The McClane Apocalypse: Book One (51 page)

“Hey, baby. Over and out,” Derek answers with a smile.

“Roger, over out, Captain Harrison,” she answers as the transmission cuts on her riotous giggle. She probably thinks she’s so cool now. There will be no living with her.

“Did I just get demoted?” Derek asks as both men laugh, but Reagan frowns because she doesn’t get it.

When they finally get down the steep lane to the house, Derek pulls right up front so that the items can be unloaded. Everyone is on the porch waiting for them. Kelly shrugs helplessly. Ari’s managed to wrap all of the big, studly men on the farm around her pinky. Derek picks up his daughter and hugs Sue, reassuring her. Justin also jumps into his dad’s arms. That’s a lot of weight. But, then again, the men are doing a beastly amount of work every day on the farm so his two kids are probably nothing for him. Cory and Em stand patiently next to Kelly.

“Hey, kids, I’ve got some stuff I think you’ll be able to use in here. Wanna’ help?” John asks. All of the kids come around to the back of the truck and there are immediate squeals and ooh’s and ahh’s. They’ve found the dog and pups. So much for Reagan’s salvaging of clothing and actual useful items. And the goats.

“Grandpa, look,” Justin says. Her grandfather comes off the porch and looks with a frown on all of the dogs.

“Hm,” he says introspectively as he smokes his pipe.

“Do you think it’ll be ok around Hannie?” Reagan asks him.

“Well, she was tested when she was quite young, maybe Justin’s age. Sometimes, as you know, allergies can fade away with adolescence. We’ll just have to see,” he tells her.

“John thought she might be good for security,” Derek tells Grandpa as he taps the bowl of his pipe against the fender of the truck, emptying the remnants.

“That might work,” Grandpa answers. “Certainly can’t hurt.”

“We’ll just have to try it out, Herb. The kids sure do like them,” Grams says from the porch as she dries her hands on her apron. All four of the children, Cory included, are on their knees on the lawn playing with the mutts. The puppies jump and lick the kids on their faces, and the mother dog is trying her best to join in. She’s weak, however.

“Looks like she could use a good meal,” Grams says. Of course. “I’ll just go dig around for some scraps for her. Can’t have her starving to death.”

“Thanks, Grams,” John tells her with great appreciation.

“Run into trouble?” Kelly asks John quietly.

“Not exactly. I’ll tell you and Doc later,” he says as he tips his head toward Hannah and Sue on the porch.

Everyone pitches in carrying the boxes, bags and crates into the house, and the men take the tractor parts and chemicals to the equipment shed. The rest of the day passes in a flurry of motion, movement and hard work. Sue is thankful for the clothing for her three kids, and Em is able to make use of the clothing that Reagan found in the mansion. They’ll be baggy on her, but at least they aren’t her same recycled ones or the borrowed clothes from the women in the family. Cory is able to wear most of the things that Reagan has brought back, as well. Unfortunately for Kelly, none of the items from the man’s closet will fit him. Shocker. But the jeans from the Johnson farm miraculously do fit.

“I think these might fit and I don’t think they’ve even been worn. Nope, price tag’s still on the bottom. Geesh, I guess it’s been a while since I’ve bought gym shoes,” John tells her, looking at the high cost. They settle into their familiar evening routines in their shared bedroom. Her bedroom.

She’s sitting at her desk reading a textbook from Grandpa’s office on diseases of the bones and blood and taking diligent notes. It’s not something she can turn off.

“Thanks for thinking of us and getting guy stuff,” he praises.

“You’ll be able to get more work done. That’s all I was thinking. If you don’t have to wear combat boots, I mean,” she lies. He comes to stand at her elbow. Her left leg is drawn up and bent, and she rests her book on her knee. John places his hand briefly on her shoulder. He doesn’t even leave it on long enough for her to shrink away from it.

“I know, boss,” he says quietly. It makes her frown. He doesn’t know a thing about her, and it pisses her off when he acts so confident about how well he thinks he does.

“So what do you think about Chet?” he asks and pulls another chair over to sit directly beside her. She glances out the corner of her eye at him. Why the hell does he have to sit so close? He’s tipping the chair back on its rear legs, his muscular arms crossed behind his head, causing a flex. And, of course, he’s shirtless.

“What about him?”

“You know what I mean,” he says, and gently kicks her chair with his bare foot. She’d like to kick the front legs of
his
chair and tip him, but she refrains. Reagan chews on the eraser of her pencil as she reads, trying to ignore him.

“Hey,” he says softly and kicks again. “I know you heard me.”

“Argh, what?” she growls at him impatiently. Why doesn’t he just leave her alone?

“What do you think about Chet Reynolds?” he asks slowly, as if she doesn’t speak the same damn language. She glares directly at him. It’s a mistake. He’s grinning mischievously at her.

“I don’t,” she exclaims as she glances down at his muscular, bare thigh as he’s only wearing boxers.

“You don’t what?” There is dark blonde hair on his legs. He’s distracting her.

“Don’t think of him. Ever. For any reason. Why would I? Well, I guess I was worried about his stitches, but he wouldn’t show me, so whatever. He can get gangrene for all I care. His leg can fall off for all I care. My concern, my
only
concern, is for my own family,” she answers and turns back to her book.

“I think he’d like you to join his family. Make a family of two with you, if you know what I mean,” he says and this time, puts his bare foot on the edge of her chair. She glares down at it like it has leprosy.

“Get real, idiot,” she scolds him. She reaches overhead to a shelf and grabs an old notebook. Where are those notes on genetic blood disorders? Not in this one. She tosses it on the floor.

“What do you mean? You seriously don’t think he was after you today? You get real,” he tells her.

“Chet Reynolds is not after me. He was just thanking me for fixing him,” she argues and finds her notebook. “Ah ha!”

John snatches it away and flips it open.

“Give me that back!” she hisses and reaches for it. Of course he jumps to his feet and holds it above his head where he knows she can’t reach.

“Nope, not until you give me your full attention. You’re always so busy. You never stop. That’s why you fall asleep sitting on the deck or with a book on your chest. Slow down, boss,” he scolds.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she complains at him and reaches again for the notebook, which he swings higher. “Damn it!” She lunges again, but John puts his hand on her forehead, holding her back.

“Look, I can disable you with one hand,” he jests. It’s not funny, and she’s getting infuriated. She knocks his arm away from her in anger.

“Quit being a stupid ass and give it to me right now!” she shrieks at him and plucks her hands on her hips not giving him the satisfaction of trying further. He stands there grinning like a fool at her as she shakes her head in defeat. Reagan gives a low, irritated growl and follows it up with, “Fuck.”

“Are you gonna talk like that in front of our kids someday?” John asks her softly and lowers his arm with her notebook. He doesn’t give it to her, though.

Reagan freezes. Did he just say that?

“Why are you always talking like that? Quit being stupid all the time,” she rebukes him. She refuses to make eye contact.

“I’m not being stupid. You’re gonna have to learn to clean up your language, boss. I don’t want you cussing like a sailor around our kids,” he scolds her. When she looks up at him, he seems serious.

Reagan doesn’t know how to respond to this. He’s always joking and laughing and being a goof around her. He flirts and pretends like he’s interested in her just to embarrass her. But this time he looks deadly serious.

“Gi... give it back,” she says and clears the frog from her throat.

“Come and get it,” he provokes her and swiftly stashes the booklet behind his back as she lunges for it.

“I’m going to kill you,” she grinds out through her teeth. He laughs once. As she reaches for it, he turns quickly, causing Reagan to run her forehead right into his chest.

“Argh, give it,” she spits at him.

“Argh, take it,” he imitates her, laughs and they dance again. Reagan gets the idea to try and go at it with both of her arms instead of one. “Are you trying to hug me?”

“What? No!” she hisses at him and jumps back. Oh, how she’d like to smack that arrogant grin off of his face. Take out one or two of his perfect, white teeth. “Fuck!”

“How about if I punish you every time you use your bad words?” he offers, as if it even makes sense.

“How ‘bout I punish you with one of your
ball
punches you taught me?” she offers and smiles evilly at him.

“I knew I shouldn’t have taught you those,” he murmurs. In the nick of time, John catches her wrist as she swings at his crotch. She hadn’t been kidding. He deftly twists her arm behind her back and yanks her forward, where she bumps into his chest. He holds her there with one arm while keeping her journal behind his back.

“Nice try, kid. But you have to get up a lot earlier than that to get me, babe,” John says with superiority. She wiggles to be free, but he pulls her tighter to him. Now she’s crushed to him. Reagan doesn’t feel the panic she used to around him, but she doesn’t particularly like this closeness, either.

“You have to go to sleep sometime,” she warns with ugly intent. When she looks up at him, he’s grinning again like a drunken idiot. Her other arm is useless at her side, pinned there by his body.

“I’m a Ranger- we never really sleep. Now, back to your punishment,” he says thoughtfully and continues. “I could spank you, but I’ve got a feeling that would only make you swear more. Or, heck, maybe you might like it.”

“You even try and I’ll shoot you when you’re not looking,” she promises.

“That I do believe, my dear,” he answers as she squirms again. He just grins.

“I told you not to call me shit like that. Let me go,” she hisses in his face. She’s on her tiptoes to even be close to there. Her forehead is level with his chin.

“Hey, I taught you how to get free. You’re the one that sucks at this,” John says rudely and pulls her higher and tighter. She’s barely touching the ground with her toes. Her breasts are pressing against his ribs. It’s a strange and... embarrassing feeling and she starts to blush. Her mouth is inches from his hard square chin.

“Shut up!” she retorts. “You didn’t teach me this, you jerk. Unless you want me to knee you in the crotch.”

“No, I don’t really. I may need that stuff someday. So what could I do to you when you cuss? Hm, there’s always this,” he says and slowly leans in closer to her. She stops squirming and freezes. John’s eyes become hooded, darker blue in color as if that is even scientifically possible. His mouth hovers a centimeter from her own. But then he jerks back. Reagan glances away in embarrassment. She knows she is hideous, and she sure as shit doesn’t need him reminding her. He’d obviously been looking at the scar on her cheek, not her mouth. He just likes messing with her. She’s known it all along. Someone who looks like John would never have any interest in someone who looks like herself with all her scars, her fucked up hair, small boobs, five foot two height and her science brain. With all her strength, she shoves, kicks, grunts and frees herself, staggering backward two steps. John is left staring at her like she’s insane, so Reagan flees to the balcony. Her notes are forgotten. Unfortunately, John follows her.

“What happened? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t push like that. I know. It’s just that...,” John says as he comes to stand beside her on the deck.

“Go away before I use this on you, asshole,” Reagan threatens as she holds her rifle and scans the property with night vision binoculars. In her peripheral she sees him flinch. Her breathing is erratic and shaky.

“Reagan, I’m sorry. I know contact’s hard for you. I just get carried away,” he explains lamely. Yeah right.

“Fuck off,” she answers with hostility. She won’t look at him. She knows he wants her to because he is full on facing her and leaning down. Her toe starts tapping nervously on the deck floor.

“Listen, I’m just trying to explain. I’m sorry I took your journal or whatever that was. I wasn’t gonna read it. I just wanted to see if I could get you to laugh again,” he says and touches her arm, which she shirks off.

“It’s not a journal like that, moron. It has notes on diseases that I’m studying,” she tells him.

“Oh. Yeah, that actually makes more sense. Look, I really want to kiss you...” he says, and she cuts him off.

“Yeah, right. Quit being a dick,” she blurts.

“What? You think I don’t? Like Chet Reynolds and about every other guy you run into doesn’t want to, either? Are you serious, Reagan? It’s just that I don’t want to scare you off. I don’t want to push you. You mean...” John says, but she can’t take anymore.

“Shut up! Stop talking like that. Stop lying to me,” she grits her teeth in irritation and finally looks directly at him after she puts her rifle down.

“You think I’m making this up? Reagan, I can hardly even be around you. Don’t you get that?” he asks.

“No shit. But I don’t blame you, so just leave me alone!” she returns. She moves to walk into her room again to get away from him, but he seizes her shoulders. This is one move she does know, and she chops his arms down with fierce anger. He doesn’t put up a fight, though. It’s a little disappointing.

He follows her into their room, where she retrieves the notebook he’d taken. “Hey, boss, I’m not going anywhere. I’m a patient guy. Probably a heck of a lot more patient than Chet Reynolds would be.”

“Why are you bothering me? Stop messing with me all the time. Stop following me, too. I don’t need to be hassled by you all the time. As a matter of fact, why don’t you go back to the basement?” Reagan demands. Jesus, he is annoying. Even with his perfectly sculpted, muscular physique.