The McClane Apocalypse Book Three (12 page)

"Not great. She got to see some of my
special talents, and I don't think she liked it. I think it scared
the crap out of her actually," John relays as he wires into a
battery.

"I'm sure she understands, though. She's
smart as hell. Kind of intimidating, and not just for her nasty
mouth," Kelly jokes.

John laughs with him and nods.

"I don't know, man. I just don't know if
she's ever gonna be able to let whatever happened to her go. She's
pretty messed up," John confides. This is the first time he and
Kelly have ever talked like this. Heck, it's the first time he's
ever talked about a woman or his feelings about one with someone
because before Reagan there hadn't been one worth talking
about.

"She'll come around. If anyone can help her,
it's you. Not me, bro. And not your brother, either. That dude
would probably tell her to run ten miles or something. He's not
exactly Mr. Touchy Feely. But he is good in a tight spot, and
there's nobody other than you or Cory that I'd trust with my life,"
Kelly says.

John appreciates the compliment about his
brother.

"Or Hannah's?" John pries with a knowing
smile. His friend doesn't answer.

Finally, without looking up from his
battery, after a few long moments of silence, Kelly finally admits,
"Yeah, or Hannah's."

"What's going on with that situation, huh?"
John teases as he turns the table on Kelly.

"Nothing. Nothing new," Kelly tells him
evasively. "What are we turning gay or something? We're talking
about our feelings and women and shit like a couple of
bitches."

John laughs loudly at his friend's
crudeness.

"I'm actually wanting to spoon with someone
right now," John says with deadly earnestness and then laughs.

"I'm thinking about taking up fuckin' flower
arranging," Kelly says.

They both laugh gregariously.

Kelly adds, "I'm outta here, bro. Gonna go
check on the hadj dipshits."

"Yeah, me, too. Gotta get my beauty sleep.
Think I'll do a mani-pedi and a facial before I go to bed," John
says as they leave the barn together with the bag loaded.

"I always knew you were queer," Kelly
says.

They laugh again, bump fists and part ways.
His giant friend stealthily moves through the buildings and barely
makes a sound. What John didn't tell Kelly is that there wasn't
anyone he'd rather have watch his back, not even Derek.

When he gets to the third floor attic space
after taking a quick shower and wrapping in a towel, he spies Jacob
dead asleep in Reagan's bed, and she is at her desk still reading.
The lights out rule has been bumped back an hour to dissuade the
visitors in becoming curious about their use of electricity, but
Reagan is reading by an extremely faint light, and she has drawn
the blinds and draperies on the windows. He checks the book she's
reading and sees that it's
Micropathology
something or
other. Her slightly damp hair is coiled into a bun on top of her
head and held there with chopsticks. She's wearing what appears to
be only a baggy, thin shirt and panties. How can she be so
completely unaware of what she does to him?

"Are you done hovering over my shoulder?"
she asks.

She does this without pausing in reading
because she turns the page and makes a note on the pad beside
her.

"Maybe," he returns.

"You need to go put on some clothes."

She points without turning toward the closet
where she's finally allotted him a tiny amount of space for his
newly acquired clothing and shoes.

"So do you. And why should I? Does it bother
you?" he taunts. A drip from his hair hits her naked thigh and
makes her jump. He'd like to demonstrate for her exactly how much
her outfit bothers him.

"Go!" she says almost loudly enough to wake
Jacob.

John chuckles and pinches her earlobe
between his thumb and index finger lightly before he leaves for the
closet.

He changes quickly into boxers and cotton
shorts that hang low and crookedly on his hips. He hangs the towel
on the hook she's told him he can use. It's kind of hard to argue
about more space when he is still basically a guest and an unwanted
resident of the bedroom's owner. When he's finished in the closet,
he goes to the small area between the living room and her desk
where he commences with push-ups.

"What are you doing? Aren't you tired?" she
asks and turns to face him.

What he'd like to tell her is that what he's
doing is enjoying the view of her bare legs, but he doesn't because
he's not totally ignorant and would like to keep his manhood
intact.

"If you only knew what a day in my life used
to be like, you wouldn't question a hundred push-ups," he tells her
and she continues to stare.

"You should get some rest because your shift
starts in less than four hours," she reprimands.

John easily ignores her mothering.

"We used to work out all the time in the
Army just for fun. I'm not getting regular workouts anymore, so I
figured I'd better stay frosty," he informs her. It's either this
or sex with her, he'd also like to tell her.

"You are working out. It's just a different
kind. You guys are working hard around here and none of you are
getting a lot of sleep, either."

He'd like to offer up another workout that
she hasn't considered which he'd like to add to his daily activity.
It's as if her silky, tanned skin is beckoning him, daring him to
touch it.

"You worried about me?" John asks as he
switches to one arm for ten counts and then the other.

"No," she says too dramatically to be
believable.

"How are the patients? Did you talk to your
grandpa?"

"Yes, I talked to him. They aren't doing any
better. As a matter of fact, the woman is worse. It will be a
miracle if her body doesn't abort that pregnancy. She's thin,
dehydrated, malnourished, but we got her to eat a little bit," she
grinds out with a goodly amount of helpless anger and
frustration.

She rakes a hand roughly through her curls.
She sighs long and loud.

"The boy, on the other hand, is the same. It
doesn't seem good to me. That's why I'm reading this. I'm hoping I
can find an answer that will help."

Reagan goes back to the book and back to
chewing the end of her pencil.

"That sucks. I don't want that kid to die.
His brother is gonna be devastated. I would've been at that age if
Derek would've died," he tells her honestly. No kid should ever
have to deal with the death of a sibling. However, no kid should
have to deal with any of the crap they are all dealing with now.
Heck, most of the time this crap is too heavy for adults to
handle.

"I know. I want to let him spend time with
his brother, but I don't want the kid to see his brother die or be
there if it happens," Reagan says.

She's showing more compassion than John had
thought her possible. It's a good sign.

"Yeah, that's a tough call. What about those
other kids? Sam and Simon?" John asks her as he finishes his last
set of twenty.

"They both seem cool. Fucked up and getting
dealt the shit end of the stick from those morons out there I
think. But they're nice for all they've been through would be my
guess," Reagan says.

She swivels in her chair to face him as he
finishes and stands again.

"What do you think the family's gonna do?
About those kids that are with the group?" John clarifies.

Reagan doesn't answer right away but rubs
her shoulder and neck and then a hand over her face. She's
beat.

"I don't know," she says after a moment. "I
can't exactly get clear information from Sam, and Simon hardly
comes around. I just don't know what the situation is with some of
them."

John thinks for a moment before answering.
"I sure wish we did. I don't like having a bunch of strangers
running around here all day long. Frank's obviously a dick. Grams's
brother is a stoner. And some of the other ones look like ex-cons.
It's not exactly making me feel comfortable having them here,
especially not with you three women on the farm."

"What's that mean? Like we're wimpy or
something?" she asks snippily.

"No, I just mean that I don't like them
being around you and your sisters. You're all good-looking women,
boss. I don't want them to get any ideas."

"I can handle myself," she argues as
usual.

"Yeah? You sure about that?" John returns
testily. Sometimes her bull-headedness is irritating. "What about
Hannah and Sue? Can they handle themselves?"

Reagan doesn't answer. He's apparently hit a
nerve with this comment. Good. She needs to get shaken up a bit.
These people could be dangerous to the well-being of the farm. They
could be dangerous to the family if they find a way to get to
weapons. Reagan wearily rubs at her neck again.

"Want a shoulder rub?" he offers and her
eyes let him know that she thinks he's out of his mind. "Hey, I
know you think I'm not able to control my baser urges, but trust me
I can. Plus, I'm pooped, so you're off the hook for tonight. Just
turn your skinny butt around, and I'll rub the tension out for you
before we go to bed."

"I go to bed and you go to bed, not
we
go to bed," she makes sure to correct.

John smirks at her. She's so stinking
cute.

"Yeah, that's what I meant," he teases and
twirls his finger in the air to show her to copy it. She shakes her
head. "Quit being a wimp. Turn around."

"I'm not a wimp."

She takes the bait like John knew she
would.

"If you say so," he tugs the line.

"Fine."

She gets hooked so easily and turns back to
her book. John places his hands tentatively on her thin shoulders
fully expecting her to jump or cringe from his touch, but she
doesn't. Another small victory.

He rubs and gets an instant, "Ow! Geesh,
that hurts. You aren't rubbing Kelly's shoulders!"

"Sorry, forgot how scrawny you are," John
apologizes with a chuckle and rubs her thin neck and shoulders more
gently this time. "You're so critical. Do I need to remind you that
this is a free massage? Just try to sit still and let me help."

Reagan is so tense she's like rubbing steel
and wire, but he eventually gets the kinks worked out, causing her
to loosen up slightly. She's been so stressed out lately, and
John's been worrying about her. First the city trip, which was
beyond harrowing, and now these people living on the farm has sent
her into pressure-cooker mode.

After a few minutes, John believes she's
forgotten that his hands are on her at all because she makes
another notation and flips about ten pages, looking for something.
He allows his hands to travel up the back of her neck into her hair
where he rubs out more knots. Then it's back down to the shoulders,
but he never travels elsewhere because he doesn't want to freak her
out. This is serious progress in the no touching rule. He's tired,
sleep-deprived and he knows he has to get up soon for his watch,
but this is well worth losing a little shut-eye over.

Reagan rubs her forehead and squints her
eyes tightly.

"Got a headache?" John asks to which she
nods absentmindedly.

"I just can't figure this out. It's so
fucking frustrating," she growls angrily.

"Hey, potty mouth, you'll get it. Good
grief, Reagan. You impress me every day with the stuff you know
about medicine. If anyone is gonna be able to save those two, it's
you, honey," John tells her honestly and, like an idiot, without
thinking bends and presses an encouraging kiss to the side of her
neck. That bolts her straight out of the chair.

"What the fuck was that?" she nearly
yells.

John blinks twice in surprise at her. Jacob
stirs and fusses once but goes right back to sleep.

"I'm… I'm sorry. It was just… I wasn't
thinking. Sorry, boss. It just seemed…I don't know how to describe
it to you. I was just trying to comfort you. I don't know. Crap. I
was just trying to make you feel better. Sorry, Reagan. Don't be
mad. It won't happen again, ok?" John pleads and puts his hands up,
palms toward her.

She's staring at his hands, the same hands
that she'd watched him kill men with just a few days ago. Her
breathing is faster, her chest rising and falling at an accelerated
rate. He takes a step toward her as she takes two in retreat. Her
eyes dart to her desk, and John knows that she's looking at her
.45. Great. Now they're back to square one again.

"Let's just go to bed, ok? You to yours and
me to mine," he tries a joke but crashes and burns.

When he turns his back, he catches in his
peripheral vision as she snatches the .45 from the desk. She can
move fast when she wants to. The light on the desk is clicked off
next.

She slinks around him and practically dives
into her bed where she stashes the gun under her pillow. She's not
taking her eyes off of him. Even in the dark John knows
instinctively that she's watching him. He sighs heavily.

"Reagan, don't you think if I was going to
do something like force myself on you that I would've done it in
the cabin or during any of the three hundred hours of trail riding
we did to get to the city?" he says, sarcastically making light of
that trail ride from Hell.

She won't answer him, but John hopes that in
her big nerd brain that she's reasoning out what he's just told
her. She should be able to make sense of it that way. There have
been plenty of opportunities for him to just take what he wanted
from her. And want her he does. She is practically all he thinks of
anymore. But he doesn't want her on his terms. He needs her to want
to be with him and to let go of the fear she carries with her. John
is beginning to lose hope that it will ever happen.

Last night before his watch shift had
started, even though he should've been catching forty winks, Kelly
had sat on the front porch swing with Hannah and talked with her
for a while. It also gave him the perfect opportunity to keep an
eye on the visitors. John and Derek had still been up, but the rest
of the family, including her grandmother, had retired. Doc had been
in the shed with the sick patients, so Kelly had felt like it was
safe to steal away with Hannah for a few minutes of discreet alone
time.