The McClane Apocalypse Book Ten

by Kate Morris

“I don’t appreciate this, Simon,” she retorts with anger, dwelling on his name as if it irritates her just to say it. Or maybe she’s using a reprimanding tone. Either way, he doesn’t care. At least he’s going to get to spend time with her. He’s tried for quite some time to get her alone. Unfortunately, John needs to leave soon.

  He knows what she means but decides to play dumb instead. “Having to get up early?”

  It doesn’t work. Sam tips her head to the side and glares at him.

  “I thought you might want to ride while you’re here. You always like to,” he says, trying to reconcile himself to a lie instead.

  “I do. Just not with you,” she says, jutting out her lower jaw.

  “I see,” he returns and considers his next move carefully before saying, “Alright. I’ll make you a deal. You can glare at me as much as you want, and I’ll try to fall off at least twice.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and stares up at him. Then her lips pucker and one corner tips up just slightly as if she is trying not to laugh. Simon grins. It’s not a total victory, but he’ll take what he can get.

  “Come on, cute girl,” he flirts, or tries to. “Let’s grab some nags.”

  Simon walks away, hoping she’ll just follow. When he glances over his shoulder, she is looking back at the house with longing. Then she turns back and sees him watching her. She shakes her head and stomps after him. It’s diminutively closer to a victory this time. He’s actually feeling a bit triumphant.

  Ever since he talked to her and told her the truth about his feelings, Simon has felt as if a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. It’s not entirely gone, probably never will be, but at least he isn’t consumed by it anymore, either. Now his main concern is figuring out how to woo Sam and make her his. He’s been doing a lot of reading. She expressed love for him once. He knows next to nothing about love, but Simon fervently hopes that she can learn to love him again. More importantly, he needs to earn back her trust. Then he wants to make her his. He wants to care for and protect her for the rest of their lives.

  He catches the horse she likes to ride and then Reagan’s gelding, Harry, for himself. It’s not his favorite horse to ride, but Reagan asked him to take Harry out today. She hasn’t ridden him in a while because of her pregnancy, and he tends to get a tad on the testy side when he doesn’t get worked with regularly.

  They tie the horses in the barn aisle and fetch their tack. Simon takes it upon himself to grab Sam’s English saddle for her, which he places on top of his own and carries, too. They work in silence until Sam lets him know of her mood.

  “I had to borrow clothes from Reagan, you know,” she blurts with hostility. “I didn’t bring enough!”

  “If you’d leave clothes here, you wouldn’t have that problem,” he points out only to have her actually growl under her breath. “Besides, you’re both tiny. I’m sure anything Little Doc has will also fit you.”

  She struts over to him with both small hands on her curvy hips and stares up at him with daggers in her blue eyes.

  “I’m not that small. And I don’t need to take crap from you, Simon. I’m only doing this because Grandpa asked me to.”

  “And perhaps you want to just a little,” he teases, hoping she doesn’t slug him. His answer is a fiery expression of more daggers. “Or maybe not.”

  She spins on her heel and marches back to her horse. They mount up in the barnyard a few minutes later, and Simon has to reign in Harry as the horse starts walking away before he’s all the way in the saddle. As a matter of fact, he has to hop a few times and practically throw his weight over the saddle before the beast takes off with his one foot in the stirrup.

  “Easy, boy,” he murmurs quietly.

  “He’s gonna need to be run,” Sam informs him.

  He nods as Harry prances in place as if he’s doing a ballet move. “Yes, probably. He’s high strung like his owner.”

  To prove his point, Harry tosses his head twice with impatience. Sam chuffs and gives him a lopsided grin.

  “Ready?” he asks and presses his left leg gingerly into Harry to steer him to the right. He doesn’t take a lot of urging to get him going, so Simon doesn’t want him taking off on him. He’d like not to look like a total ass in front of Sam today by falling and breaking his neck.

  They start at a slow loping pace, trotting up the main hill leading into the woods, and slow to a walk so the horses can pick their ways along the path and around branches, weeds, and late winter foliage. The early morning sunlight streams through the leafless trees, raining down a halo around Sam’s head in front of him. She has no idea how lovely she is. Even when she was ill, and Simon took care of her she was still beautiful. He’s pretty sure that nothing Sam did to herself could make her unattractive to him. Even when she was skinny as a rail, and she’d cut her hair off short with a jagged, dull knife to deter his cousin’s attentions she was exquisite.

  Last night, he’d tried to chase her down and talk when she’d left the dinner table in a huff, but she’d locked her bedroom door and wouldn’t answer it. The situation was silly, actually. She knows he can pick locks. However, he gave her the privacy she wanted and bade her a good night. Then he went straight out and talked to Cory at the barn. He wanted pointers on how to deal with Sam. Cory has a lot more experience with women. And the fact that he wore his sister down and got her to marry him speaks to his tenacity in all manners of love. His friend gave him some useful advice but also warned him that most women actually want the exact opposite of what they say they want. After their conversation, he was left a lot more confused. He wishes his mother were still alive. She’d know how to help him with Sam. She had a tender soul, a loving demeanor, and seemed to understand relationships and how to make them work.

  Cory did tell him, however, that Sam was probably jealous of Dr. Avery, which Simon still finds odd. How could she be even the tiniest bit jealous of Eliza? There’s literally no comparison. Sam is like a rare pink diamond. She is so smart and funny and sweet. People love her. Children love her. Even animals love her. There’s just something about the gentleness and innocence of her spirit that draws people in. He has certainly been drawn to that fire like a moth since the first minute they encountered one another in her parents’ home where she was hiding in that closet, her huge, frightened eyes staring into his soul as if pleading to save her from what they both knew was inevitable. She captured him in that moment and has not let go of his heart since. Eliza, on the other hand, is a brilliant doctor, but any type of attraction he could have toward her just isn’t there. Kissing her had been like kissing a friend. There just wasn’t any real feeling there. He hopes they’ll always be friends, that he hasn’t hurt her. He’d apologized to her the very next day after he’d kissed her and let her down gently. For that part, he’s pretty sure his mother would be proud. He hadn’t meant to hurt her and hopes he didn’t. She actually didn’t seem that surprised, either. She’d told him it was worth a try. He assured her she’d find the one someday, too. But Sam jealous of her? Doubtful. Crazy to even consider. But maybe?

  A broken branch low to the ground on a young oak tree catches his attention.

  “Sam, hold up!” he calls to her, to which she immediately swings her mare toward him and trots back.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “Hold him for me?” he requests of Reagan’s horse and hands over the reins. He swings down from the saddle and walks over to the broken branch. When he inspects it more closely, Simon can see a swatch of fabric stuck to it. He plucks it free. “Material,” he tells her, getting a nod.

  “What’s it from?”

  “A shirt, I think,” he answers. “Blue plaid.”

  “Someone in the family?”

  “Perhaps,” he answers and pockets it. “Stay here a minute, ok?”

  She nods nervously, biting her lower lip. Simon slides around the horse’s rear end, running a hand over its rump to let it know he’s there and walks into the deepening woods aro
und them with his pistol drawn. It takes him a minute, but he finds footprints. It’s highly likely this is just from one of them running a patrol. Maybe Huntley or John spotted a deer to shoot in the distant woods and dismounted, tearing their shirt. He’s not sure, but he’ll ask as soon as they return. Instead of going further, mostly because the tracks fade and come to an end, Simon returns to where she is patiently waiting for him in the same spot.

  “Didn’t take my horse and leave me to walk back?” he teases.

  She tilts her dark head in a contemplative way and answers, “I considered it.”

  Simon laughs loudly, always intrigued by her. “I’m sure you did.”

  “What was it?” she asks after he has steadied Reagan’s nutty horse long enough to get a foot in the stirrup. He’s one of those damn horses that the rider must bounce around a few times on the ground with one foot in the stirrup while it prances like a dickhead. Then you mount as quickly as possible because he’ll take off without you.

  “Not sure. Some footprints. Could be from one of us, but I’ll have to ask when we return. Off our path, though.”

  “Should we go back now?”

  Simon shakes his head, “No, I don’t think so. Let’s see if there’s anything else. We’ll stay on this path and take the high field, come in behind the farm up in the far pasture.”

  “’Kay,” she says with nerves showing.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “Just stay close, ok?”

  Sam nods but then frowns as if he’s irritating her. He probably is. It’s not like it would be an unnatural phenomenon. Most times he’s around her now, she becomes irritated with him. He also doesn’t blame her for that. He has a lot of ground to cover to make up for hurting and rejecting her. He plans on doing just that.

  They stay to the path until the open field comes into view. Sam turns around in her saddle and says, “Wanna’ run ‘em?”

  Her mischievous smile and jaunty, raised eyebrow are too much to resist, and all Simon can manage is a nod. It’s the only encouragement she needs, so she digs her heels in and takes off. Simon laughs and is left behind. Harry doesn’t need a lot of persuasion, either, and flies nearly out from under him. By the time they reach the other end of the field, the horses are panting, and so are they. Simon reins in Harry beside her and stares at her wind-whipped, pink cheeks and mussed hair.

  “I lost my hat!” she cries out with a laugh.

  “Oh, no,” he says, smiling like an idiot. “I’ll go back and look.”

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  “We’ll go together,” he corrects, although it seems to upset her. “Safer that way.”

  He really is just wanting to stay together to keep her safe, but Simon also likes the view when she’s riding in front of him. He’s going to have to make his move and soon because he has to get back. He knows she’s going to flee to Dave’s compound the first chance she gets, probably today. Maybe he can talk Derek into making up another story of having trouble with a different vehicle. When he’d first asked him yesterday before dinner, privately and in Doc’s office, Derek had looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Then a slow smile spread on his face when Simon explained why he needed the bogus story. Finally, he’d said, “’bout time, little brother.” It had made Simon laugh. However, he has a lot of ground to cover before she runs away again.

  She pushes her mare into a trot, posting in her proper English saddle as if she’s at a horse show. It causes Simon to frown slightly. That was supposed to be her life, horse shows, traveling to big events, getting a spot on the Olympic team someday. That should’ve been her life. This wasn’t. Of course, nobody wanted this for a life. And if it all hadn’t happened, Simon never would have met her, either, and his life would’ve always been missing something, something he didn’t even know existed, something he needed in his life, something he never could’ve anticipated- his future.

  She spots the black stocking cap before him and pulls her mare to a stop before swinging her leg over her neck and hopping down. She ties the mare to a tree branch as Simon dismounts as well and ties Harry to the tree right next to her horse’s.

  “Are you ok? Cold or anything?” he asks with concern and closes in on her.

  Her mount nickers and immediately takes the opportunity to steal a bite of tall, overgrown dead grass.

  “No, I’m fine,” she answers and plucks her hat from a prickly weed.

  “Here, let me,” he says, taking it from her gloved hands. “You don’t want to put it back on with prickers in it.”

  “Thanks,” she whispers.

  Simon picks out the tiny annoying seeds of the plant that have clung to the thick cotton of the toboggan. “Here you go,” he says and steps close to her so that he can replace it to her head. “Fixed.” He pulls it down and folds back a flap so that she can see. Then for some inane reason, Simon pats the top of her head once, which earns him a funny little confused expression. “You’re just so cute.”

  “No, I’m not,” she argues, staring up at him and causing his heart to skip about ten beats.

  “You are to me,” he says more seriously. He uses his gloveless hand to caress her soft cheek. She almost leans into it before turning her head to avoid him. “You’re a lot more than that to me, too, Samantha.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she retorts and the fire returns.

  “Don’t… don’t call you by your name?” he asks and then adds a quip, “Did you change it since we last saw each other?”

  She squints her eyes, trying to be mean, but it mostly comes off as adorable.

  “No!”

  “What do you want me to call you? Another endearment, perhaps?” he asks with a grin. “Sweetie? Cutie? Little Mouse?”

  She wrinkles her nose.

  “No, not that,” he concurs and taps his forefinger to his mouth as if he is seriously contemplating it. “How ‘bout darling?”

  “Definitely not that. Just call me Sam.”

  Now, she’s confusing him. Nothing new there. “Sam. That is your name. That’s what I called you.”

  “No, you called me Samantha. Don’t call me that.”

  Simon screws up his features with confusion. He probably wears this expression a lot, especially around women and most definitely around Samantha. “Don’t call you by your name?”

  “Not Samantha. That’s what you call me when you’re being too serious. Or bossy. And you aren’t my boss.”

  “No, I suppose I’m not,” he says, finally understanding. Sort of. “I don’t want to be your boss.”

  She snorts in response.

  “I don’t,” he admits. “I’d like to be a lot more than that, but we can cover that later.”

  “No, we won’t,” she says firmly and places a hand on her hip, something she’s been apt to do lately. It’s dangerous. For her. It draws his attention to her curvy, yet slim hips. He remembers how they feel in his hands. That night at her parents’ home before they were attacked is still fresh in his mind, even though it was months ago. It keeps him lying awake staring at the ceiling in the cabin many long nights. It makes his palms itch and burn just remembering the feel of her in his hands.

  “I think we might,” he counters. She opens her mouth to argue, but Simon cuts her off before she can say anything. “As a matter of fact, since we’re alone, why don’t we take a second and talk?”

  “No way,” she says and attempts to walk past him and mount again.

  “Hold on, Sam,” he says. “See? I listened. I didn’t call you by your whole name.”

  “Wow, you’re trainable. Like a dog,” she expresses with a frown of dry humor.

  Simon tips his head back and laughs. “Probably not much better, though.”

  “No,” she agrees with a smirk of superiority.

  A wind gust carries across the meadow and lifts her hair. It flings a cluster into her face that Simon tucks back with affection. Then he rubs the black strands between his fingers, marveling at the silky texture. It’s different today
, wavy, which he knows happens when she braids it and sleeps in the braids all night. Her hair has grown out quite a bit since she moved.

  “The last time we spoke the other night, at the fort, you said something that bothered me,” he explains slowly.

  “I’m sure a lot of what I say bothers you, Simon,” she responds.

  He smiles gently and expands on his point, “Why did you say that you thought I didn’t want to be with you because of you? I was telling you that I didn’t think I could be with you because I didn’t deserve you and that it made me too much like him. But you said you thought it was because of you? Why?”

  She looks away out at the field, at nothing, at anything that means she won’t have to look at him. Simon knows her too well to hide this.

  He takes her chin in his fingers gently and turns her to look at him. “Why, Sam?”

  She shrugs with indifference and tries to turn her head again. He doesn’t allow her. It sparks a flicker of anger in her eyes. Then he sees something else. Pain.

  “What don’t you want me to hear? What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she evades.

  “Why do you think it was you keeping me away from you?”

  “Just drop it, Simon,” she says, her anxiety clearly building.

  Simon can tell that she doesn’t want to say. She doesn’t want to deal with it, whatever it is.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he says and drops his hand from her chin, which actually causes her to make eye contact just briefly. Simon takes her hands in his. He can feel the coldness of her fingers within his, even through her gloves, so he rubs them. “Why?”

  “Simon, don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not going to say. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, remember?”

  He pauses long enough that it causes her to look up at him again. He simply raises his eyebrows as if to spur her on.

  “Don’t.”

  “Why did you think you had anything to do with me not being with you? You had nothing to do with it. It was all just an internal struggle I was having. Nothing that was going on had anything to do with you. You did nothing wrong. Just tell me.”