Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

She nodded, leaned into him a bit. “Thanks,” she breathed, her brown eyes full of something he recognized all too well. Oh, boy. He could have thought that one out better.

  After that inauspicious start, they were fed a quick lunch, then separated by gender. And that was when the fun had really begun.

  “We’ll just do the basics today,” John announced. “A little sawing, chop a little wood, get you familiar with your animals.”

  John’s version of a “little” hadn’t been Gabe’s, he thought as Alec finally emerged from the shower, a thin, skimpy white towel inadequately covering his lower body. First couple days were bound to be the hardest, Gabe reminded himself, stripping down the rest of the way for his own shower.

  “About time,” he grumbled. “Man, I’m ready to hit the sack. A few hours of physical labor and I’m already wiped. Eight more weeks of this.”

  “If we’re lucky,” Alec corrected. He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and lay across the bed again. “Or unlucky. Can’t decide.”

  He grinned at the enraged yell from the bathroom, the string of curses. Got up and poked his head through the bathroom door. “Meant to tell you,” he told a furious, shivering Gabe. “I got you started on your acclimatization, since this whole stupid thing was your idea. Used up all that decadent hot water for you. Welcome to 1885, bro.”

  Wood and Water

  “It’s dark,” Chelsea complained the next morning, shivering theatrically beside Mira. “And cold. Can’t we have the heat on?”

  Alma, their guide to women’s work, 1885 style, looked at her in amused disgust. “It’s almost July. You don’t turn the heat on in July. Put on a sweater if you’re cold. Or at least something with sleeves. Those pretty arms are going to get mighty scratched up by the end of the day, otherwise. And five is when you start, if you’re going to have breakfast on the table when the men come in from their chores at seven.”

  “I want to look nice, though,” Chelsea said, giving a tweak to the tight white tank top that barely concealed her generous cleavage. “If we’re going to be on camera.” She cast a glance at Stu, filming from the corner, angled her assets a bit more his way, tossed the blonde hair she’d left loose this morning in contrast to Alma’s instructions. “Why can’t they make their own breakfast, anyway? How hard is it?”

  “Because that’s not the way it works,” Alma said. “Not for what you’re doing, it sure isn’t. Men do their part, you do yours, it all gets done. Not as easy as you think, either. Just be glad you’re not pregnant, with a couple of kids hanging on your skirts.”

  “Now.” She looked around, hands on her bony hips. “Nine women in a kitchen’s about six too many. Anyone here know how to collect eggs?”

  “I do,” Lupe said quietly. “We had chickens growing up,” she explained to the others, a bit flustered at being the focus of attention, especially with Stu turning the camera on her.

  “Good,” Alma said. She nodded toward a basket hanging on the wall. “Take a couple of the others with you and show ’em how it’s done.”

  “How what’s done?” Arlene asked with a frown. “Don’t you just go in there and pick the eggs up?”

  “You have to reach under the chicken,” Lupe explained. “Come on with me, and I’ll show you.”

  “I’m coming too,” Zara decided. “I’ve suddenly realized that my life’s been sorely lacking in time spent reaching under chickens.”

  “Good,” Alma said with satisfaction as the women left. “Not so many of us falling all over each other now. We can get something done. You,” she nodded at Rachel and Maria-Elena. “I’ll show you how to get the stove going. And we’ll need some more wood for it.” She handed Chelsea a big piece of canvas with leather handles on either end. “Here. Woodbox is about empty. You can fill it. That’ll get you warm.”

  “Where? How?”

  Alma looked at her in exasperation. “From the woodpile,” she said slowly, as if she were speaking to a slightly dim child. “Fill up the carrier, bring it in here, dump it in the woodbox, go back out and get some more. Think you can handle that?”

  “Yes,” Chelsea said haughtily. “I just needed to know. What about gloves?”

  “Gloves?” Alma asked blankly. “What kind of gloves?”

  “For my hands. My nails.”

  Genuine amusement lightened Alma’s expression. “Did you get mixed up, get on the wrong bus? This is the country, not the Miss America pageant. Your nails are the least of your worries.

  “And you two,” she said to Mira and Melody, dismissing Chelsea with one more shake of her gray head, “you can take these buckets and go get more water out of the well. Fill up both these big kettles on the stove, then bring in another bucket each. That’ll do, for a start.”

  “There’s a sink here,” Melody pointed out. “Why should we carry water?”

  “Because you’re learning. Gol darn it, am I going to have to explain every little thing? You got a lot to learn about living in the country. Somebody tells you what to do, you just do it. You don’t sit around and ask a hundred questions before you decide whether you want to or not.”

  “I just asked,” Melody muttered as she left the kitchen with Mira. “God, she’s a bitch.”

  “Well, we do have a lot to learn,” Mira pointed out as they headed toward the well that stood in the space behind the big kitchen/dining hall building that formed the center of the hunting camp. “She’s right about that. And it’s her job to teach us.” She caught sight of Chelsea then. No wonder she hadn’t come back with any wood. She was at the woodpile, right enough. In fact, she was sitting on it, watching Gabe and Alec as they chopped wood. They were wearing plaid flannel shirts this morning against the dawn chill. How could a man look that good just by putting on a flannel shirt, tucking it into some tight jeans, and adding a pair of work boots? It really wasn’t fair.

  “Morning, Almira,” Alec said, setting down his axe with a grin just as Gabe brought his own tool down, blunt edge first, onto a wedge set against the top of a huge log cross-section, neatly splitting it in two.

  “And Melody,” Alec added. Gabe looked up and nodded at the two women with a smile, causing Melody to veer off and head over to say her own good-mornings closer up.

  “Morning,” Mira said with a wave of her hand, crossing quickly to the well and setting down her bucket on the stone rim, then laboring to turn the handle just to pull up a single bucketful of water, the way Alma had shown them the day before. She kept an eye on the brothers as she worked the handle, watched as Alec gestured Melody back before splitting his own chunk of log. In the meantime, Gabe had reduced the piece he’d been working on to several chunks of firewood in a few efficient motions. She looked down to pour the water from the well bucket into her own galvanized pail, then sneaked another peek before lifting her bucket from the well again and starting back to the kitchen.

  She wouldn’t have minded sticking around to watch herself, but Danny was filming the scene, and her pride kicked in. It wasn’t hard to figure out what the storyline would be there, and the idea of appearing on TV as one of a gaggle of girls vying for the brothers’ attention like teenagers at a boy band concert made her cringe. Instead, she focused on trying not to spill any of the precious fluid from the heavy bucket. This was going to get old pretty quickly, especially if she had to do it alone.

  She met Alma on her way through the kitchen door. The older woman stepped back to allow Mira to come through with her heavy load, an expression of displeasure on her face.

  “She’s headed out there to tell them what’s what,” Rachel guessed. “Drama on Day Two. That’s what I call great television.”

  Mira laughed. “Yeah, I think I’ll settle for being that quiet girl in the background.” She dumped her bucket into the kettle on top of the stove, which was warming up nicely as Rachel fed more wood into it, and headed out for another bucketful of water. And had to step aside this time for Alma, driving a laden Melody and Chelsea ahead of her like a rather cross sheepdog with a pai
r of stragglers.

  “Plenty of time to flirt with good-lookin’ men when you’re out there on the beach in LA,” the other woman was scolding. “Right now, you’re here to work.”

  “When are we supposed to talk to them?” Melody complained. “They’re always out there, and we’re always in here!”

  “You see ’em when you feed ’em,” Alma said. “That’s the deal.”

  “So,” Zara said to the men when they were all seated at the huge wooden table more than an hour later, eating a laboriously prepared breakfast that featured only slightly burned eggs and bacon, slightly underdone biscuits, and slightly gummy oatmeal, “what did you learn in school today, kids?”

  “I learned why they call cowboy boots shitkickers,” Calvin grimaced, prompting a rueful laugh from every man but his father.

  “Language,” he growled in his deep rumble. “Ladies.”

  “We’ve heard the word,” Arlene protested. “It won’t burn our tender ears.”

  “Calvin would never have said that word in front of his mama,” Stanley countered, “and you wouldn’t want her to hear you say it now, would you, son?”

  “No,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t feel that kind of double standard is really another way of infantilizing women, part of the patriarchal belief system that’s kept them from full participation in society?” Martin asked, seeming genuinely interested.

  Stanley looked at him in amusement. “No, I surely don’t. I’d like to have heard you call Calvin’s mama infantile, or try to keep her from participating. Where I’m from, you don’t use that kind of language in mixed company, that’s all.”

  “Not around here, either,” Alma put in. She and John were joining the group for breakfast before the next segment of their training. “At least not with the older folks like me. And sure as heck not in 1885, would you say, John?”

  “That’s for darn sure,” he agreed. “You all might have to learn some new vocabulary to use when you whack your thumb with the hammer. Who knows, maybe when you get back to the big city they’ll think you invented some brand-new cuss words. Might start a whole new trend.”

  Giving Mira Her Lesson

  Several grueling days of training later, Mira was walking with Maria-Elena behind Alma through the woods, toward a ripping sound that cut through the quiet air. She finally spotted the source: Stanley and Martin, engaged in cutting through the trunk of a medium-sized pine with a two-man saw under John’s careful eye and Mike’s ever-vigilant camera.

  “Wait,” Alma commanded. The women stood where they were, behind the semicircle of watching men, as the tree gave way, falling to the ground with a groan and a crash of branches. “OK, come on.”

  “Hey, John,” she said once the tree had finished bouncing. “You got a couple guys with time to show these girls how to chop wood? Be easier to learn before they’re into all those skirts.”

  “I could do that,” John said, shoving his hat back on his forehead and giving his head a scratch. “Be a relief, tell you the truth. Only one of me and eight of them, and there’s a couple of ’em I don’t trust a bit with that saw.” He jerked a head toward where Martin and Stanley stood waiting for him. “That one, I have to babysit him every minute.”

  “Stanley?” Alma asked with surprise.

  “No,” John chuckled. “He’s a good man. No, it’s the other one. He’s a menace.”

  “Better not have him do it, then,” Alma said.

  “Nope,” John agreed. “Chop somebody’s finger right off. Pret’ near done it himself already. Take those brothers back with you. They look good on camera. I thought they’d be useless, being from California and all, but they know how to work, especially Gabe. I don’t mind giving them a break.”

  “Gabe! Alec!” he called. “Come over here a minute, will ya?”

  “I need somebody to teach these two to split wood for kindling,” Alma announced when the brothers joined her. “I’ve seen you out there,” she said to Gabe. “You’re pretty good with your hands.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am,” Gabe said, fighting a laugh and seeing Alec frankly grinning beside him.

  “Then take them back, show ’em how it’s done,” Alma said. “Because I don’t have the time to spare. You won’t believe this, but I’m still trying to teach a couple of those girls to peel a darn potato. I’ll say one thing for you,” she told Mira grudgingly, “you can peel a potato.”

  “You’re supposed to get ’em all tomorrow, right?” she asked John.

  “Yep,” he agreed. “Shooting lesson.”

  “That should be a sight to see,” she muttered. “I’d buy tickets to that. Hope nobody dies. So,” she glared at Gabe, “you got it? You and your brother there?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She grunted. “Your mama taught you manners. Good for her.”

  She stalked away, and Gabe looked at Mira, eyebrow quirked, as the four of them turned back toward the house in her wake, another cameraman having materialized to film this latest adventure.

  “Somebody’s got her in a bad mood,” Gabe commented.

  “She’s getting a little frustrated,” Mira said, glancing quickly at him, then away again. “The milking last night didn’t go too well. Somebody screamed. Who was that?” she asked Maria-Elena.

  “Melody,” the girl answered immediately. “Gross!” she mimicked, jumping up and down and beating her hands against her legs. “She was all like, ‘Eww! Disgusting!’ As soon as she touched the . . . the . . .”

  “Teats,” Gabe finished with a smile, making her blush.

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us, then,” Alec said, stepping forward where the path narrowed, neatly edging his brother out and forcing him back with Maria-Elena. “If we’re not going to get on Alma’s bad side.”

  Mira snorted a little at that. “You’re not going to do that, and you know it. She has such a crush on the two of you. I saw the size of those pieces of pie she gave you last night.”

  “She told me she likes a man who can swing an axe,” Alec sighed in mock satisfaction. “We get you swinging a hatchet, Maria-Elena,” he said, turning back to her as they entered the camp area, “maybe she’ll give you a piece of pie too.”

  Gabe maneuvered neatly. “How about if you show her that, then,” he said, “and I’ll give Mira here her wood-splitting lesson.”

  “Oh.” Mira looked around at Alec.

  “Hey,” Gabe said quietly, pulling the big axe out of the block and setting it carefully aside before picking up a split log. “I know I offended Scott that first day in the coffee shop. And that he doesn’t like me any better now. But can you and I get past that? I’m not such a bad guy.”

  “What? I didn’t . . . I’m not upset about that! I thought you were nice, that morning. Well, not nice to Scott,” she added honestly, “but I liked what you said to that boy. You made him feel better, I’m sure.”

  “What, then?” he asked. “What is it? Why don’t you like me?”

  “I don’t dislike you,” she protested, looking down and wiping her hands on the legs of her jeans.

  “Come on. You hardly talk to me. You don’t even seem to want to look at me. What is it?”

  Her nervousness was growing by the moment. She hated being put on the spot like this. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me to chop wood?”

  “In a minute,” he said, his expression hardening. “After you tell me what I’ve done to offend you.”

  “It’s not you. It’s . . . It’s the doctor thing, all right?” she said in a rush. “I was surprised, that’s all.”

  “You don’t like me because I’m a doctor?” he asked, looking confused. “Believe me, it doesn’t exactly turn most women off when they find out what I do for a living.”

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “I can believe that.”

  “So what?” he persisted. “Oh,” he realized. “I get it. You went out with a doctor. Engaged, living with him, something big like that. And he cheated on you
. Notorious cheaters, doctors,” he said with a rueful smile.

  “No! Nothing like that. But yeah, I’ve known a lot of doctors, and they’ve tended to think they were pretty special. Pretty entitled. I always said, that was the one man . . . ” She broke off in embarrassment.

  “The one man you wouldn’t marry,” he guessed.

  “Sorry,” she said, her face crimson. “You aren’t asking me to marry you. All right, you’re a nice guy. Now could you please show me how to use a hatchet?”

  “I’m not always a nice guy,” he corrected. “But I’m a reasonably decent man, I hope. And yeah, I’ll show you. Now that we’ve established that your father’s a doctor, and a cheater, and probably not a very good guy.”

  “Have we established that?” she asked, startled.

  “Haven’t we?” She grew even more flustered beneath the intensity of his gaze as he looked down at her, seeming unaware that he was still holding the piece of wood.

  “Judge me for who I am,” he said quietly. “And I’ll do the same for you.”

  She nodded in confusion. “OK.” Her voice sounded far too uncertain. She cleared her throat. “OK. Sure.”

  “Friends?” he asked, setting down the wood at last and holding out a hand.

  “Friends.” She took the hand he offered, and felt her own swallowed up in it. The warm touch of him, his broad palm against hers, combined with the look on his face, sent a delicious thrill up her spine.

  “Hey,” Alec complained from behind them. “Do we have to change partners for Mira to get her lesson?”

  “No,” Gabe said, his eyes still on Mira’s. “I’m going to give her her lesson.”

  She didn’t know how she managed to avoid chopping her fingers off after all. Gabe’s hand over hers on the hatchet handle, his smile of approval as she got the knack of sinking the hatchet into the top of the wood, then lifting the entire assembly and bringing it back down on the block to split the thing in two. The look of him as he bent to pick up the split kindling, plaid shirt straining over those shoulders, Levi’s hugging one of the best butts she had ever seen, on screen or off.