The McClane Apocalypse: Book One (42 page)

They play for about a half an hour while the kids giggle and dance around the room. John keeps up well, playing anything from classical to modern songs that are on the radio- or were on the radio. She scoots over and for their last song John plays the piano with her. He’s even more accomplished with the piano than the guitar. How odd to think of a big, strong soldier like John playing such delicate runs on piano keys.

“Ok, little ones, it’s time for bed. Auntie Hannah has been up since real early this morning, so she needs to rest now,” Sue announces to all of the children.

Hannah is relieved that she doesn’t have to be the one to disappoint the kids. She rises from the piano and sits on one of the sofas near the fireplace that they use in the winter. Right next to Kelly.

“One more song, Uncle John,” Justin begs.

“Sing that one you used to sing for us guys, John,” Kelly requests. “You know the one you sang with Chewie in that bar?”

“As in Chewbacca from Star Wars?” Sue asks while laughing.

“No, we just all had nicknames in the Army, honey,” Derek answers.

“Oh? And what was yours?” Sue asks her husband. He groans. “What? Tell me.”

“They called him Love Bug or LB for short. You know, ‘cuz he was always callin’ you or talking about you,” John answers. Everyone laughs, everyone except Reagan, of course.

“And what was yours, Kelly?” Sue asks.

“It was stupid. I really didn’t like it actually,” he answers and shifts uncomfortably beside Hannah.

“What was it?” Hannah prods.

“Hulk. For the obvious reasons,” John teases and strums a chord on his guitar, playing around. There’s less laughter now. It’s just calling him what he is. It isn’t really much of nickname.

“That’s real imaginative. You Army guys are rather creative, aren’t you” Reagan remarks snidely. “Tell them yours, pretty boy.”

“Nothin’, it’s stupid. Let’s just do the song so the kids can go to bed,” he says with avoidance.

“No way, now we have to know,” Hannah demands. She’s not sure how Reagan knows it. Perhaps it is because her sister went with them to the Reynolds during their rescue assault.

“His was Doctor Death. And I don’t think we need to explain that one, either,” Kelly tells everyone brusquely. It’s clear that they don’t like sharing things from their military past. Nobody at all laughs at this nickname. It is a bit morbid but understood.

“Just sing us the song, John,” Derek requests.

“All right, seems fitting,” John replies. He strums a slow melody on his guitar and begins singing. It’s a mix of blues and folk sounds. He’s a rather good singer; his deep voice reverberates in the music room. He has a very controlled, lovely vibrato and tone. The words are beautiful. They are about fighting battles, getting kicked, getting back up and making it home to family. It’s poignant for everyone in this room. To anyone who has ever been away from home or separated from their families, the song resonates true. When he finishes, Sue and Hannah clap, followed by the kids who also start yelling.

“Ok, ok, guys. It’s time,” Derek yells over the melee. He and Sue gather the kids and leave the room. Their chitter chatter can be heard long after they exit. John plucks randomly at the strings of the guitar.

“Well, folks, if this fucked up Partridge Family evening is over, then I’m going to bed. To
my
bedroom!” Reagan spits out angrily.

“Not for long, boss,” John goads her and walks toward the center of the room. He really shouldn’t do that.

“Argh,” Reagan growls and there’s a slap-punch sound and a grunt from John. Then he chuckles softly and follows her from the room. John is nothing if not tenacious.

Hannah and Kelly are once again alone, as alone as they were earlier today. It makes her blush again. Surely there should be a limit as to how many times in one day that a person can blush.

“You... you play beautifully, Hannah,” Kelly complements her. He always seems so unsure of himself around her, as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Thank you, Kelly. Do you play any instruments?” she inquires wanting to know everything about him.

“With these hands? I don’t think so. My fingers are bigger than those keys on the piano, so no, I don’t play any instruments- unless you call an armored vehicle an instrument,” he jokes. Hannah affords him a single laugh.

Hannah reaches for and finds his hand. She holds it in both of hers and strokes his long fingers softly.

“I think these hands are perfect,” she whispers shyly. “They are strong and capable.”

Kelly allows her another minute of privilege before he pulls his hand free, placing hers back in her lap. He stands and Hannah follows.

“Hannah...” Kelly pleads shakily.

Feeling buoyed by the music, exhaustion or Reagan’s show of force with John, Hannah has had enough for one day. She turns directly toward Kelly, reaches out, finds his chest. Then she slides her hands north, far north and grips his face like he did to her earlier. In the past months, she’s had time to figure out from John that Kelly is about six feet five inches tall. It is certainly no easy feat trying to reach him. Standing on tiptoe, she presses a quick kiss to his tightly sealed mouth and bolts from the room as quick as she can without making a fool of herself twice in one day. She feels triumphant for the first time in a long time. And as her sister would say, it’s a pretty damned good feeling.

Chapter Twenty

John

Four days later, John and Kelly move a small, twin bed into Reagan’s attic room. She managed to buy herself three extra days by further arguing her case before it was finalized with Doc to move John into her room. She is out for her morning run which makes things go much smoother. John tosses his one bag of clothing and personals on the bed and places his boots under it. They move a few items of furniture, closing down the living room space in the massive room. His small bed is put against the front wall of the house. He is literally within a few feet from the French doors and his rifle and hers, as well. Unfortunately for Reagan, he will be within about ten feet from her bed. This isn’t going to go over well.

Next, they make sure Cory has everything he needs for his new room on the second floor. The younger kids are bumming that he is leaving, but it is necessary. He is a seventeen year old boy. He doesn’t want to sleep in the “kids” room forever. And he is proving more and more useful on the farm every day, so he needs his rest. Also, he is coming out of his shell more every day, too. He is starting to carry on conversations and hangs out a lot with the doc in the equipment shed. He seems to have a lot of interest in engineering and electronics. Doc has been showing him the ins and outs of the solar panel system, and he’s said that Cory is very bright.

“This room is pretty cool. It has a good view,” Cory tells them, looking out the side window.

“Yeah, you’ll need to keep watch on the side and back, ok? Just pace back and forth. Then you can go down the hall to that big window on the far end and back here again,” John explains.

“Ok, John,” he readily agrees.

“I think you’ll like it up here. You won’t be alone with Derek and Sue down the hall,” Kelly says.

“Yeah, it’ll seem more like your own bedroom,” John agrees. “You sure you don’t want to take the other bedroom down the hall?” John is asking Kelly, knowing the answer already. He just likes messing with his friend.

“No, I want to stay close to... the kids,” Kelly hesitates.

“Mm hm, the kids,” comes John’s snarky reply.

“What?” Kelly asks with fake stupidity.

“Come on, dude. You know why you want to sleep downstairs. You don’t want to be that far from a certain blonde fairy,” John teases.

“What?” Kelly asks again. “Fairy? Where do you get this shit, dude?” His friend looks out the window then walks around opening closet doors, avoiding eye contact.

“What? She looks like a fairy. She’s always got her hair in funny little braids, and she’s got like a sixth sense about stuff. Can’t sneak up on her. Kind of scary, almost. And she’s always in white. I don’t know, just reminds me of a woods fairy or something. You know like that chic from that old movie, “Lord of the Rings,”” he explains.

“Oh yeah, I saw that on a rerun one Saturday night with my friends. She does look like that. Prettier though, if you ask me,” Cory says then blushes and turns away. “I mean, if you like fairies and queer stuff like that. Oh and that chic was an elf, dude, not a fairy.”

“I think Kelly likes queer stuff like that, if you ask me. ‘Cuz he sure likes Hannah, not that he’ll admit it,” John jokes good naturedly.

“Dude,” Kelly warns.

“What, bro? She’s a good girl. You could do a lot worse. Hannah is really sweet, and you’d sure never go hungry, big guy,” he jokes some more.

“She is good. She’s too good for someone like me. Someday she’ll meet a nice guy that will be like her. Someone who deserves her,” Kelly admits.

“Dude, I don’t think anyone’s ever gonna meet anyone anymore, if you know what I mean. Unless some bus full of hot chicks decides to do the post-world war three farm dating circuit,” Cory mocks. He does have a point.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think about her like that,” Kelly lies and looks under the bed and through the empty dresser drawers for no good reason other than to avoid them.

“Yeah right, dude!” Cory laughs loudly. “I’m only seventeen, and even I can see you’ve got the hots for her.”

“Yeah, he’s right, bro. It’s a good thing Hannie’s blind, or she’d go running for her life from you, bro. You aint exactly easy on the eyes like me,” John teases. Of course it’s a tease. Kelly is a handsome, striking fellow. He is just huge.

“Don’t be dipshits. I’m not into her. She’s like a kid, too young for me anyways. She’s only twenty,” Kelly argues.

“Uh, so? And you’re sixty? You’re the same age as me, bro. You are only nine years older than her. Besides, chicks like older, more distinguished men,” John tells him.

“And what about you, hotshot? You gonna tell me you don’t have it bad for Reagan?” Kelly turns the tables smoothly.

“Ya’ think? I’m not trying to hide it like you are. My little butt kicker just hates me. There’s a difference,” John tells him.

“Reagan? She scares the shit out of me,” Cory says, and they all three laugh heartily. “Good luck, man.” They all laugh again.

“All right, we’d better get back to work. Lots to get done today with you leaving in a couple of days. How’s your shoulder feeling anyways?” Kelly asks.

“Nothing to it, Sergeant,” John comes back.

“Yeah, right, sissy boy,” he jokes as they all depart Cory’s new room.

“Hey, I’ll catch up. I gotta go get my boots back on,” John says and trots back up to the third floor.

He is just inside the room when Reagan comes out of the closet, wearing almost nothing. She doesn’t see him and runs right smack into his chest. She screams.

“What the hell?” she yells and tries to cover herself. John is too stunned to react, to move.

“Uh, sorry. Crap,” he stammers out and scans her from head to toe in a nanosecond.

She is in her white tank top, with no bra, which is very evident and black bikini panties and nothing else. It’s almost more than John can bear to witness. Her wild hair is sweaty and damp from her run. Her cheeks are flushed from her run or embarrassment, likely the latter. Her long, tanned thigh muscles beckon him, and an instantaneous lust rushes through him.

“Don’t look at me!” she hisses with venom and slaps both palms against his chest.

“Crap, sorry,” he repeats awkwardly and closes his eyes. The pad of her naked feet hit the floor at a run, and naturally he re-opens his eyes, gaining him a flash of her before she is gone inside her closet.

“What are you doing up here?” she shouts from the other room with fury.

“I’m just getting my boots,” he explains lamely. Half naked women don’t usually run the other way from him. It’s a new experience.

“You guys acted like you wouldn’t ever be up here unless it was nighttime. And here you are!” she accuses in an ugly, immature tone.

She re-emerges from her closet, wearing short blue jean shorts and the same tank. The bra is still absent. He seriously doubts that she realizes how see through that top is, or she’d never be wearing it in front of him. John realizes it. He really realizes it. He clears his throat loudly. It’s hard not to look... there.

“Well, I’m sorry. I needed to get my boots so I could go back out to work,” he informs her.

“I wish you’d just go back to the basement where you belong,” she rants at him. He wishes she’d stop stomping around in a huff. It’s distracting to say the least.

“I belong wherever you are, Reagan,” John says quietly. He isn’t even getting his boots. He’s still standing in the same spot where she’d run into him. He’s literally rooted to the spot, watching her like a lion stalking his prey. God, he’d like to toss her down on the bed and kiss her senseless. What the heck is it about her that he feels so drawn to? Cory was right. Reagan is like no other woman he’s ever met, and he can’t even put his finger on it as to why he finds her so irresistible.

She snort-spits through her mouth unladylike and digs under her bed for her dirty Converse. Why does she never sit still? She’s so hyper like nervous energy, flitting around. It drives John to his wit’s end. He’d like to tie her to a chair or better yet, a bed.

“You belong out in one of the barns. But somehow you’ve charmed you’re way into our home and now into my room. Ugh,” she grunts. He decides to try another tactic.

“Ow,” he says in his best wimpy voice.

“What?” her head pops up on the other side of her bed.

“Nothing, just my stitches,” he lies easily. This is wrong. This is so wrong. He’s probably going to Hell. Who cares?

“What is it? Are they just pulling or is it something more?” she asks with more concern in her voice this time. Reagan actually walks around the bed, the shoes forgotten.

“It’s probably nothing,” he answers pathetically.

“Let me look,” she offers.

“Nah, I’m ok,” he argues weakly.

“I’m not asking!” she demands. John goes to the bench at the foot of her bed and sits.