The McClane Apocalypse Book Three (58 page)

"…we're glad to help, Reagan. Just bring 'em
around again in the spring so that we can breed both again," Chet
says.

John sincerely hopes that his competition is
referring to goats. He risks a peek and sees Reagan sitting on a
double stack of straw that the kids climb upon to look in the goat
pen. Chet is standing close to her, too close, near her leg.

"Cool. We probably will. How's your hip? I
meant to ask earlier and forgot. I… couldn't come over earlier this
week to check on you. I was… busy," she lies.

John had basically forbid her from going;
that's why she was busy. He threatened to tie her to a chair and
instead took her out to work on napalm demos which she thought was
"awesome." She can be a little on the warped side sometimes.
Burning people alive with homemade napalm incendiary devices isn't
exactly what he'd call awesome.

"That's no problem. I'm healed up just great
thanks to you," Chet replies. "You're a real good doctor, Reagan.
You should be proud of yourself. I mean we all heard you were going
to college when you were what, fifteen or something? We thought
that was just crazy," he compliments so smoothly. "And here you are
a doctor. Herb said you would've been one of the country's best
doctors someday."

"Yeah, and who cares? It's not like I'm ever
going to do what I wanted with it anyways. All I do is sew people
up and treat wounds and shit. It's not like I'm ever gonna be a
surgeon because we don't have that capability anymore," she swears
angrily.

John smiles in the dark.

"Um… oh. You're a special girl. Did you know
that?"

"Special, huh? You have no idea," she
jokes.

John notices that Chet either doesn't
understand her sarcastic wit or doesn't think she's funny because
he just blathers on.

"You're really pretty, too," he praises.

Reagan must roll her eyes at him because
Chet hastily continues.

"No, really you are. You always were. Even
with the scar on your cheek there, you're still a good-looking
woman, Reagan. I mean I always thought so. Guess I shoulda' said
something a long time ago, but you've been gone away at school
forever. I just hoped you weren't hitched or anything when you
finally came home," he says.

This almost makes John laugh. If he'd been
interested in Reagan before this all started, he would've went
after her, not waited for her to come back. He also doesn't like
where this sounds like it's going, but he decides to back off for
the time being and give the guy some credit.

"Oh ok," Reagan says with her usual
disinterest that she shows everyone.

She probably isn't even listing to poor Chet
or even looking at him but is likely thinking about his wound and
what she could've done differently or better. Or her mind is out in
the med shed where she and the doc were spending a lot of time
studying infectious diseases so as to be better prepared for any
sicknesses that make it to the farm like the pneumonic plague had.
John hears movement, a shuffling of feet against the wood floor. Is
he moving closer to Reagan? Does she want him to?

"Are you with any of those guys out there?"
Chet asks her to reveal her relationship status.

"No, duh, I'm here with you," she answers
rudely.

Her curt reply doesn't put her off admirer,
though.

"I guess what I mean is: are you
with
any of them?" he repeats.

Reagan doesn't answer him, but he knows her
well enough to know that she's probably giving him a cantankerous
look filled with misunderstanding and impatience.

"Do you want me to take a look at your hip?"
she asks.

John can tell that her patience is waning
even thinner as she changes the subject which was probably
irritating her anyways. She prefers directness, not coy
questions.

"I mean is one of them on your list of
marriageable guys, Reagan? As in, are you the girlfriend of any of
them?" he asks.

This should be interesting.

"What the fuck? No!" she answers
hostilely.

Good, let Chet get a taste of her temper.
That ought to run him off. Her answer doesn't please John, however.
He would've liked it much better if she'd admitted to being with
him at least for the sake of being left alone by Chet.

"Oh, ok good. Maybe we could go riding some
time together. Do you still like riding? You used to have a really
good seat," Chet says with a lot of implication that Reagan won't
get.

Chet with his long ponytail of flaxen blonde
and the light blue eyes and farmer's tan is going a bit too far for
John's taste.

"Why?"

"Why what?" he asks stupidly.

"Why would I go riding with you?" Reagan
asks him point blank. "I always ride with John."

Well, that is at least something. John
shakes his head.

"I don't know. So maybe we could be alone,"
Chet adds suggestively.

John's wondering if she's getting it yet.
John sure as heck is, and this guy won't let up. Chet is certainly
tenacious. Of course, there aren't a lot of choices for a possible
mate anywhere anymore, and Reagan is the most desirable prospect
around in John's opinion. The most desirable prospect he's ever
seen or known despite her sassy mouth and her mean attitude.

"Why would I want to do that? We're alone
right now," she says.

Nope, not getting it.

"So I can do this," Chet says.

"Whoa, what…" Reagan exclaims with shock as
her words are cut off.

John has had enough. When he rounds the
corner, Chet is kissing her, and he has her by the shoulders and
then by her small waist. He's handsy, way too handsy for his own
good.

He wastes no time yanking the guy back from
her and cold clocking him in the jaw, taking him by surprise. John
holds onto Chet's shirt so that he doesn't go down. Then he pulls
him eye level with him.

"I told you once before not to touch her,
dude. Reagan's with me. We're together. She's never going to be
with you so don't ever try that again," he tells Chet in a deadly
calm voice while the guy gathers his wits and stands upright again.
John releases his shirt and steps back in case the guy wants to
continue the fight. He doesn't appear to want to do so as he holds
his hand against his jaw. "Now, Doc wants our families to get
along, so I don't want any hard feelings over this, ok?"

"Uh…," is his only response.

Maybe it's all he's capable of.

"Apologize to Reagan and go on your way. I
think your family is leaving anyways," John tells him. Chet blinks
hard twice. Geez, he'd hardly hit him.

"Uh, sorry, Reagan. Sorry, man. I didn't
know you two were together," he manages before he makes haste from
the barn.

When John finally looks at Reagan, she's
still sitting on the bales of straw in her short, emerald green
dress that she'd borrowed from Sam's home. The men had buried Sam's
family for her near their horse barn that had once housed Sam's
prized show horses, where her parents, older brother and twin baby
siblings had been executed. Doc had held a small ceremony for her
there to get some modicum of closure. A few of the family members
had gone to be with her, to support her, while some had stayed at
the farm to keep it safe. They'd allowed her to pack whatever she
wanted from her house, namely her bedroom, and John had taken a
crib and a high-chair and the rest of the baby clothes as well as
the clothing from her brother's room for the two teen boys they
have on the farm. Sue had talked with Sam about it first to make
sure that she felt ok with the McClanes looting her home, and she'd
said that she was glad that the items would go to the McClane
family and the new babies Isaac and Jacob. The visitors had only
raided Sam's house for food and drugs and, unfortunately, her.

And here was Reagan wearing one of the
dresses borrowed from Sam's mother's closet which had also been
cleaned out. She looks completely cute, albeit a little angry, but
still cute. It hits just above her knees and is form fitting,
something John hadn't been too crazy about especially with Chet
coming over. He'd not been involved in the choosing of the dress,
but Sue had helped her—and just look how that had ended. He hopes
Sue never helps her again. John would much rather she traipse
around in her Converse, dirty jeans and shirts covered in horse
sweat and grime when she is going to be around men who would be
attracted to her, which just so happens to probably be most
men.

"Do you want to explain that?" John asks
about her encounter with Chet.

"I don't know what happened. He wanted to
see the kids, so I brought him out here to show them to him and we
were talking…" she starts explaining.

John cuts her off, "Was that some new form
of sign language? I'm not familiar with the tongue down the other
person's throat kind," he accuses with hostility and crosses his
arms over his chest. Reagan looks up at him from her straw bale,
frowns and tries to get down, but John places his hands at either
side of her waist to stay her. She huffs.

"Hey! What are you talking about?" she
vents.

"Well it didn't look to me like you were
trying too hard to get away from him," John bites out, maintaining
his stance.

"How do you know what I was doing? I was
trying to think of one of your idiotic moves you showed me to get
free of him. But then I thought it might hurt him, so I was having
a mental conundrum," she explains, her hands motioning while she
speaks.

She does this a lot, probably from sugar
overload.

John's eyebrows rise of their own volition
as his eyes widen with surprise and a touch of anger. "You didn't
want to hurt him?"

"No, he's our neighbor!" Reagan says.

She mimics his crossed-arms move. It only
pushes her breasts higher out of the low cut of her dress and
sidetracks him. His eyes fall there, and he has a torturously hard
time dragging them away. If she was any other woman, John would
think she is doing it on purpose to distract him.

"So? Are you going to let all the neighbors
kiss you?" John says a bit louder and plunks his hands on his
hips.

"What if I am? What are you going to do
about it? Punch all of them in the face? It's none of your
business, John!" Reagan says louder than him.

She always has to get louder than him, but
little does she know he could bring down the barn if he wanted to.
However, he always tries to converse in a reasonable, calm manner
with her because of her traumatic past. He has never wanted to add
to her fear of men, specifically, him.

"Yeah, I will punch all of them! And it is
my business. You're my business…"

"No, I'm not. You don't own me just because
we had sex. That's not how this works!" she hisses and tries to get
down from the straw again.

John pushes her down more forcefully onto
her bottom this time and insinuates himself between her legs so she
can't attempt to flee again. A few of her spirals come loose of her
updo which exposes her elegant neck and collar bone and chest.

"It
is
how this works for your
information. You're with me now. And Chet Reynolds and any other
men around here need to understand that…"

She cuts him off again, further pissing him
off.

"I'm not
with
you! It's just sex,
John!"

He can't take another second of her denial
and yanks her to him where his mouth takes over silencing her
irrational ranting. It isn't just sex, at least not for him, and
he's sure that she feels something for him, too, though she won't
admit it. His kiss is punishing, demanding, and she finally yields
to him, softens, and sinks her hands into the hair at his nape
pulling him closer. He slides his hands under her skirt and pulls
her tighter to him as her head lolls back. John lavishes her neck
and collar bone with kisses.

"Just sex?" he whispers hoarsely. "Is that
all I am to you?"

She doesn't answer but pulls him closer,
pressing her breasts against his chest. John slides his hand up
higher under her dress, touching her most sensitive core and
leaving her breathing heavily.

"Is it?" he repeats, the rancor still in his
voice. Unlike Reagan, he has some modicum of control over his body
when he's around her. Not much, but some. He likes that he can make
her lose her faculties with just the smallest caress or kiss, but
he wants more from her.

"Yes," she whispers hoarsely.

John can feel through her panties that's
she's ready for him, but he's not sure if she's answering his
question or begging him to take her on this bale of straw. Her
constant readiness, her need for him never fails to surprise
John.

"Yes, I am just sex to you or yes, don't
stop what you're doing?" he asks with a salacious grin against her
mouth.

"What?" she asks with genuine confusion.

John revels in her shortness of breath.
She's clearly getting too far gone to answer that question, so he
decides to pose another that's nagging at him.

"Did you want Chet to kiss you?" Maybe he
can use her desire against her to get the answers he seeks.

"No, don't be ridiculous. I wanted him to go
away," she complains.

Reagan presses firmly against him. Her hand
slides down the front of him until she reaches his crotch where she
squeezes hard, almost too hard. Sometimes her sexual aggression is
almost painful. Sometimes she leaves claw marks. Sometimes he
doesn't care.

"Does he kiss as well as I do?" he asks
jokingly but also with a slight touch of serious insecurity. Her
hand squeezes around him through his dark trousers that are
considerably thinner than his jeans or fatigues. John sucks in a
sharp breath.

"No, not even close. He's lucky I didn't
throw up wedding cake on him," she says.

John laughs against her mouth. It dawns on
him that they have exceedingly strange conversations before and
during sex, and he's never laughed during or before sex with
anyone, either. Of course, he's also never had a real relationship
with a woman before. Although he highly doubts that there is
anything normal about their relationship.