Just My Luck (Escape to New Zealand #5)

by Rosalind James

  “Stop it,” Alec said now.

  “What?”

  “Your Spidey Sense. Knock it off. Quit looking inside me. I’m fine. I said I’d do this with you, and I’m doing it. And we just crossed the state line. Welcome to Idaho.”

  “That’s it ahead,” Gabe pointed out a few minutes later, as Alec pulled to a stop at yet another red light in the sparse evening traffic. “The University Inn.”

  “Right across from the field full of cows. The booming metropolis.”

  Gabe smiled, then ran his tongue across his teeth. “Well, I’ll be glad to get there, myself. This bonding road trip has got me stiff. And I need to brush my teeth.”

  “Damn.”

  “What?” Gabe asked in alarm.

  “I left my toothbrush back at the motel.”

  “Well, you’re not borrowing mine.”

  “Right. We’re going to the mall.” Alec belatedly put on his left blinker, waited for the two oncoming cars to proceed through the intersection. Heard a loud blast on the horn from the car behind him before the driver swerved around and passed on the right with a screech of tires and a parting one-fingered salute out the driver’s window.

  “Asshole,” Alec muttered as he turned into the lot. “So much for country values.”

  Ten minutes later, toothbrush duly purchased, they pulled into the University Inn parking lot and gratefully emerged from the car. Driving all day was never going to feel good, not even in a Mercedes. Alec went inside for the keycard, while Gabe began to haul out suitcases, then stopped in his tracks.

  A couple spaces beyond, a young woman stood next to a glossy black BMW with its door open, her gaze turned up to the eastern skyline. Gabe could see why. The view was tinted a rose pink that lay softly over the mountains, giving them an almost ethereal glow.

  She sensed his presence behind him, turned with a warm smile that was a perfect complement to the light bathing the landscape behind her. Her soft pink mouth curving, a sudden image of his teeth sinking into that plump lower lip flashing straight through him, waking his body up fast. Her smile rising all the way to the wide-set eyes that shone with happiness beneath dark winged brows.

  “Alpenglow,” she told him.

  “What?” he asked stupidly.

  “That’s what they call that pink thing. Alpenglow. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Yeah,” he smiled slowly. “It sure is.”

  She nodded, looked back at the mountains with a sigh, leaving Gabe free to take in the view that interested him most. She wasn’t especially slim—in fact, she was downright . . . rounded. Arms, breasts, hips, it was all there, all the good stuff. A nicely defined waist, too, in a slightly crumpled short-sleeved summer dress that flared out at the hem, fluttered a little in the breeze. Long, shiny brown hair caught on the side of her head in a simple braid that reached nearly to her hips, ended in a curly tail. All right, she was attractive. A pretty face, nice hair, a beautiful smile. But she wasn’t gorgeous. Why was he staring at her?

  “Cute,” Alec said quietly beside him.

  “Yeah.” Gabe gave himself a shake and began to turn away.

  “Hey.” The man was striding quickly across the parking lot. Light brown hair, parted neatly. Slim and tall, somewhere between Gabe’s six foot and Alec’s six-two. And, Gabe realized, the same asshole who’d flipped them off earlier, at the light. Frowning, now, as he came to join the woman. “What are you doing? I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I was just looking at the view.”

  “Did you get the car cleaned out?”

  “Not yet.”

  He sighed impatiently. “I’ve got all our stuff inside already, and unpacked, while you’ve been standing here. Could you get a move on, please? I want to go to dinner.”

  “Sorry,” she said again. “It’s just so beautiful.”

  The man smiled tightly, still not acknowledging Gabe or Alec, who had come up to stand beside his brother and watch the pair. “All I’m asking for is a bit of focus here, sweetie. Eyes on the prize, remember? Can you do that for me?”

  “Of course,” she said. Gabe could see the flush spreading up her cheeks, her embarrassment at the reproof in front of strangers. Not his business, he reminded himself. None of his business at all.

  “Love her, hate him,” Alec said a few minutes later as they watched the young woman head into the motel, loaded down with a trash bag and various odds and ends.

  “Yeah.”

  Alec shot a look at him. “You OK?”

  “Anger management issues.” Gabe looked at his brother wryly. “I was ready to take him out for a minute there. Haven’t felt like that in a long time.”

  “You probably just need to get laid,” Alec said practically, pulling his bag across the lot. “How long has it been?”

  Gabe smiled. “Too long.”

  “Anyone since Crystal?”

  “Nope.” Gabe stood back as Alec used the keycard on the motel door, then humped his suitcase and pack inside. “Too busy.”

  “Bro, you’re never too busy for sex.”

  “All right. Not in the mood, then. Tired of all the drama. I don’t have the energy for it anymore.”

  “That’s why I don’t do the drama.” Alec lifted his suitcase onto the bed, eyeing the dark green quilted synthetic spread with distaste. “Keep it light. You don’t have to get involved, you know. As long as you’re upfront about what you want, where’s the harm?”

  “Maybe I’m just not a damn rabbit, like some people. And by the way,” Gabe said seriously, pulling a luggage rack from the closet and lifting his own suitcase onto it before unzipping it. “Be careful, while we’re here. These are close quarters we’re going to be in. Strings are most definitely going to be attached. You do your player stuff, and we’re going to find ourselves out on our asses.”

  Alec laid a hand over his heart. His mouth was solemn, but his dark blue eyes, the only feature identical to Gabe’s, laughed at his twin. “I solemnly swear that I will keep it in my pants for the duration. Now all we have to worry about is your Sir Galahad impulses.”

  “No problem. I’m tired of rescuing,” Gabe assured him. “I’ve lost the desire to solve anybody else’s problems. I’m not even all that confident anymore that I have the solutions. I just want someone . . . happy, I guess. Happy and fun, to hang out with. Are there any women like that?”

  “Not for an ugly bastard like you,” Alec said cheerfully.

  Welcome to Paradise--Chapter 2

  “Aren’t you ready yet?”

  Mira started at the demand, uttered so abruptly from behind her, almost burned herself with the iron she’d borrowed from the front desk.

  “Just getting the wrinkles out,” she promised, setting the iron down on the bedside table and picking the dress up from the bed. “Five minutes.”

  Scott looked at his watch. “You know I hate being rushed. We have to be in the ballroom to meet everyone at ten. Why couldn’t you have done it last night when we got in?”

  “Sorry. Five minutes, I promise.” He was in a bad mood because he was nervous, she knew. Once they got through the initial orientation and he knew what to expect, he’d do better. Until then, she’d just keep from annoying him further. She’d had plenty of practice at that after years of bouncing between her parents’ various households. If there was one thing she was good at, it was not making waves.

  Ten minutes later, Scott was shifting impatiently from foot to foot at the hostess stand of the motel restaurant. A busy waitress glanced across at him as she filled coffee mugs. “Be right with you folks,” she called. Bustled over and grabbed menus.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, leading them to a table by the window, with its uninspiring view of the parking lot and the field of cattle across the highway. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” Mira said.

  “A cappuccino for me,” Scott corrected.

  “Sorry,” the waitress said. “We don’t serve espresso drinks.”
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br />   “Coffee, then,” he sighed.

  When the waitress came back with their coffee, she brought something else too. The two men from the evening before, whom she was clearly planning to seat next to Mira and Scott. They both smiled at her in recognition as they approached, and she found herself smiling right back. It wasn’t hard to do. Both men were dressed in worn Levi’s that clung in all the right places, and T-shirts that stretched across broad chests. Both had dark brown hair, though the shorter one’s was darker, almost black, and wavier than his—brother’s? It must be, she decided. They looked too much alike to be anything else, though the taller one was leaner, not as deep through the chest or as wide across the shoulders. More handsome, too, his features a little more finely hewn, brow ridge and cheekbones a little less harsh, and a straight, strong nose instead of something that looked as if it had been broken, once upon a time. She wouldn’t kick either of them out of bed for eating crackers, though. There was so much warmth, too, in both sets of dark blue eyes, the generous, well-formed mouths. They were a double dose of hot, that was for sure. Was this what Idaho men looked like?

  “Grace.” Scott’s voice broke in on her thoughts as the waitress came to their table, order pad in hand. “What do you want?” He hadn’t seen the men, she realized, from his position with his back to them.

  “Oh! Just eggs. The two-egg breakfast, I guess. Whatever,” Mira said, looking belatedly at the menu.

  He nodded. “This show’s going to be good for both of us. More exercise, less to eat. But I guess you might as well have one last big meal before we start.”

  Was that about her weight? She knew he was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to follow the gym routine he’d set up for her in preparation for the show. She smoothed her dress over the slight rounding of her stomach, wishing it were flatter. Those last ten or fifteen pounds never seemed to come off. Too many breakfast meetings, too many restaurant meals, too many late nights in strange offices.

  Not for the first time, she wondered if agreeing to do this with Scott had been a good idea or the biggest mistake she’d ever made. It was one thing to date someone during her breaks between assignments, she’d begun to realize. And another thing entirely to be with him twenty-four hours a day, especially the way he’d been acting lately. He’d started out being so nice to her. Had flattered her, sent her flowers, taken her out to the best restaurants. But that was a good year ago. Lately, it seemed like nothing she did pleased him, no matter how hard she tried. The drive from Seattle the day before, with Scott anxious, jumpy, and snapping at her at every opportunity, had been a long six hours.

  He was frowning again now as the waitress seated another party at a big interior table next to theirs. A couple with three young children, the eldest of whom, a boy of about ten, walked and seated himself with difficulty. Cerebral palsy, maybe.

  “Great,” Scott muttered. “Kids.”

  “They have a right to eat too,” she said, keeping her voice low.

  Scott averted his eyes from the family as the waitress bustled up with their food. Buttered his toast and took dubious bites of egg, picked at the well-fried hash browns.

  “It does feel daunting,” Mira told him, working her way through her own meal with guilty pleasure. She loved English muffins, no matter what Scott said about the virtues of whole-grain toast. And who knew what they’d be eating tomorrow, or how hard it would be to make it? “But everyone will be in the same boat, surely,” she went on. “I can’t imagine they’d have chosen any survivalists or experts for the show. That has to be the appeal—to watch regular twenty-first-century people trying to live in 1885. Everyone else will be nervous too, and struggling as much as we are.”

  “I’m not going to be struggling,” he retorted sharply. “I’ve done my homework, and I’m in great shape.” His critical gaze swept down her torso. “I’m just worried about whether you’re going to be able to handle it.”

  So if they were voted off, it was going to be her fault? “I’ll do my best,” she said, a rare flash of anger giving an edge to her voice. “That’s all I can promise. But I’ll be doing that.”

  Why did everyone doubt that she could do this? She was a hard worker, she got along with people, and she was pretty good at observing and evaluating their interactions. Surely all those things would help her. But her father, too, had thought little enough of her chances. And had been downright appalled at her choice to do the show in the first place.

  “What? Why?” Dr. Steve Walker, plastic surgeon to Seattle’s finest, had demanded when she’d paid him a duty visit at his Mercer Island home to say goodbye. “What about your job?”

  “I took a leave.” She could feel herself starting to get flustered already. So much for the self-assured announcement she’d practiced aloud on the drive across the bridge. “It’s only two months.”

  “And what did Jeff say about that?” he pressed, referring to the partner who was her direct supervisor. And, unfortunately, Steve’s former patient and current golf buddy.

  “Well, he wasn’t too happy,” she admitted. “But there’ll probably still be a spot for me afterwards, he said.”

  “Probably? Probably doesn’t cut it,” he snapped. “I pulled strings to get you that job. And you’re going to throw it away in order to be on some trashy reality show that you probably won’t last a week on anyway? How is that going to make me look?”

  “I’ve been at that job for five years, though,” she said, hating how defensive she sounded. Her father might have got her the job, but she wouldn’t have kept it if she hadn’t been good, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. “It seemed like time to reevaluate. And the show isn’t trashy. It’s on the History Channel! I thought it might be fun, and a good challenge.” She’d dared to hope that he might admire her for trying it. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

  “It sounds fun to me too,” Becky, her father’s third wife and barely ten years Mira’s senior, said from her spot on the couch beside her husband. “Too bad you’re doing it with Scott, or I might just have decided to join you.”

  “Like hell you would,” Steve growled.

  “Oh, quit being so grumpy,” Becky laughed. “I didn’t do it, did I? And Mira’s right, it’ll be good for her. She’ll be putting herself to the test. I’ve seen that show, and so have you. It doesn’t look easy. The physical aspect, or the strategizing and maneuvering either. It’s a great challenge.”

  Maybe it was the softening of age, or just Becky’s confident personality, but Mira still marveled at the way her husband’s frequent impatience seemed to bounce off his latest wife’s armor without making a dent. And at his obvious affection for her, the attention he paid to her in spite of, or maybe because of, the fact that she defied him so often. An affection and attention he had certainly never showed his first two wives, or Mira herself for that matter.

  “I have seen it,” Steve said grudgingly. “You and I could have done it. But that’s because we’re tough enough to handle it. Whereas Mira . . . Well, Scott will figure out how to come out ahead, if anyone can. She can listen to him.”

  Becky looked unconvinced. “Listen to your own instincts,” she counseled a few minutes later, hugging Mira goodbye at the door. “You’ll do great. And I really am envious. It sounds like a wonderful adventure. Go for it. Give ’em hell.”

  Movement in the corner of her eye, a sudden clatter, wrenched Mira from her thoughts, had her turning toward the next table. The oldest boy, who’d been struggling with his meal, had knocked the corner of the plate with a clumsy hand, sent it tipping over the edge of the table and falling to the floor, knocking over his glass of orange juice along the way. Juice and scrambled egg flew, a fair amount landing on Scott’s pant leg. He reached down with a look of disgust on his face to wipe the light material with his napkin, and glared across at the family.

  The brothers had turned as well at the noise. Now, the shorter one got up. Came over and picked the plate up off the floor, set it on a nearby table tog
ether with the overturned glass. He smiled at the boy, who was scarlet with embarrassment and attempting a flustered apology.

  “Could happen to anyone,” the man said cheerfully as the waitress hurried over to clean up. “Here.” He reached for the plate of toast at his own place. “I’m not eating this. Something for you to work on while they bring you another egg or two.” He winked at the boy, sent a reassuring smile to his parents before sitting down again.

  “Sorry,” the boy’s mother said to Scott, seeing him ostentatiously dipping his napkin into his water glass to clean the spots that remained on his pants. He nodded curtly, but didn’t respond.

  “It’s all right,” Mira told her hastily, her embarrassment rising at Scott’s ungracious response. “No harm done.”

  “Let’s go,” Scott told her. He shoved his chair back, knocking into the chair of the darker-haired man sitting directly behind him, causing his own eggs to fly off the fork he had begun to lift to his mouth.

  The man reached for his napkin as Mira watched, wiped egg from his shirt, then grinned across at the boy, who smiled happily back at him. “See? What did I tell you?” the man said. “Could happen to anybody. And yes, you’re excused,” he said pointedly to Scott, who, Mira realized with chagrin, still hadn’t apologized. Well, no chance he was going to now.

  Back in the room, she set quietly about brushing her teeth, checking her hair. Scott came up behind her as she straightened up after rinsing her mouth, wrapped his arms around her from behind and reached around to kiss her cheek.

  “Sorry. I’m just really stressed about all this,” he said. “You still in it with me?”

  She smiled reluctantly back at him. “Of course. And I do understand. I’m nervous too. But . . . I was embarrassed back there, for that boy. I wish you’d told him it was OK.” She didn’t mention the man. She had the feeling he could fight his own battles.