Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

  “It’s worth it to win,” Scott insisted. “It’s always worth it to win. And I’ve got news for you, asshole. I’m winning. Who’s scared now? Who’s losing now?”

  “Me,” Gabe admitted immediately. “You’ve won. I’m terrified. You’ve done it.” Which was no more than the truth. His heart was galloping wildly, and he could feel the cold sweat of adrenaline under his arms, between his shoulder blades as his mind considered and rejected alternatives. He couldn’t protect Mira if Scott shot him. His only chance was to keep him talking. “You’ve won,” he said again. “You win. I lose.”

  “That’s right, asshole. I win. And after I kill you, I’ll find her. I wanted to kill her while you watched, but what the hell.” Scott laughed again. “What the hell. You can’t always get what you want. And I still get to listen to her beg. I’ll get her on her knees, begging me for her life before I shoot her in the head. That’ll be sweet. You can think about that while you die.”

  Gabe saw the intention in his face, the tightening in his arms, and dropped just before the gun went off. Hit the ground and rolled, coming up fast and launching himself at Scott from across the room. Knowing it wouldn’t work. That he was too far away. That even Scott couldn’t miss again.

  And, even as he did it, saw the door crash open behind Scott. Saw the figure rushing forward like an avenging fury, swinging a piece of two-by-four like a baseball bat, screaming as she ran. Scott whirling, the gun going off just as the solid piece of lumber connected with the side of his head. Saw him dropping like a stone, the heavy black weapon falling from his hand and hitting the floor with a clunk.

  Gabe ran to the gun, scooped it up from the floor. Ejected the magazine and racked the slide to collect the final round, stuffed loose round and magazine into his pocket, set the weapon on the table. Then turned to Mira where she stood over Scott’s sprawled body, holding the two-by-four with hands that were visibly shaking now. Eyes wide, a red stain spreading rapidly from her left shoulder, soaking the yellow dress. And starting to laugh.

  “Sorry,” she told him on another shaky laugh, her voice high and unsteady with shock and pain. “Just . . . just taking out the trash.”

  A Million Dollars

  “Way to create an anticlimax,” Kevin complained, seated at last on the bench beside Mira. “This is supposed to be my moment.”

  Mira laughed. The painkillers made her a little fuzzy, made everything seem a little bit funnier, made her that much happier. “Sorry I got shot and messed up your grand finale.”

  The vote had had to be postponed, of course. Until the Sheriff’s Department, the ambulances had shown up. Until Scott had been taken away, a reluctant examination by Gabe having confirmed that, to Mira’s immense relief, she hadn’t actually killed him. Until Gabe had ridden in the second ambulance with Mira, talked to the doctor at the hospital in Moscow as she sat there, the furrow along her shoulder bandaged, her head swimming with Vicodin and the aftermath of adrenaline.

  And, of course, until the endless interviews with Ron, another deputy, and the Sheriff himself were over, and charges had been filed against Scott.

  “Good news is,” Ron told Gabe after they’d each been interviewed separately, again and again, and were sitting in the little room together, Gabe holding Mira’s hand, “the D.A.’ll be dropping your case for sure now.”

  “Whoopee,” Gabe said grimly. “Hell of a price to pay.”

  “Lucky he was such a lousy shot,” Ron continued. “And that you’ve got somebody willing to go to bat for you.” He smiled at Gabe. “So to speak. I’d say she’s a keeper. I’d go home and ask my wife if she’d do that for me, but I’m afraid of what she’d say.”

  But now that long day was over, it was another sunny August morning, and they were trying again. Assembled in the Clearing, and about to vote.

  “Only eleven members of our jury now,” Cliff said. “Well, it can’t be a tie, anyway. And let me just remind you, you’re voting for a team today. For the team you think deserves to win a million dollars.”

  “Me,” Kevin whispered next to Mira. She smiled, but she knew who her vote was going to. And who was going to win.

  One by one, the erstwhile contestants stood and walked to the voting booth. Mira held Gabe’s hand, and ran a tally in her mind.

  Chelsea. Stanley and Calvin, she guessed. She imagined that Rachel and Chelsea hadn’t been the best of friends out here.

  Melody. Stanley and Calvin again. Blame Kevin’s sharp tongue for that, or credit Stanley’s kind heart.

  Arlene. Rachel and Kevin, probably, a bond formed in the kitchen. Unless Martin and Arlene had decided together, and Mira was willing to bet that Arlene had made an independent choice.

  Martin. Stanley and Calvin for sure. One too many Martin-teases for that to go any other way.

  Lupe. Rachel and Kevin, she’d bet, another kitchen vote, although she could be wrong.

  Maria-Elena. Stanley and Calvin, the big man’s comforting warmth winning him that one too.

  Hank. Hard to say. He and Zara would have made a decision together. Rachel and Kevin had made the bigger journey, and Zara would have admired that.

  Zara. Too close to call, but if Mira were forced to predict, she’d guess Rachel and Kevin.

  Mira. She wrote down “Stanley and Calvin” without a second’s hesitation. Yes, Kevin had surprised even himself out here, and she wished him nothing but the best. But she loved Stanley, and she had a sneaking suspicion that a fair amount of his prize would find its way to his beloved church. Who knew, maybe her vote would be buying new choir robes. She’d like to think of that.

  Alec. Stanley and Calvin, she was sure.

  Gabe. Stanley and Calvin. Neither of the brothers would have broken their word. There was too much of the PK in them for that. Even for Alec, as much as he liked to play the bad boy.

  And when the votes were finally counted, in fact, there were no surprises. Four votes appeared in quick succession for Rachel and Kevin, and Mira could feel Kevin tensing beside her. She’d been right, then. Hank and Zara had admired the siblings’ effort out here, their ability to step out of their comfort zone and work so hard at something so unfamiliar. But Mira knew that those were the only four votes they would receive.

  “And the winners of America Alive 1885, and a million dollars,” Cliff announced, unfolding the final ballot and holding it up to the camera. “Stanley and Calvin.”

  “Well, damn,” Kevin said. Then stood and, to Mira’s relief, shook Stanley’s hand.

  “Here’s the question I have,” Cliff said twenty minutes later, after the winners had been congratulated, the vote dissected, and Mira’s analysis, to her immense gratification, proven absolutely correct. “Did Gabe and Alec really walk away from a million dollars? Let’s have a show of hands. If it’d been Rachel and Kevin, Gabe and Alec at the end, who votes Gabe and Alec?”

  Seven hands went up.

  “Well, that’s pretty convincing,” Cliff said. “And if it’d been Stanley and Calvin against Gabe and Alec?”

  He paused to count. “Six. Close, but still a win. Alec, how does that feel? To know that you probably turned down half a million dollars for your brother? You notice I’m not asking Gabe how he feels. I have a fairly good idea of what his answer would be.”

  “It’s a twin thing,” Alec smiled. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Fair enough,” Cliff conceded. “But I’ll just say here, since all the voting’s over, that you don’t exactly need the money, do you?” He reached down, pulled up a copy of Inc. magazine, held it up so the contestants, and the camera, could see. “This face look familiar?”

  “In fact,” he told a stunned group, “Alec’s one of those dot-com millionaires we hear so much about. You just sold your latest venture to Google, for, what was the figure?”

  “Sorry,” Alec grinned. “Confidential.”

  “Did that ease the pain of turning your back on the money a little?” Cliff pressed.

  “Well, the money pa
rt, sure,” Alec conceded. “But the losing part? Nope. Ol’ Dog Head still owes me for that. And he’s going to keep owing me for a long, long, time.”

  “Next question,” Cliff went on. “This one’s for Mira. You’ve been burned out here. Been hit in the face. Been shot at twice. Been shot. Are you the unluckiest America Alive contestant ever, or what?”

  She smiled at him serenely, not sure if her continued blissful mood was the Vicodin, or escaping death, or just the pure pleasure of sitting with Gabe, holding his hand, and knowing that he was safe here with her. That she’d saved him. That she loved him, and he loved her, and Scott was locked up where he couldn’t get to either of them.

  “No,” she said. “No, I’d say just the opposite. That I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

  “That’s a pretty good testimonial, Gabe,” Cliff commented. “How do you feel about that?”

  “Undeserving,” Gabe said with an unsteady laugh. “Humbled. And like the luckiest man in the world. I came out here for a million dollars. And instead, I found a woman I now know beyond the shadow of a doubt I’d give my life for. And you know what’s really incredible? I know she’d give hers for me too. Because she almost did.” His hand tightened around Mira’s.

  “What do you think, Stanley?” he went on, turning to the big man beside him. “You know a thing or two about love. What do you think a man should do when he finds somebody who won’t just put up with him, but who’ll put her life on the line for him?”

  “I’d say,” Stanley said, his deep voice rumbling with satisfaction, “that you’d better hustle up and put a ring on that.”

  “What a good idea.” Gabe got up, turned to Mira. “You OK to stand up for a minute?” he asked her, the tender expression on his face an arrow to her heart.

  “Yeah,” she whispered. Was aware of the cameras zooming in on them, the other contestants turning to look at them. But could only see Gabe.

  He helped her to her feet, turned her to face him.

  “I love you,” he said simply. “I think I started falling in love with you the first moment I saw you. When you turned around and smiled at me because you saw something beautiful, and you wanted to share it with me. And all that beauty you saw was reflected in your face, because it was coming up from your beautiful heart.”

  “I love you,” he went on, “and I want you with me forever, as long as I live. Because . . .” He smiled down at her, and she saw the tears glinting in his blue eyes, “my life just wouldn’t be the same without Mira. Because it wouldn’t be Christmas without Mira.”

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out the worn velvet box and flipped it open. “This was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me before she died, and she told me, when I found somebody I loved as much as she loved my grandfather, that I should give it to her. But that I should wait until it was the right one.”

  “And I asked her,” he said, his voice becoming a little less level, “‘How will I know? How will I know she’s the right one?’ And she said, ‘You’re going to know. When it’s right, you’ll be sure.’”

  “We can replace the diamond with something bigger,” he went on. “And I know it hasn’t been long. That we still have a lot to talk about, a lot to figure out. But . . .” He took a deep breath, dropped to one knee, right there in the dirt of the Clearing. “She was right. I’m sure. So I asked my dad to send this to me last week. Because I knew then that I wanted to ask you to marry me. And here I am, in front of everybody, putting my heart in your hands. I’m asking you to wear my ring, and be my wife.” He laughed up at her, just a little shakily. “What do you think? Will you marry me?”

  “Oh, Gabe.” She reached for an apron that, she realized, for once wasn’t there. “Yes. And no.” She saw the startled look on his face and laughed through her tears. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Because I love you too, more than I can say. More than I’ll ever be able to say. And I’m sure too. I’m so sure. But I don’t want to change anything about this ring. If it was good enough for your grandmother, if she was happy wearing it, it’s good enough for me.”

  She watched the smile blooming now as he took her left hand gently in his, slid the ring onto it, rose to take her in his arms. She smiled back at him, then closed her eyes and held him tight. The way she’d be holding him forever, every minute of every day. So he could stop what he was doing, sometimes, to feel it. So he could feel her loving him.

  He kissed her, and she kissed him back, again and again, while Stanley beamed his approval. And the rest of the contestants, and Cliff too, began to applaud. And Danny filmed the whole thing.

  Epilogue

  Ten months later

  “You realize,” she murmured, still in his arms, “that you’ve just broken the hearts of millions of women.”

  By the time the show had got halfway through its season, Gabe had begun to receive dozens, then hundreds of messages every week, forwarded by the network. Emails, and letters, and . . . pictures. Lots of pictures. The network had been ecstatic, of course. Female viewership of the show was up. Way up. He and Mira had turned down an offer from People for their wedding photos, and Gabe actually had received an offer of a spot as a TV doctor that he had declined without a bit of regret.

  “You getting this, Danny?” he demanded now. “Want me to kiss the bride one more time for you?”

  “Gabe . . .” The exasperated sigh. They had agreed to have their ceremony filmed today, on the condition that Danny do the filming. He’d captured every other bit of their courtship, after all. Well, almost every bit.

  “I know, I know,” Gabe said with a grin. “I’m supposed to ignore you. And I’m supposed to pay attention to my wife.”

  “My wife,” he repeated slowly. Looked up at his dad, standing patiently before them, an understanding smile on his face, the battered Bible that was part of him held firmly in both big hands. Closed now, its job done.

  Gabe turned to Mira again, bent to kiss her one more time before beginning the walk up the aisle. “What was that about hearts?” he asked her. “I got all distracted there. Must be being a husband. It’s a pretty new feeling.”

  She smiled up at him, her eyes misty with a love that humbled him in its intensity, its generosity and courage. “I said,” she repeated, “that you’ve broken a lot of hearts today.”

  “There’s only one heart that matters to me from now on,” he promised. “That’s the only one I care about.” The one that had been offered so freely and fully into his keeping. The one he had just vowed to love and to cherish, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as they both did live. The one he’d live for, from now on. The one he’d die for.

  Hers.

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  Books by Rosalind James:

  THE KINCAIDS:

  Book One (Mira and Gabe’s story): WELCOME TO PARADISE

  Book Two (Desiree and Alec’s story): NOTHING PERSONAL

  ESCAPE TO NEW ZEALAND:

  Book One (Hannah and Drew’s story): JUST THIS ONCE

  Book Two (Kate and Koti’s story): JUST GOOD FRIENDS

  Book Three (Jenna and Finn’s story): JUST FOR NOW

  Book Four (Emma and Nic’s story): JUST FOR FUN

  Book Five (Ally and Nate’s/Kristen and Liam’s stories): JUST MY LUCK

  Read on for an excerpt from NOTHING PERSONAL (The Kincaids, Book Two)

  Nothing Personal—Prologue

  Desiree was cold. She was so cold.

  Her head hurt really bad, too, like
something sharp was pounding into it. She tried to raise her hand to touch it, but the pain sliced through her chest, hot and hard, at the movement.

  “Mommy,” she whimpered. “Hurts. Mommy.”

  She could hear noises, long, low groans, but it was dark, and she couldn’t see. Then she heard the voice, not mad anymore. Scared.

  “Lacey? You OK? Lace?”

  Desiree was scared too, so scared she couldn’t have moved even if it hadn’t hurt so bad. She was crying now, the tears trickling, warm and wet, down her icy cheeks. And she kept moaning. She couldn’t help it. The same word, over and over.

  “Mommy. Mommy.”

  She woke up clammy with sweat, not sure if she’d said it aloud or not. The tears were there, hot, salty rivulets exactly like the ones in the dream, and the cold was the same too.

  Because she’d kicked off her comforter, that was why, and the temperature had dropped, the previous day’s sunshine merely the false promise of late October.

  The sadness dragged at her, black and heavy, trying to take her down, under the waves. But she couldn’t afford that, especially not right now.

  She reached a hand out for the switch of the bedside lamp, sat up in the pool of light cast by the pretty frosted art glass shade. Swung her feet to the soft surface of the area rug beside her bed and stood, shivering a little in the chilly bedroom. Pulled off her wet undershirt and dropped it into the wicker hamper, found another one in the top drawer of the mahogany bureau, settled it into place, and immediately felt better, less chilled. She sat down again and took a long drink of water from the glass on the bedside table, then switched the lamp off and scooted to the other side of the bed, the clean, never-used side. Pulled the sheet and down comforter up, making herself a cozy nest against the cold and dark.