Bread and Butter

Author's note; This story is a Romance, and the sex occurs towards the ending. Some might not like it for its lack of vicarious luridness from the beginning to the very end. The poem John shares with Rachel; "Autumn" belongs to Emily Elizabeth Dickenson, (December 10, 1830 - May 15, 1886). She was an American poet. I chose it because it is my favorite poem of Autumn and my favorite time of year.

Bread and Butter

Beagle9690

September 2019

He served Twenty-seven years in the Marines, retiring as a Colonel at forty-five. The Marines tempered John as hard and tough as forged iron. He was respectfully known by most as Iron McCord and not so fondly by other major malfunction individuals with less complimentary names because he despises liars, cowards, and braggarts having spent most of his career in combat zones.

John is a minimalist and frugal with himself. He planned, saved, and invested well to live comfortably for the rest of his life on his pension and dividends from his substantial investments.

During his days in the Corps, and always a gentleman, he considered most single women in social settings as trouble to be avoided whenever possible, aside to satisfy a man's hard-wired needs.

He was content with this arrangement and enjoyed the freedom of being a bachelor. He had many amicable trysts; with shall we say "good time gals" and avoided the long-term relationship with the marrying types of women.

Upon retirement, John moved back home to the family farm to repair, remodel, and upgrade the building on the old homestead. The most labor-intensive was striping and sanding, staining and varnishing the wide-wood floors, woodwork, and trim inside the farmhouse. The remodeling was almost complete except for minor wiring and painting in three of the four upstairs bedrooms.

The sparsely furnished rooms he was using were the kitchen, bathroom, and his bedroom; the rest were empty. In his bedroom was a king-size bed, and to John, it was a decadent, although a much-appreciated luxury. The new oak bed, matching dressers; Hudson Bay wool blankets, plus a thick and plush down comforter were a housewarming gift from his sister. There was also a mint garage-sale oak and red canvas director's chair he picked up for a song. He had a second-hand reading lamp beside a state-of-the-art shortwave radio on a perfectly good bedside maple table someone left at the curb. There was an old wicker laundry basket by the radiator.

His grandmother's maple Colonial kitchen table and chairs were in the kitchen. Most of what he owned, which isn't much, was in storage in the small barn.

Unfortunately, the new hot water tank's heating element was defective, necessitating cold showers and boiling water on the stove for doing the dishes. John decided to return the tank, still under warranty, and install hot water on demand.

John was restless that March, and he didn't know why. He was finally home and back to his roots. He reconnected with many of his old classmates, friends, and neighbors who still lived in the area.

John decided he needed a woman. His last was a month ago in Erie, PA, with a hot, buxom, redhead real estate agent, in her early thirties; Janet Stone, recently divorced. Janet was prime real estate to plow. He plowed Janet that the entire weekend. Janet was also one hell of a cook and discreet. They both got what they wanted. I don't tell; you don't tell, and no strings attached. They had a mutual agreement. "Call me when you are in town, John," and he did, he called her on Tuesday, confirmed their tryst, and planned to drive there for a weekend of carnal delight.

Unfortunately, the County roads closed Thursday due to an intense lake effect snowstorm blowing in from Lake Ontario. It was colder than the proverbial witch's' womb, and visibility at times was down to inches due to white-outs. According to the NOAA weather radar, there would be three feet or more of blowing and drifting snow over the next three days.

The locals are accustomed to these storms. They tried to outdo each other with exaggerations such as, "It was snowing and blowing so hard I could barely see the speedometer on the way to work."

It was around 1:00 AM. John was sound asleep when he awoke to his doorbell, ringing over and over. He jumped up from his bed cursing out the insane, idiot, who was out on a night like this, let alone waking him up and getting him out of his warm bed. He threw on a pair of blue jeans and hurried down the stairs turning on the lights as he went and called out loudly, "I hear you shit-head. Lay off the god damn doorbell," and it didn't stop ringing until he opened his door and she stumbled into his arms.

The young woman was shivering and mumbling something about driving into a ditch and appeared confused and disoriented. He noticed her breathing was a bit shallow, and she showed signs of hypothermia.

There is no mystery here. This young woman has no business being out on a night like this driving in near-zero visibility, in conjunction with unplowed roads. Given these clues, it was easy to conclude she drove into a roadside drainage ditch or culvert full of water partially frozen with a thin film of ice covered by snow.

He gently picked her up and closed the door, ignoring the micro drifts of fluffy powder snow that blew in with her. He then carried her to his bedroom to remove all her cold, wet clothes.

The zipper was stuck on her coat, and he had to destroy it to get it off, his years of survival training and experience mandated her modesty was secondary to getting her warm.

Not understanding his intentions, Rachel clumsily fought him and landed a glancing blow to his groin. John ignored the minor pain and her struggling and undressed her, being careful not to hurt her. He pinned her on the bed, realizing she had some familiarity with the martial arts from her attempted strikes and kicks.

He then pulled the blanket and down comforter over them and held her close, sharing his body heat while holding and blocking her arms and legs. He talked quietly and soothingly, reassuring she was safe. As she became warm, Rachel's breathing became deep and regular. She relaxed, gathering her thoughts, resigned to her unusual situation and said firmly, "I'm fine; you can let go of me now."

John picked up her wet clothes and sneakers and left her alone for a time to get accustomed to her surroundings while she lay quietly on the bed wrapped in the blanket and cozy down comforter, realizing he was much stronger than her. Rachel also smiled as she contemplated how he talked to her as she struggled as if he was comforting a frightened patient.

Her thoughts were interrupted by two bright green eyes staring up at her from the wicker basket on the floor. She sat up and pulled the blanket and comforter closer to her for protection until she realized the green eyes belonged to a large blue-tabby.

"Oh, hello," she softly, "What a cute kitty you are," and the tabby jumped up on the bed next to her, sitting on John's side of the bed flicking his tail in curiosity. When she reached over to pet him, he purred and rubbed up against her.

John returned with a mug of piping hot chocolate and vanilla almond energy bars and gave them to her. He picked up his devoted cat, sat in the director's chair, closely observing Rachel as he petted the tabby, while his cat affectionately rubbed his face against him. She quietly drank her hot beverage and munched on the protein-rich energy bars, intently watching him with his feline companion.

John observed Rachel is an attractive woman with a clear complexion and hazel eyes; twin opals of shifting brown-green and gold. Her round face and button nose, compliment her full, generous lips to give her a youthful appearance making it hard to guess her age accurately.

Rachel is 5' 7" and has a nice trim figure. She has pert breasts with turned up nipples. Her ass is well-rounded and firm. Her thick dark red auburn hair was in a short classic blunt chin level bob, parted off-center.

He was the first to break the silence. "My name is John McCord, young lady, and you showed clear symptoms of hypothermia. "You were confused and disoriented. What I did was in your best interest," he asserted. "I won't apologize for it, although I admire your tenacity in trying to fight me off.

I don't have hot water. It was my only reasonable course of action, and it worked. It appears we're snowed in with each other for the next few days until the roads open again." John put his cat Buddy on the floor, stood up, and walked to a dresser. Rachel watched as Buddy jumped into his wicker laundry basket and snuggled into his surplus olive drab wool blankets watching them.

"I'm Rachel Buchanan." She said, smiling at the cat, "I."

"John interrupted, in a quiet, commanding tone, warning no insubordination, "I get up five sharp and need to get some sleep to finish the wiring. You need to be quiet and keep warm until morning. Here is a tee shirt you may wear, although it might be a bit large, and this flannel shirt will serve as a nightgown. Oh yes, wool socks," and he took those out of his dresser and tossed it on the bed. "There's only one bed, no couch, and we'll need to share the down comforter and blanket.

You may choose between the two. Most of my stuff is in storage in the small barn. We're both adults, and I give you my word, I won't touch you.

"I'm sorry I tried to hurt you." Rachel apologized. "I've experienced patients coming out of anesthesia who are confused and strike out violently. Turn around please," and when he did, Rachael started dressing. "You promise Mr. McCord?"

"Yes, I already said I would, and your clothes and sneakers are drying near the radiators. It was necessary to break the zipper on your coat. You did not dress appropriately for the weather." And looking away, John got into bed, wearing his jeans, "Oh yes, I'll pay for a new coat or have the zipper replaced. The bathroom is the door at the end of the hall unless you'd prefer to use the outhouse," and in no time at all, John was fast asleep.

Rachael was still a bit chilled from her experience as she lay there next to him, contemplating all that happened to her, and she was thinking. 'I remember little about walking here as cold as a Popsicle except for falling face-first into the cold water and slush in the ditch where I left my Mini-Van. I should have stopped earlier in the day and not pushed on.

I was shivering with cold and disoriented when I arrived here. My clothes were soaked, and I could have frozen to death. He carried me upstairs as if I were a child and undressed me and put me to bed. He held me, sharing his body heat until I was warm and stopped shivering. He didn't take advantage of me or force himself on me when he had the chance. Of course, he did the medically proper thing for me given the circumstances. He appears to be a no-nonsense type of man.

But goodness, he's so ruggedly handsome with his full head of dark honey blonde hair and commanding blue eyes. His hair could use a good trim though. He's tall and buff at maybe six-three or so with nicely sculpted muscles. Mr. McCord has a broad, well-defined chest and a hard washboard stomach. He's scrumptious, and he likes cats, and I adore cats. For the first time in my life, I'm in the same bed with a man.' And she yawned, 'and John's already asleep. He must be kidding about having an outhouse.' and as a practical and mostly a nonsense woman, she too was soon fast asleep.

John's inner clock woke him up a few minutes before the alarm on his shortwave radio was to go off. He could feel Rachel pressed up against him. She was breathing deeply and peacefully as he rolled towards her to watch her sleeping.

He gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and then immediately regretted it, remembering his promise and thinking, 'I have no right to touch Rachel so intimately.'

He carefully slid out of bed, disabled the radio's alarm, and put on his red and black checked flannel plaid shirt before walking to the window and pushing the curtains aside. Buddy jumped up on the windowsill to join him wanting attention, so he picked him up and petted him thoughtfully.

It was still snowing and blowing as he looked to where the herb garden was under the snow. As he looked out, John sees Rachel standing in the sunlight on a warm summer's day wearing a light sea green summer dress with white lace trim. Rachael's hair was much longer and up in an elegant chignon. She was in his grandmother's overgrown with weeds herb garden, except now the garden was weeded, organized and tidy. She was gathering lavender and putting the fragrant flowers in a wicker basket, and he could smell that familiar scent. John remembered his Grandma's many uses for lavender, and the essential oil she made for it, "Besides a myriad of uses, lavender relaxes the mind and soothes the soul" she would say. "It is a gift from heaven."

The ethereal Rachel looked up and saw him watching her through the window.

She smiled, kissed her hand, and blew him a kiss. John looked down at his hand, wanting to return that blown kiss. He again looked out the window and reality returned to a cold, barren, white landscape of blowing and drifting snow, and John was thinking, 'Did my brain go haywire or did I have a waking dream?'

Reality returned and made him realize the Rachel in his bed was a tempting distraction; a warm and soft feminine delight of imminent trouble he would have to deal firmly with for the next few days. He knew nothing about this young woman except she lacked the common sense to dress properly for cold weather, and she was driving during a severe snowstorm.

"Mr. McCord," and he turned to see Rachel standing behind him wrapped in the down comforter. "May we talk now? I want to thank you."

"There's no need to thank me, young lady, and I must say you've been very reasonable and mature about the sleeping arrangements."

"That's the second time you've referred to me as a young or young lady?" she commented, smiling. "Not that I mind, but how old do you think I am?" she asked as John put Buddy down on the floor.

"Late teens-to-early-twenties," He insisted, studying her more closely, and thinking, 'She's too young for me. If things had worked out, I might have had a daughter close to her age at this point in my life, oh well.'

"I'm thirty-seven," Rachel said, still smiling. "It's obvious you served in the military?"

"Yes, how did you know that?" John asked.

"You're standing at parade rest with your hands behind your back, Rachel replied knowingly. "Are you always so stiff and formal with people, giving orders, interrupting, or so abrupt?"

"No, of course not," John said, hooking his thumbs into his front jeans pockets trying to appear relaxed but still in control.

"Good, may I thank you now?" she asked, noticing his new posture, and remembering how gentle he was with his cat.

"That won't be necessary, I." and he didn't finish his sentence because she dropped the comforter to the floor. She hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you. I can tell you're a good man." and she picked it up the comforter and wrapped it around her, looking forward to being snowed in with him.

"Let us begin over." John said smiling, and glad she was close to his age, "Welcome to my home such as it is." and he offered her his hand and she shook it. He was pleased with her firm handshake. "This farm has been in my family since 1817, and although I'm no farmer, I know how to farm.

I'm also proud to say the McCord men have answered the call to duty to our Country and have fought defending it since the War of 1812. I retired from the Marines, ma'am, and I've returned home to my roots. I've been living here rather sparsely for the past 16 months while I repaired and remodeled. First the outside, and then I gutted the inside; brought it up to code, slow but steady as they say with some help from old friends and neighbors.

I don't need much, and I'm sorry for the lack of amenities a gentle lady like you is accustomed too. If the weather lets up, I'll go out to the barn and bring in some things to make you more comfortable. I'm not the greatest cook in the world, but how do eggs, bacon, and English Muffins sound to you?

"It sounds delightful, Sir, what rank did you hold? I'll bet you were an Officer," and she was delighted as she had little to eat the past few days, and was charmed at being called a gentle lady.

"I retired as a Colonel, ma'am, Rachel, may I call you Rachel? Please call me John. Are you a Southern Lady?"

"Yes and yes," she replied, smiling which in turn had him smiling back. "I was on my way to Niagara Falls when the snowstorm hit. I've never experienced anything like this before. I was born and lived all my life in Savannah, Georgia. My family traces our roots in America back to the early 1800s, and our brick house is a historical landmark.

"We have something in common," John replied nodding approvingly, "deep family roots and a sense of belonging."

"Yes, we do." she agreed more intrigued with him now. "I'm a Nurse Practitioner by profession. I'm looking for a fresh start and change of scenery.

Is it always so cold in this part of New York State? Is this normal snowfall for this time of year?"

"How about we finish this conversation in the kitchen? Ladies first," he offered her his arm, with Buddy following close behind them. When they got to the kitchen, he pulled out her chair, and she sat down at the kitchen table.

"I suppose one gets used to it. March snowstorms such as this happen but aren't the rule. Crocuses, daffodils, and tulips are waiting to bloom under the snow, and besides, snowstorms make me appreciate the summer months, and I look forward to the fall colors, "he explained opening a fresh bag of dry cat food while his cat danced about and rubbed against him.

"We have mild winters too," he said, filling a small, chipped bowl with cat food. "It's all contingent upon the weather patterns over Lake Ontario. I don't mind snow or the winter months. I enjoy the quiet solitude and peaceful beauty of it after years of the hot, dry, grit of desert sand; sand gets into everything," He said truthfully measuring the coffee into the coffee pot with his thoughts wandering to Rachel with her hair up, wearing a pale green summer dress and wanting to kiss her.

"Did you ever marry John?" she asked, watching him place the much used and chipped, white speckled blue enameled percolator coffee pot on the gas stove.

She looked around the newly remodeled kitchen and the original, old fashion, refinished cupboards with the framed glass doors; most were empty.

"No, I've never been married. I proposed to a girl once. She declined my proposal, and after, the Marine's kept me occupied," he replied, thinking, 'There's no harm in being truthful, because in a few days I'll never see her again, and my life will be back to normal."

He continued, "I have a younger married sister, Sarah, and two nephews; Joseph and Michael. They're three and five years old. Although Sarah and I are eight years apart, we're very close. Our grandmother, my father's mother, raised us right here when it was a working farm," He said getting the bacon out of his fridge and then arranging it in an old well-seasoned cast iron pan. "Grandma seemed to know when things would happen before they happened; she only told people the good things, though. The exact date a baby would be born, for example. Many of the locals thought she had the second sight. Grandma was also a midwife, not with medical degree mind you. She was also an herbalist and had a green thumb when it came to plants and their uses."

"Your Grandmother sounds like a very special Lady," She offered.

"Yes, she was," he agreed, "The farm thrived when she was alive. Sarah is now living on a cattle ranch in Montana where they have tornados. Their thunder and lightning storms there make the ones here wimpy in comparison. When she was a little girl, Sarah was terrified of thunder and lightning storms, and now she snaps her fingers at them."