays his wife’s fears. He doesn’t like it when she worries on things. “You go on back inside and get some sleep. I’ve got this covered out here.” He kisses her forehead and then her soft hand.

A noise to their left alerts him, but it is only the hulking Kelly stalking around in the dark, rather quietly given his size. He is near the horse barn. His rifle is being carried in front, both hands on it. This man won’t let anything happen to the family. He definitely isn’t going to let anything happen to Herb’s youngest granddaughter for sure.

Herb sits a while longer after his wife goes inside the house, finishing his coffee and reflecting on his family and the newest complication they’ve allowed into their lives. So much hinges on the security of his farm. The safety of the girls, his great-grandchildren, who are all so young that they can’t possibly take care of themselves, and the survival of his entire family depends on keeping the farm guarded and secure. He’s thankful now more than ever for the arrival of the soldiers who will fight to keep them safe.

The spring on the screen door at the rear of the house squeaks, and out walk John and Derek. They both carry their rifles. After a moment of talking and a punch to Derek’s shoulder by John, they both come over to Herb. Kelly also joins them.

“What are you doing still awake, John?” he asks this brave, virile young man who’d brought his Reagan back home safely to them.

“Couldn’t sleep, sir. Too restless with all these people here,” he replies soberly.

He’s not one to mince words or condense them to make the situation sweeter. He seems honest, almost to a fault sometimes, especially when it comes to Reagan. He also doesn’t hide his feelings very well for Herb’s strong-willed, hot-headed granddaughter. In Herb’s opinion, Reagan could do a lot worse than John Harrison.

“Nah, you just missed us too much, ya puss,” Kelly jibes at his friend. He’s also not one to mince words.

“Yeah right. I’ve kept a little better company than your ugly mug for the last week,” John says with good humor towards his friend. There is always a lot of good-natured, shit talking among these three.

“Not that she’d want to keep company with your ass,” Derek jabs at his brother. “No offense, Doc.”

“None taken, Derek. Reagan isn’t exactly the cuddle-up-and-talk-about-her-feelings type. Trust me, if she was, she wouldn’t have been allowed to go with you, son,” he confides to John.

It wouldn’t really have mattered, though. John isn’t the kind of man to try to force himself on Reagan or even push his suit for her. Obviously. He seems to be just the opposite which makes Herb feel better about entrusting her to John. Herb respects that about him. John knows when to back off of her, knows how far he can push her. Most of the time. There are changes between them, however, that he’d noticed today since they came back. Maryanne had noticed it, too, and commented on it to him. Reagan seems just slightly softer toward John, not so hard and bitter. Perhaps this young man might be able to help her. Herb could also just be having wishful feelings.

“Yes, sir. You’ve got that right. She’d just as soon kick his ass than have to hang out with him,” Kelly offers to which they all three laugh at John’s expense. He just laughs, too.

“I know,” he admits. “And I’m the idiot that keeps showing her how to do self-defense moves. One of these days that half-pint will probably kick my butt.”