The Cabin on The Blue Ch. 03

By the time she dragged herself from the bed and then emerged from the bedroom, she was proud of herself for being mostly clothed...although she hadn't put on her boots or done much of anything with her hair yet.

And there was John, long dressed and mostly done with making breakfast. He was wearing his shoulder holster, which meant that he planned to take at least one of his handguns - in addition to the pair of rifles he was taking for them.

Rachel watched him, frowning to herself as she laid out cutlery and poured beverages. Usually, he joked around and chatted with her, but today he was quiet, even solemn. He seemed almost disappointed that she had come out, and she remembered his comment, the one he had made about keeping her in bed, too exhausted to resist his charms. Or something like that.

When Rachel attempted to engage him in conversation, he only nodded or gave brief answers. He was putting an awful lot of concentration into scrambling eggs and rewarming leftovers. John could prepare this repast blindfolded, yet he was focusing on every detail.

As though he was serving an empress with a reputation for beheading those who displeased her, she thought. She clenched her jaw. How irritating. Recently, John had been....odd. He had been spending a lot of time off Island, and he had been much more withdrawn at home. One minute he was obsessed with her, and the next he was off in his head, almost as though she didn't exist. Other than the fact that he was cooking for her, so she couldn't even get properly mad about it. That... was kind of exactly the point.

As far as romances and relationships went - post-apocalyptic or otherwise - John was a catch. He was a walking dream, pretty much perfect - even before factoring in his Island and its wealth of treasures. And therein was one of Rachel's concerns: she didn't trust anything that seemed too good to be true.

John wasn't the first man she had been involved with since things had fallen apart; he was, however, the first that she had developed deep, genuine feelings for - feelings that went so much further than conveniences like having a partner to watch your back or warm your bed. Rachel wasn't sure how she would handle the loss of a lover that she actually....well, loved. Losing partners of convenience had been haunting enough.

And lately, she had been reliving the most traumatic of those losses in her nightmares.

It had started with Jasper. Tall, pale, and almost painfully shy, he had been part of a young adult work-study scholarship program at Beth's boarding school - and part of the final wave of evacuations of teachers and staff. Jasper had ended up in Beth's car group by chance, as had Lyla, a junior teacher. Both had stayed with Beth after the others passengers left to find their families, and stayed as Beth and Rachel reunited. They had joined up with a few other friends as they began their journey from Reagan City. Jasper had provided the eight of them with wild game, as well as finding large quantities of edible mushrooms. Beth had urged Rachel to befriend him; Beth was good at reading and managing people, and she was confident that they would want him to be loyal if anything happened. As a confident, attractive woman a few years his senior, it had been easy for Rachel to chat him up. And she was much more interested in her...assignment once she saw him emerge from bathing in a hot spring, his previously hidden lean, muscular build on full display. They had carried on for several months, and Rachel had grown fond of him. Beth joked, not unkindly, that he had become either her pet or a worshipper. Early one morning, he had gone out to hunt - and never returned. They had searched for Jasper for days and never found a trace.

Her next intimate interaction had started when they had encountered a caravan of families, accompanied by a hired security team. Beth had sidled up to the caravan's leader - his portly figure and his wife notwithstanding; Rachel flirted with Henry, the second in command of security. Beth encouraged her to go for a leader, as she had done, pointing out Samson, the handsome, brawny head of security. But Samson's cold, calculating manner and lifeless eyes made Rachel's blood run cold. Henry, on the other hand, had warm, honey brown eyes, dark wavy hair, and a beautiful Hindi accent. A few weeks after Rachel had begun sharing Henry's tent, several members of the caravan went on a supply run, including Samson and Henry. Henry returned on a makeshift stretcher, unconscious, surrounded by the grim faces of the men who carried him. His dark skin was pale, his hair caked with blood from a cut on his scalp; a puncture wound on his midsection had been bandaged and wrapped, but he was hemorrhaging internally. Their medic did her best to treat his injuries, but was honest with Rachel when she asked about his chances. "He'll survive if he's very lucky," she replied in a murmur, out of Henry's hearing. "Keep the dressing clean, keep him hydrated. Broth, soup. I'll be back to check on him." Emma and Beth visited Rachel, bringing food and supplies while she attempted to nurse him back to health, taking over so she would sleep for longer than a few minutes at a time. Concerned, they whispered to her of the rumors in the caravan: that Samson had been jealous over "Henry's girl"; that Samson had not only allowed Henry to get injured, but had also contributed to the situation; that Samson had been waiting for an opportunity. Once Henry mercifully succumbed to his wounds, Samson started making pointed comments to Rachel - and Emma - almost immediately. Beth, Rachel and what was left of their inner circle separated from the caravan at the next waypoint. It had taken Rachel months to move past Henry's brutal death. Despite his vocation, Henry had been kind, and gentle, and she would always wonder if she had a hand in his death - however unwitting.

By the time that Beth had engineered a meeting with Andre, Rachel's emotions and outlook had dulled considerably. Andre was a Council Member of a farming colony that had been founded Before. He was of approximately average height, with grey streaks at his temples, a carefully maintained goatee, and a pleasant, sociable manner. He had managed to hold on to the entirety of his large parcel of land through the turmoil, making him an obvious first-draft choice in Beth's book. Rachel met Andre at what was called a 'Bonfire Social', and managed to secure a spot in his household staff as a cook. The older man had a reputation for being shrewd, but he was not above being manipulated by an honest, emotional plea from a pretty young woman. Within days, Rachel had proven her value in the kitchen, and managed to secure household jobs for Emma and Beth, as well a room for them to share. Things between Rachel and Andre had moved very slowly; Andre had pursued her while she politely demurred. She was quite aware of the almost incessant parade of lovely young women that traipsed in and out of Andre's quarters, and she had zero interest in jeopardizing the positions that she and her friends held in his house and staff. If she allowed anything to grow between them, it would have to be a serious, long-term arrangement. Once Andre grew intent about his inquiry - he had either eliminated his casual relationships or become so discreet that it didn't matter - Rachel began to take his overtures more seriously, though her hesitancy to consummate things continued for some time. She had been sharing his quarters for the better part of a year when tragedy struck once again. A virulent disease struck the area, wiping out everyone in the council over the age of thirty-five and leaving chaos in its wake across the colony. Andre had been among the first to fall, giving Rachel a front row seat to the physiological effects of the disease as well as the desperate political and social maneuvering that came when such a large vacuum opened up so swiftly.

Recently, her nightmares had changed. Her panic over her burgeoning feelings for John had thrust him into a starring role in her semi-regular night time horror show. Now it was John tumbling head first down a rocky hillside, or slipping beneath churning rapids, or vomiting blood while she knelt beside him, helpless to do anything other than mop his brow and make soothing noises.

Rachel stared at him from beneath lowered lids, checking him over. Other than his sullenness, he seemed healthy and normal. She let out a quiet sigh, relieved - and then realized that he was lost in thought.

Maybe John thought she had been acting strangely as well.

"Enjoy." John set the food on the table.

"That really looks great, John, thank you," Rachel said to him, ladling food onto her plate. She smiled.

He finally looked up at her and made eye contact, doing a double take. "I like your hair like that. You should- It would be nice if you wore loose more. If you wanted to, I mean," John corrected himself.

Rachel blinked. "Thanks," she replied. John was usually a paragon of confidence and self assurance. What the fuck was going on with him?

They took the time to eat slowly. Although they wanted to get on the road, being able to ride without stopping would make them much more efficient on their hunt. But there was a fine line, Rachel had learned. Too much food, and she was likely to feel nauseated with all the jostling. Horses didn't exactly come with shocks, and their paths weren't paved. Rachel packaged up the leftovers from breakfast for the road, and John began to clear the table, carrying dishes to the sink.

"Add those to the pack by the door, please?" He gestured in the general direction of the door, and she was surprised to discover that John had already packed several containers of foodstuffs. There was enough food to last them for days, much more than they usually took during such day trips. He had also packed a tent and bedrolls. She cocked her head, tapping her fingers on her thigh. Were turkeys exceptionally insidious? Would this flock of poultry require more careful stalking than hogs and deer? Somehow, she doubted it. Was there even any point in asking him? He would probably shrug and grunt. After all, when she had asked him about the eggs, his response had been 'spices'.

Feeling impish, Rachel waited until he moved to the sink with the final load of breakfast dishes, then drifted across the floor on silent, stocking feet. She was determined to get a reaction out of him. Before he noticed her, Rachel reached out and gave his sculpted ass a big, hard squeeze. She giggled when he gasped in surprise, and turned around to stare down at her in shock.

"Oh, hello," Rachel said, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as she looked up at him.

She looked saucy, like she was trying to provoke him into doing something. "Are you trying to get fucked again before we leave?" He asked her, arching an eyebrow. "I got to tell you, you do that again and it'll get you bent over a piece of furniture real quick." John grinned at her, shaking his head.

"Is that the only way I can get you to pay attention to me?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

John tilted his head to the side, his eyes boring into her. "Is that really what you think?" He looked like he was getting angry.

"For the record, I hate that I even thought that, let alone that I said it out loud, so fuck you for that."

He dried his hands on the dish towel. "Rachel," he looked up at her, offering his hand. "Come here, please." Rachel put on a show of taking her time, but she did extend her hand and allow him to draw her in to him.

He had known that she would end up there one way or another; he could wait. John exhaled, glaring down at her in annoyance even as he wrapped his arms around her. "You really do have a mouth on you, you know?"

"You just said-"

"Uh uh," John shook his head. "Not the same usage. I wasn't swearing at you."

"Are you being intentionally obtuse or is that just-"

"Hey!" John replied, his tone unusually sharp. She jumped before she caught herself. Rachel shot him a defiant glare, then pushed away slightly, crossing her arms. "There's no need to be rude," John said, taking a deep breath. Even though she had shifted away he hadn't released his embrace, and he moved his hands down from her torso to cup her ass through her jeans. She stiffened with an audible gasp. "Just making sure you don't feel neglected. Do you need any more attention?"

"You're a real jerk, you know," Rachel retorted, standing on tiptoe to deliver a soft nip to John's chin before dancing away from him.

Once they were finally on the road, she decided to broach the subject of the food. Rachel had been studying him subtly. John was still quiet, but he didn't seem as withdrawn as he had been earlier. Apparently grabbing his arse had made a difference? She rolled her eyes, patting Pasquale's mane. The stallion had been very happy to gear up for a ride that morning, and was prancing as he walked. Rachel was glad Pasquale was happy, but his extra bounciness was something she could have done without. Clark trotted happily alongside them, and Basil had been tasked with carrying the tent and most of the supplies. John, riding Lillian, was leading them along a different route than they usually went. Interesting. He had told Rachel that they would be checking out an area she hadn't seen before.

"Hey, John?" Rachel called out. He was a few lengths ahead of her, his customary position. At her call, John slowed the mare down, letting Rachel catch up to them sooner. He shot her a brief, quizzical look when she drew up beside him. "I was wondering - are you expecting this to be a long journey? I noticed that your packing lacked its usual...ascetic touch."

"Wow. Ascetic? You think I'm boring?" He snorted. "Slivers of salted fish and dry bread with water, that's my favorite." John smirked at her.

Rachel bit her tongue, determined not to laugh. "That is not what that means-"

"I know what it means," John interrupted, the corners of his mouth still lifted. He licked his lips before continuing. "You never know how long you'll be gone for something like this. I only have a small cache out in that direction. I like to be prepared."

His voice was, casual, flippant even, but Rachel was suspicious. "John?" He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Is every-" Rachel cleared her throat. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

He regarded her from beneath his black cowboy hat, eyebrows knitted, blue eyes bright and intense.

"I know," John began, his words careful and measured, "that you have doubts. About me, and us, and about staying here." Rachel froze, her mouth unexpectedly dry. She opened her mouth for a moment, but clamped it closed again almost right away. "It's alright, Rachel. It's normal. It would be abnormal if you didn't question it. But I... I love you. I don't want you to leave." He nodded at her, matter-of-factly, like he had just told her that the almanac was predicting rain for the next several days, and Rachel stared back at him, stunned. "I wanted you to know that." John gave her a slow, easy smile before urging Lillian back to a faster pace, pulling ahead of Rachel once again.

I love you.

Rachel stared after him, gaping. A giddy, unreasonable sensation was spreading through her. She was thankful for Pasquale, who strode along unaffected by the revelation. If she had had to walk on her own she would have been in trouble. Rachel felt a smile breaking out across her face and allowed it- although she did pull a section of the scarf that she wore up to cover the bottom half of her face. Her heart was racing. He loves me.

Happiness. Contentment. For the first time in a long time, these things felt attainable.

A short while later, John slowed, pointing out a small copse of nut trees. "These orchards are good places to find game birds, during fall and winter. Just over there is a blackberry thicket, and they like that during the warmer months. Quail nest in that brush too." He listened for a little while, eyes narrowed. "Pheasants," John said. "But we're hunting turkeys, right?" She nodded, and he shot her a grin. "Good. Onward, then."

Rachel watched him from the corner of her eye, biting her lip. She really didn't know what to make of him. She had never seen a man just casually, randomly, drop the L word and then carry on about the day like everything was business as usual. She exhaled, giving into the urge to talk to him. "I thought about what you said. I've never used a fresh turkey before. I'm curious about how much that will change things." Rachel considered, putting her head to the side. "I suppose everything is fresh and /or from scratch, really. Do you really think you'll be able to make cheese by then? I'd be game to try making macaroni and cheese... " Realizing that she was starting to ramble, Rachel trailed off.

"You know, I wasn't entirely serious about Thanksgiving dinner," John responded, keeping a watchful eye out as they rode along. "It's a lot of work, especially if you aren't willing to let me do anything."

"I don't need your help in the kitchen, John." Rachel put her nose up in the air, and he chuckled. "I can manage perfectly well without the assistance of a man, thank you. Anyway, the sides are just variations of things we eat every day. Although, I don't suppose we'll have cranberry sauce."

"Yeah, I don't think we've got any cranberries. Do have a decent score of some others, though. If you ask me nicely, I might make my Aunt Betty's Mixed Berry Surprise."

She side-eyed him. "Is your Aunt's last name Crocker, by any chance?"

John guffawed. "Vicario. My Aunt Betty was much better than that red box stuff."

Lips pursed in thought, Rachel turned to him. "Is it a pie? Some sort of...cake?"

"Tsk, tsk!" He waggled a playful finger at her. "That's the surprise. It was always an impromptu recipe based on whatever was available at the time."

He drifted into a tangent about baking from scratch, and Rachel continued studying him. John seemed much more relaxed after his admission, but her gut told her that there was still more to it. She frowned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. The hunt, she thought. Pragmatism. She would focus on the hunt today, and do her best to ignore whatever was eating at John. Besides - he had given her plenty of other things to think about. They rode on.

They had reached an area of countryside that was wholly unfamiliar to Rachel. He had never brought her this far inland from the mouth of the Blue River. Although much of the forest had been cleared, this region was much less cultivated, and had a wild, loose beauty. Closer to home - John's island, she corrected herself, chewing on her lip - there were occasional barns, windmills, and other manmade structures that were useful as landmarks.

Rachel hadn't seen anything resembling a building since they had passed the ruins of an outhouse, and that had been over an hour ago. She wrinkled her brow, shifting with mild discomfort. They were riding at a leisurely pace, but they had been riding a lot longer than she had anticipated for a simple hunt.

....Were there really no turkeys closer to the cabin and Island?

"Rachel."

She snapped back to the present. John had pulled Lillian to an abrupt stop on their path, giving Clark a command not to wander too far. Curious. A rooster crowed in the nearby distance as she slowly pulled up beside him, taking in his manner and bearing.

She had never seen him this way. It was clear that John had something he wanted to say, but he was reluctant - tense, even. Perhaps concerned about how she would react? Though John was frequently intense, she'd never seen anything approaching the anxious expression he currently wore.