Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

  She saw him raise his hand to her, tried to pull away, but couldn’t move, trapped by the hand on her arm, the wall against her back. Could only see the hand coming toward her face, and wait for it to hit her.

  Gabe poured another bucket of water down the row of tomatoes, tried to fight back the surge of unease. He’d been restless all week, no matter what Alec said, how reasonable his arguments sounded.

  “No news is good news, right?” his twin had said the evening before on their way back from the creek. “If anything had happened, we would’ve heard. And what could happen? There are eight other people with her. Eight. What do you imagine he could do in front of everyone?”

  “I know,” Gabe said impatiently. “I know, I know. I keep telling myself all that. And it’s not helping. I’m worried.”

  “Look, I know you’re all hot for her,” Alec said. “All right,” he amended hastily when Gabe glared at him. “You’re in love with her. Whatever. Same deal. But you need to chill.”

  Gabe had had trouble sleeping all the same. He always slept like a log out here, the hard physical labor more effective than any sleeping pill known to man. But last night, he’d woken again and again, the sleep he had managed broken by dreams he couldn’t remember on waking. Just that he’d woken each time with a start, his heart pounding.

  Now he went to the creek, refilled the buckets, carried them up again, trying to get a grip.

  “I wonder what the challenge will be tomorrow,” Kevin mused, leaning on his hoe for a moment among the zucchini. “Something in here, I’ll bet. Some kind of garden thing that men and women can both do. Power weeding. Well, we’ve all had some practice with that.”

  Gabe didn’t hear him. Stood stock-still, his buckets hanging from his hands, forgotten, and stared toward the house.

  “Hey,” Kevin said. “You OK?”

  Gabe looked down, saw the goosebumps forming on his arms. Felt the hair rising on the back of his neck. Set down his buckets and walked quickly to the gate.

  “What is it?” Kevin asked. He’d come along with him, Gabe realized, was looking at him with alarm.

  “Alec,” Gabe got out. Started toward the cabin, broke into a run, outdistancing Kevin and Danny, hustling after them, his camera on his shoulder.

  By the time he got to the cabin, Gabe was sprinting. He burst through the door, saw Rachel and Alec turning their heads towards him, their expressions startled.

  “What?” Alec asked in alarm, potato in one hand, paring knife in the other. “What happened?”

  “You OK?” Gabe asked on a gasp as Kevin came in behind him, Danny bringing up the rear.

  “Of course I’m OK,” Alec said, exasperated. “Well, I cut my finger a little. Want to look at my boo-boo?”

  Gabe tried to calm his racing heart. “I was sure . . .” he began. “I knew you were in trouble.” He stared at Alec in confusion, and his brother stared back at him, and each saw the truth in the dark-blue eyes looking into his own.

  “Mira,” they said together.

  “What about Mira?” Kevin asked.

  “Something’s wrong,” Gabe answered. “Danny, we need to get out of here. Call somebody to take us out, right now.”

  “Man, you can’t leave,” Danny protested. “It doesn’t work that way. You know that.”

  “Call whoever it is right the hell now,” Gabe ordered in his best hospital voice. “Get me a ride. Something’s wrong back there, and I’m leaving.”

  “No, we’re leaving,” Alec corrected him. “Call, Danny.”

  “This is so against the rules,” Danny muttered. “I’m not supposed to be doing this.”

  He asked a question over the two-way radio, turned back to Gabe. “Nothing’s wrong,” he told him. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Give me that.” Gabe grabbed the radio out of Danny’s hand, pressed the button. “This is Gabe. There’s an emergency. Get a truck here now.”

  He ran out to the clearing with Alec. Within no more than two minutes, the pickup bounced into the dirt yard from wherever it sat stashed during the day. Jay started to get out, was pulled back inside by Gabe, who had already opened the passenger door and climbed in with Alec close behind.

  “Go,” Gabe ordered. “Drive.”

  “Where?” Jay protested. “I can’t just take you. I have to call and get authorization.”

  Gabe caught a glimpse of Danny hopping up into the truck bed. Made his decision, reached out and gave Jay a hard shove that pushed him out the open door, pulled the driver’s door shut and was accelerating out of the yard before Jay had even got to his feet.

  “Oh, man,” Alec moaned. “We are so screwed. Grand theft auto. And we don’t even know where they are.”

  “Open that back window and ask Danny,” Gabe commanded, the truck bouncing over the heavily rutted dirt road.

  Alec did it, somehow. “The camp,” he reported, holding the bar by the door to keep himself in his seat, coughing against the dust coming through the opened rear window. Hanging on for the ride.

  By the time they pulled into the gravel drive, Gabe’s anxiety was at fever pitch. He hit the brakes, shifted into first and turned the key, and was out the door of the pickup in moments, Alec right behind him, Danny leaping out of the back of the truck to follow them, filming the whole time. Gabe didn’t even notice him. He ran through the front door of the common room, and saw them. Mira backed up against the wall, Scott’s vicious backhand landing even as Gabe crossed the room, a moment too late.

  Everything was hazy. Grabbing Scott by the back of the shirt, swinging him in an arc, shoving him backward. Scott’s face, contorted with anger and shock. Alec saying something, pulling at his arm. Gabe wasn’t even conscious of hitting Scott. Realized he’d done it when his fist landed on the side of the other man’s head and Scott stumbled backward. Gabe followed him, pulled his arm back to hit him again. But before he could, Scott went down, taking Danny with him in a tangle of arms, legs, and camera.

  Gabe was over Scott again, grabbing him by the front of the shirt this time, yanking him off Danny, when Alec got hold of him by both arms, pulled him back, shouting loudly enough to be heard over the roar in Gabe’s head.

  “Stop! Gabe! That’s enough!”

  Scott sank back down onto the floor, his hand to his head, looking dazed. Danny was fumbling for his radio again, speaking urgently into it. But it was hardly necessary. The trucks were already pulling into the yard, Cliff and John rushing through the door.

  “What’s going on?” Cliff asked sharply. “Gabe? What’s happened?”

  Scott was still on the ground, scrabbling away sideways like a crab, trying to put distance between himself and Gabe. Gabe shook his head, trying to clear it. Reached a hand out for Danny, pulled him to his feet.

  “Sorry about that,” he said with a shaky laugh. “Just . . . Just taking out the trash.”

  Mira, he remembered. She was still against the wall, her hand to her face. Lupe, finally alerted by the commotion, had her arm around her, Maria-Elena and Alma standing helplessly nearby.

  “Oh, baby.” He reached out gently, noticed with detachment that his hand was trembling. He moved her hand from her cheek. Saw the red blotches there, the bruising beginning from the blow.

  “How does it feel?” he asked. “Any teeth loose?”

  She shook her head, wincing at the movement. “No. Just hurts. My cheek and my head.”

  He took her to the table, sat her down in a chair. “Alma,” he said, looking up. “Got an icepack in there?”

  “You bet,” she assured him, hustling back within a minute with a cold pack. Mira took it from her, pressed it to her cheek.

  “I’m going to take Mira to her cabin,” Gabe told Alec. “If anybody needs us, they can come see us there.”

  Forty-five minutes later, a tall, fresh-faced sheriff’s deputy who’d introduced himself as Ron Ohlsen was sitting on the little cabin’s lone chair while Mira and Gabe sat on the bed facing him. Ron signed the summons, ripped it car
efully loose from the copies, and handed it to Gabe. “Sorry, man. I doubt the D.A. will prosecute under the circumstances, but I have to cite you.”

  Gabe looked down at the piece of paper. “Battery, huh? Hell, if I’d known I was going to get cited for it anyway, I would’ve hit him a few more times.”

  “I hear you,” Ron said sympathetically. “I would’ve done the same thing, somebody did my lady like that.”

  He nodded to Mira. “How you doing? You sure you don’t need us to get a doctor out here?”

  She smiled painfully. “I’ve got medical attention.” Hugged Gabe’s arm a little more tightly.

  “I’m a doctor,” Gabe explained, conscious for the first time of his dirty, disheveled 1880s clothes, the multi-day growth of black stubble on a face that didn’t look all that civilized at the best of times. “All appearances to the contrary.”

  “Well, then,” Ron said, “I guess you know best. And don’t worry,” he told Mira. “Mr. . . . He glanced down at his copy of the summons. “Mitchell’s in the car now, getting used to the feeling of those cuffs. He’ll get some time in a jail cell to think about whether it was worth it. Because he’s an ex, right?”

  “Right,” she said. “Does that matter?”

  “Yep. Makes it domestic battery, and means he’s going to have to see a judge before he posts bond. Friday afternoon? Yeah, not going to happen today. He’s likely to be in till Monday.”

  “What’ll happen to him then?” she pressed.

  “Still a misdemeanor, but he’ll get a good fine. Probably no more jail time than that, if this was the first incident.” He looked the question at her.

  “Yeah,” she said. “The first one with me, anyway.”

  “And Cliff already told me that they’d put Scott up at a motel in town this next week,” Gabe said. “He won’t be coming back here.”

  “He’ll get a restraining order for sure,” Ron assured them. “All this was on film? Yeah, should be pretty cut and dried.”

  “Thanks,” Mira sighed once Ron had left. Her cheek was really hurting now, and she felt as drained as if she’d been doing 1885 laundry all day. All she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep. “That isn’t enough to say, and I don’t know how you knew I needed you right then, but thanks. Or did you get voted out?” she asked in sudden alarm.

  “Nope,” he said. “Door Number One. But here.” He leaned down to the small ice chest Alma had given him, pulled out another icepack. “Time to put this back on.”

  “You mean you actually did know I was in trouble?” she asked, holding the cold pack to her cheek. “Like the twin thing? Does it work with other people too?”

  “It never has before,” he said slowly. “I thought it was Alec at first. But when it wasn’t . . . I knew it was you. I have a feeling that means something, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” She took his hand with her free one, the simple contact as soothing as ever. “But I do know that I was awfully glad to see you. I was pretty scared for a minute there. I’m not sure what else he would have done. Thank you for coming. Thank you so much. Don’t you need to get back, though?”

  He laughed. “Get back to what?”

  She sat up straight, set the icepack down slowly. “Gabe. You and Alec didn’t . . . you didn’t quit the game, did you?”

  “No,” he said, still smiling.

  She sighed with relief that was short-lived as he continued. “Not exactly, we didn’t. But if you count carjacking a production truck, leaving the site, attacking one of the other contestants . . . Yeah, I’d say we’ve quit about as comprehensively as a person could. Well, maybe Martin did it a little more thoroughly, but it’d be a close call.”

  “You stole a truck?” She stared at him in horror. “Gabe, this is for a million dollars! You can’t just quit! Isn’t there something you can do? Talk to Cliff and apologize? Plead temporary insanity or something? You guys were going to win! You can’t just walk away from that!”

  “Yeah, I can. And I did. We did. That part’s the twin thing, thank goodness. Alec’s along for the ride. Literally,” he said with another laugh. “Not too happy with me right now, maybe, but he came along for the ride all right. So they’d better have our cabin ready, because it’s going to be occupied tonight. We’re done.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “No. You need to check first. Make sure you’re really out. That there isn’t some way to get back into it again.”

  “Mira.” He took both her anxious hands in his own. “I’m out. And it’s exactly where I want to be. At least it will be, if you’ll lie down here with me and let me hold you for a few minutes. What’s the point of saving the girl if you don’t even get to kiss her?”

  “If you’re really going to be here,” Mira said drowsily a half-hour later, after waking from the doze she’d fallen into, lulled by the comfort of his arms, “do you think you could stay with me tonight? Actually . . . can you just stay, while we’re here? Would you want to? Or do you want to be with Alec?”

  He laughed, held her gently to him, gave her a careful kiss on the forehead. “Let’s see now. I could spend the next week on a twin bed next to my brother, who’s not exactly thrilled about being my Partner in Crime. Or I could sleep in here with the woman I’ve been wishing, and hoping, and praying to have sex with for a couple months now. Yeah, that’s a tough one. I’ll have to give that some careful thought. I’ll get back to you, how’s that?”

  She smiled carefully around the pain of the bruises. “You do that. Let me know what you decide.”

  “But don’t worry,” he went on. “We’re not doing anything tonight. Because I know how much that hurts.”

  “This is the problem with you being a doctor,” she sighed. “Too much information.”

  A Little Late to Breakfast

  Mira opened her eyes, saw the familiar wood ceiling of her cabin over her head. And felt the very unfamiliar warmth of the man beside her. She looked down at him, sleeping on his stomach, one arm shoved under the pillow, the other flung out across the bed, his head turned away from her. She eased out of bed quietly so as not to wake him up. He’d had a hard day yesterday. She’d let him sleep. For a little longer, anyway.

  She winced a bit as she brushed her teeth, the movement aggravating the tender bruise that had come out in glorious red now. Her headache was gone, though. She moved her face experimentally. Not too bad. A whole lot better than it had been last night.

  The others had all exclaimed over her at dinner, Melody and Chelsea seeming disgruntled at missing all the excitement of the day. Hank, Zara, and Lupe, though, had made a fuss over her that had made her feel a bit uncomfortable, but so cared for. Alma and Lupe, to her gratified astonishment, had made a rich tortilla soup just for her that didn’t require chewing. She’d gone to bed early, had fallen asleep with Gabe holding her. And that had all been great. But this morning, she was hoping for a whole lot more.

  She climbed carefully back into bed and looked down at him. He’d shifted around while she’d been gone, the white sheet slipping down almost to his waist, leaving his broad, muscular back on full view nearly all the way down to the navy blue boxer briefs that, to her enjoyment, had been all he’d worn to bed. His head was turned towards her on the pillow now, mouth slightly parted in sleep. His hair and face clean, but the black stubble remaining.

  “Oh, please,” she’d exclaimed impulsively when he’d pulled the razor and shaving cream from his toilet kit after his shower. “Leave it for a while.”

  “I’ve got a good three days’ growth of beard here,” he objected, running an exploratory hand over his face and grimacing. “Too hard to get a close shave out there. And you don’t want that, do you?”

  “I do,” she insisted. “It looks good. Really hot, if you want to know.”

  “But it’ll scratch,” he pointed out. “Especially . . .” He looked at her, a slow smile beginning. “On the tender parts.”

  “I want that, though,” she said, amazed at her boldness. “I
want to feel it. It’s . . . exciting.”

  The dark blue eyes remained intently on her a moment longer, before he put the razor away with deliberation. “I have a suggestion for you,” he said.

  “What?” she asked, a little breathless.

  “Get well soon.”

  Now, she looked again at his broad back, the muscles more defined than ever after two months of chopping wood and sawing down trees. He’d complained yesterday, after he’d finally got his shower and changed into modern clothes, that his shirts were too tight across the chest and shoulders. Well, he might have to buy a new wardrobe, but she loved it.

  She gave in to temptation, lifted herself up to sit on her knees beside him, and ran her hands lightly over those shoulders. Put her thumbs in the valley of his spine, opened her hands over the ridge of muscle lining that valley on either side, and slid them all the way down to his narrow waist. And sighed at the solid bulk of him under her palms.

  He opened one eye to look at her, his mouth curving in a smile. “Either I’m finally in bed with the woman I love,” he decided, “or I’m having the world’s best dream.”

  “Door Number One,” she assured him with a happy smile of her own.

  “Then,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, “give me a sec.”