Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

  “You’ve danced with everybody but me tonight,” he began, his tone belligerent. “What do you think you’re trying to prove?”

  “It’s square dancing,” she said, trying to sound more powerful than she felt. “All you had to do was join in. If you didn’t want to, that’s not my fault.”

  “Well, I want to now,” he said, his hand closing around her upper arm. “And I don’t care what kind of dancing it is, you’d damn well better stay with me from now on. Quit making a fool of yourself, like you’re the fucking Homecoming Queen.”

  “I don’t want to dance with you,” she said, keeping her voice down in what she knew was a vain hope that Danny’s camera boom, inevitably tracking toward her, wouldn’t pick it up. “You’re drunk, and I don’t like you grabbing me. But I do want to talk to you. Let’s go outside.” She began to turn toward the door.

  “Forget outside. We’ll talk right now.” He swung her around a little too hard, making her stumble a bit. “What do you think you’re doing, hanging on him like that?” He jerked his head contemptuously in Gabe’s direction, and Mira glanced around, saw him starting forward, a look on his face she’d never seen before.

  “Don’t you see what he’s doing, throwing it in my face that he’s living in that cabin with you, and I’m not?” Scott went on furiously. “He’s trying to get to me, trying to push me, get me off balance. Because I’m the threat, and he knows it. And you’re falling for his act. You look like a tramp, snuggling up to him when everyone knows you’re with me. You’re making a fool of yourself, and you’re making a fool of me. You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. You’re supposed to be my teammate. It’s time you started acting like it!”

  “I’m not your girlfriend anymore.” She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and took a step back, her heart beating hard. “As of right now. This isn’t how I was planning to do this, but you want to do it now, OK, we’ll do it now. I’m breaking up with you.”

  “What?” He stared at her, mouth hanging open for a moment before he shut it with an angry snap. “You can’t be serious. We’re on the show! You can’t do this!”

  “I’ll do the show. I said I would, and I will. Not because you want to. Because I want to. And I am serious. I’m breaking up with you. That’s it. It’s over. Right now.” She stopped herself, wrapped her arms around her waist, physically holding herself together to keep from rattling on any more. She was shaking, but she was glad to have it out there. Scott didn’t even look like the man she’d fallen in love with, with his eyes bleary and unfocused from the drinking he’d done, his beard bristling out around lips that she realized now were too thin, too tight. Why hadn’t she noticed those lips before?

  “Come on, Grace,” he wheedled, the alien name falling more harshly than ever now that she’d become unaccustomed to hearing it. “You don’t really want to do this.” He stepped closer again, reached for her shoulders.

  She cried out with pain. “My burn!” she gasped. “Let go!”

  He lifted both hands, took a startled step back. He didn’t even know where she’d been burned, she realized. Had never even asked.

  He didn’t acknowledge her pain, just grabbed for her hand this time, held on. “You don’t really want to do this,” he began again. “We just haven’t had enough time together, that’s all. And it’s been so stressful, being on the show. You haven’t been at your best. I understand that. Plus I know you’re upset that I’ve never asked you to marry me. But I’ve decided I’m ready now. We can get married as soon as we’re back home again.”

  She’d thought she’d been embarrassed before, having this whole ugly scene caught on camera. Now, she wished the floor would swallow her up.

  “Wow,” Zara said dryly from behind her. “That was romantic. My little heart’s goin’ all pitter-pat.”

  Mira could feel the heat burning in her cheeks, her legs trembling under her. Danny was still focusing the camera on her, while Mike, seeing the disturbance, had brought his over to train it on Scott. Her first proposal, being captured for posterity in all its glory.

  “No,” she said, the front of her shoulder throbbing where he’d grabbed at the still-tender blisters. “I’d say ‘No, thank you,’ but I don’t think I will. I’ll just say no. I think I’ll hold out for somebody who loves me. Somebody who’s at least nice to me. Someone who calls me by my name. I don’t know why you’d want me anyway. You don’t respect me. You sure don’t admire me. You don’t even seem to like me, half the time. You just want somebody you can push around, and I’ve been that. Well, not anymore. Go find somebody else to push around. Or better yet, get some help! Because you need it.”

  “You’re saying something’s wrong with me?” he asked in disbelief, his color as high as hers. He seemed to realize he was still holding her hand, dropped it hastily. “Just because I’m not licking your boots like Dr. McDreamy here? He doesn’t think you’re any more amazing than I do, you know,” he said contemptuously. “He doesn’t admire you. He just wants to get in your pants.”

  He glared at Gabe, who’d moved even closer as the argument got more heated. “I’ll save you the trouble,” he spat viciously. “She’s lousy in bed. Unless you want someone who’s just going to lie there like a limp rag, don’t bother. But who knows, maybe you’re into that. She sure as hell didn’t do it for me. I had to close my eyes and pretend I was with somebody else just to get off.”

  Mira gasped, the swift tide of humiliation flooding her and making her feel physically ill. This was why she didn’t do confrontation. Because she always, always lost. All she wanted to do was run away and cry. But she couldn’t stand to give Scott the satisfaction. She stood still, fought to keep her eyes from dropping. Sensed the solid bulk of Gabe as he moved to stand beside her, the tension in him, and felt her courage return.

  “Did you ever think,” she said through the tightness in her throat, forcing the words out through lips that trembled with anger and emotion, “that that was you? Maybe you just don’t know how to satisfy a woman.”

  Scott’s face flushed an even deeper red, and he opened his mouth to retort. Gabe shook his head once, twice, like a bull shaking off a pesky fly, and stepped forward to stand between the two of them, his posture rigid.

  “Why the hell are you still here?” he demanded of Scott. “Are you looking for even more of a smackdown? She’s going to be describing that pencil dick of yours next. Get out. Right now. Or better yet, don’t. Because I am just itching to kick your ass.”

  Everyone had come closer to listen, Mira saw with a return of humiliation and shame. Alec put a restraining hand on his brother’s arm. “Easy,” he told Gabe quietly.

  Stanley was coming forward now too, edging in front of Gabe, putting his big body between the two bristling men. “Time for you to go,” he told Scott. “Before this boy forgets his raisin’, starts something right here.” He clamped a hand around Scott’s elbow and began to walk him toward the door.

  Scott tried unsuccessfully to yank his arm out of the bigger man’s grasp. “I’ll go when I’m damn good and ready,” he said furiously. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

  Every bit of Stanley’s six foot three and 225-plus pounds seemed to expand right there in front of them as he loomed over Scott. Suddenly, it wasn’t hard at all to believe he’d been a Marine.

  “You’re ready right the hell now,” he growled, his voice seeming to penetrate every corner of the huge space. “You want your butt kicked, boy, I’ll be happy to oblige. Outside.”

  He nodded to his son, Calvin stepped up to take Scott’s other elbow, and the two men frog-marched him out the door in true MP fashion.

  “Holy shit,” Zara breathed happily from behind Mira. “I’ve been waiting a month to see that, and damn if it wasn’t entertaining. And hot. If I wasn’t so happily married, I’d be volunteering for some close-order drill right now. Sign me up, Sergeant. Yow.”

  “We’ve been on this show too long,” Hank said with a grin at his wife. “Way too long. Time for
you to make some music, and remember whose job it is to take you home.”

  Zara laughed. “You’re right. You okay, hon?” she asked Mira, coming up and putting an arm around her.

  Mira leaned into her. “Yeah,” she said, her voice trembling now that it was all over. “I think so. That was horrible.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think, looking back, you’re going to find that this was one of your better days.” Zara caught Gabe’s eye as he came back from closing the big barn door behind the three men, his expression still grim.

  “I’m going to turn this girl over to you,” she told him. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you’ll do a better job of comforting her than I can. And I think Hank’s right. A little music would do us all good right now.”

  The group around Mira and Gabe began to drift away as the musicians picked up their instruments again and begin an upbeat tune, Zara and Hank jumping up onto the raised platform to join them, beginning to sing.

  “Thanks,” Mira said to Gabe under cover of the music, trying to smile even as she felt her knees quivering under the full skirt. “I know that was a long time coming, and it’s good it happened, but it was no fun at all. Thanks for your help.”

  “No problem,” he said, taking her hand, then threading his fingers through hers, holding it openly now. “Just wish I had kicked his ass.”

  He sounded almost as shaky as she did, she realized. The hand holding hers wasn’t entirely steady. “Hey. Are you OK?”

  He looked down at her, eyes troubled. “When he grabbed you like that, hurt you, I wanted to deck him. Only stopped myself because I figured you still had something to say. But I’m wishing now I hadn’t held back.”

  “You were right, though. I needed to tell him. And if you’d hit him, they’d have made you leave the show, wouldn’t they?”

  “I didn’t even think of that,” he admitted. “But you’re probably right. And that would’ve left you here with him without me. So yeah, probably best I didn’t. I’m pretty sure Stanley can control himself too, though I’m also sure he’s holding onto Scott harder than is strictly necessary right now.”

  “Who knew he could get that tough?” Mira asked wonderingly. “Look that . . . scary? He’s always seemed so gentle. That was impressive.” It was easier to talk about Stanley than to think about what Scott had said. The humiliation of it still burned more fiercely than her shoulder, but she shoved it aside. Because the song was coming to an end, and Gus was addressing the crowd.

  “Well, folks, we’ve had some real excitement here tonight, one way or another, and it’s about time to pack it in,” he announced. “But before we go, we’d like to end the evening off right. Here’s a song you may recognize, one that goes way back to the nineteenth century with you people. And we have two of the best musicians you’ll ever hope to hear to sing it with us. You’ll want to get hold of the lady of your choice for this one, gents, because this is when you get to hold her tight and do some waltzin’.”

  “Sounds to me like they’re playing our song,” Gabe said. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

  “Hope I don’t step on your feet. I’m not feeling too coordinated right now,” she admitted. The musicians had launched into the opening chords of a song she did indeed recognize, she found with a rush of gratitude. “Goodnight Irene.” One of the earliest Hank and Zara hits.

  “As long as you let me lead, we’ll be OK,” he promised, leading her out and turning her to face him as Zara and Hank began to sing the familiar chorus, their voices falling into an effortless harmony.

  “I’ve got no problem with you leading. Not while we’re dancing, anyway.” She moved into his arms, accepted his broad hand over her own, his other hand firm at her waist, guiding her in the direction he wanted her to go.

  “Only for the physical stuff, I promise.” He began to waltz her backwards across the wooden plank floor, their feet gliding easily over its coating of sawdust. “How are you doing? How are you feeling?” he asked abruptly.

  She laughed, surprised that she could. “How long is this song? I’m feeling a lot of things, I think.”

  “I have all night to listen,” he promised, seeming to relax a bit, lose a little of the tension that had been gripping him.

  “You must be a really good doctor. Because you have one heck of a bedside manner.”

  “Depends entirely on the bed,” he said, pulling her in closer as the fiddle launched into the refrain yet again, the musicians seeming as reluctant as the two of them to end the song, and the evening. His body was warm against hers, his back solid under her palm. She could feel herself relaxing as well, moving as if her body were part of his own, and was at once comforted and aroused.

  “Feelings,” he prompted as the song went on.

  “Hmm? Oh,” she sighed. “Umm, shaken up, obviously. And relieved that it’s finally over. Kinda proud of myself, actually. I’ve never told somebody off like that. That was new. And embarrassed at the same time, for the same reason.”

  “Sad, too,” she went on, “that it ended so ugly. And,” she admitted, “scared about what these next weeks are going to be like.”

  “Scared how?”

  “You saw how furious he was. He doesn’t like to lose. And losing in front of everyone, on camera, what I said, what you said . . . he’s going to be pretty unbearable. I’m not sure just how nasty it’s going to be, but it could be bad. And we’re all stuck here. At least he’s not going to be on our homestead, not right away anyway. But once he is . . . that scares me. And it’ll be rough over there. I hope Alec’s going to be OK, being your brother and all.”

  Gabe laughed softly, and she felt the rumble of it vibrating in his chest, into her own body. “Alec can take care of himself,” he promised. “And I can take care of you.”

  She felt the decidedly un-PC thrill of that all the way through her. She’d been living in the nineteenth century way too long, for that to make her feel so good. And was aware, as he pulled her even closer, that he was as aroused as she was. And that, as she’d noticed the other evening, his version was . . . impressive.

  “Do you still want to know how I’m feeling?” she asked him breathlessly.

  “Dying to hear. I think you can tell how I’m feeling. I’m just hoping you’re somewhere in the ballpark.”

  “I’m in the ballpark. I’m all the way around the bases.”

  And he, Gabe thought, still somehow managing to dance, was wondering what it was going to feel like to slide into home.

  Tough Challenges

  Five o’clock had never come so early, Gabe thought with a sigh the next morning at the sound of the alarm, the slap of Stanley’s big hand shutting it off. Especially after exactly one beer, and staying out until all of nine-thirty.

  “Right,” he said in resignation. “The price of high living.” He stood up, grabbed his clothes off their nail, shrugged into his shirt, buttoned his pants, pulled up the suspenders. He’d got over his squeamishness about putting on dirty clothes, anyway. He wondered how his more finicky brother was doing with that. Well, everything was bound to get good and filthy today. Challenge day.

  “Bet they’ll have a good one for us this time,” Kevin mused a few minutes later, picking up the milking stool and opening the corral gate in the gray light of dawn, Gabe following behind with the shovel and wheelbarrow.

  “In particular, you mean?” Gabe asked.

  “Yeah. Because we missed it last week,” Kevin answered, seating himself on the milking stool while Gabe began to shovel. “And because of that nice bit of extra tension you provided last night. Bet they’re sorry now that they don’t have a cage fight planned. At least I hope they don’t. That wouldn’t be too period.”

  “A regular fight would be, though,” Gabe decided. “And that would suit me just fine. I’d win, too.”

  “Oh, I’d have no problem nominating you to defend our homestead’s honor,” Kevin agreed. “Or Mira’s, more like. Though I think you might have to duke it out with Stanley for the
privilege. He sounded sorry that Scott didn’t give him any excuse when he walked his drunk ass back to Arcadia last night.”

  Gabe snorted, scooped one last shovelful of manure, and turned the wheelbarrow to head out with it. “Bullies don’t mess with anybody bigger than them. I’m sure you’ve found that out yourself by now.”

  Fight or challenge, he vowed as he trundled the heavy wheelbarrow over to the manure pile, winning was going to be the best revenge. Because they needed to win, or it was pretty clear Mira would be leaving with Scott. And that wasn’t going to happen. Not if he could help it.

  “Ready for this?” he asked her as they neared the Clearing a little after noon. She’d been quiet all morning, subdued after the late night, all the emotion. He’d held her hand on the walk, just as he had on the way home last night, and it felt ridiculously good just to be able to touch her.

  Now he gave that hand a little extra squeeze, looked down at her, wishing he could see her face, hidden from him by the sunbonnet.

  “Yeah,” she said firmly. “I’ll do my best. My very best.”

  “I know you’ll do that,” he assured her. “But I meant, ready to see Scott.”

  “Oh.” He felt her hand tighten for a moment in his. “No choice. And he can’t do anything today. Not with everybody around.”

  Nothing but look like he wanted to kill her, her and Gabe both, she realized as they stepped forward to meet Arcadia, coming from their own path onto the Challenge field. Both homesteads moved toward the spot where two big stacks of skinny logs, some shorter posts, and a double pile of tools were laid out. Where Cliff and John were standing already.

  She averted her eyes from Scott’s thunderous face, let go of Gabe’s hand and moved with Zara and Maria-Elena to the spot indicated by the ever-present Jay, a single long bench where the Arcadia women were already seating themselves.

  “Welcome to our men’s challenge,” Cliff announced. “We’ve had to get you here a little earlier today, because this one’s going to take some time. I know you were disappointed that the log-sawing went so fast,” he went on to a few rueful grins, “so today you get a much tougher assignment. You’re going to be building something special.”