Welcome to Paradise (30 page)

“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 carefully 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.”

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.”

He came back from the bathroom, put an appraising hand under her chin. “Bruising’s coming out pretty good there,” he said. “How does it feel?”

“It hurts if I touch it,” she admitted. “Not too bad otherwise.”

“Head still hurt?”

“Nope.” She looked up at him hopefully.

“Anything still hurt?”

“A little achy, that’s all.”

“Would a massage help?”

“A
massage?”
She couldn’t have been more surprised.

“Yeah. Here’s something you didn’t know about me.
A fun fact for you.
I’m a certified massage therapist. At least, I used to be.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I thought you were a landscaper.”

“I am a man of many talents.
And much early poverty.
Come on,” he said, pressing her down gently. “Are you OK on your stomach, if you put the good cheek down?”

“Yeah,” she said, trying it out, her voice muffled against the pillow. “OK.”

“Then stay there. Let me make you feel good.”

She heard him getting up again, then felt the dip in the mattress as he joined her again. Smelled the familiar honey-almond scent of her body lotion.

“Lift up,” he instructed. She pushed herself up on her hands, felt him pulling her short nightgown up, easing it gently over her head, and tossing it aside.

“Put your arms down like this.” He moved them so her hands were lying by her sides, palms up. The air on her skin, then, as he pulled the sheet and blanket all the way back, the weight of him settling astride her thighs.

“Too cold?” he asked.

“No,” she sighed. No, cold was the last thing she felt.

 
His lubricated hands stroked slowly from the base of her spine to her neck. And he was right. He really
did
know how to give a massage. He seemed to sense exactly where she was tight, where she ached, because his hands unerringly found the spot, worked it.

“How can you tell?” she asked drowsily as his hands continued to move over her.

“What?”

“Where it hurts.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s like my hands know. I can usually tell where people are hurting anyway, see it somehow. And when I touch somebody . . . yeah. Then I can really tell. That’s what makes me a good doctor. Haven’t you noticed that I know how to touch people? I was kind of hoping I’d impressed you already, a time or two.”

“
Mmm
,” she sighed. “Maybe you have.
Maybe once or twice.
I forget, though. Maybe you can remind me.”

“Maybe I can.” She could almost feel his smile as his hands continued to move. “You just lie there and enjoy it. And let’s see if I can remind you.”

When she was all but purring, he shifted his position. “I’m going to take off your underwear now,” he told her. “Purely for therapeutic purposes.”

He was lifting her hips, pulling the cotton bikinis down her legs and over her feet, settling her back down again.
And massaging the muscles of her buttocks, her thighs, moving down to her calves.
His hands on her feet then, gentle against the sensitive arches, rubbing more strongly over the ball of her foot, her heel. Pulling on each toe in turn, and she was drowning in bliss.

“I thought,” she murmured, “this was going to be one of those guy back rubs. You know, where they rub your back, and then they rub your . . .”

“Don’t worry,” he promised. “We’ll get to that. I’ve got all morning to rub you. Time to turn over for me.”

He settled her on her back, began to work on her shoulders, her arms. She could almost have thought he was detached, except that what she was seeing inside those boxer briefs was very much attached. And very much aroused. She reached out the arm he wasn’t working on, ran her hand down the length of him, felt the instant response,
the
way he seemed to leap into her palm.
And the rigidity in his muscles, his hands stopping their movement.

“I haven’t done your thighs yet,” he objected. “Stop it. No touching till I say.”

“
Mmm
. Bossy,” she sighed.

He smiled. “You know it.”

By the time he had her legs apart, his strong hands working her thigh muscles, she was ready to scream. She shifted again, felt his hands, slick with lotion, kneading and stroking. His thumbs gliding up her inner thighs, stopping just short. Again, a little bit higher this time. And still not quite where she needed him to be. She
squirmed,
looked at him, saw the concentration on his face. Then caught him casting a sly
glance
at her, and knew.

“You’re teasing me,” she groaned. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Just trying to build anticipation,” he said, letting the smile loose now.

“OK,” she said crossly. “I’m anticipating. And you’re a great masseur. I’m really, really impressed. And if you don’t touch me, or kiss me, or
something
in the next ten seconds, you’re . . . you’re going to be sleeping with your brother tonight.”

“Now who’s bossy?” He brought his hands up a third time, the thumbs moving up slowly.
So slowly.
Almost there.

She grabbed his shoulders. “
Touch me.”

“No,” he told her. “No. I’m going to kiss you.”

And he did.
Over and over again.
His tongue, his mouth on her, in her, over her.
His hands gripping her thighs, moving them farther apart, holding her.
Her hips trying to
rise
off the bed, unable to move against the restraint of his mouth, his hands.
Her hands clutching the sheet beneath her, grabbing and twisting the white cotton.
And
as he went on, a little harder now, a little faster, her palms beginning to beat against the mattress like wings
. Trying to fly.

His mouth was on her, and it was exactly the right spot, the only spot, and he had one palm under her, lifting her into him, the fingers of the other inside her, thrusting into her. It was hard, and it was urgent, and it was almost too much to take. And she was soaring. Her hands were beating, beating. Until they rose into the air, stretched taut to either side of her. And she flew.

“Gabe,” she gasped. “Gabe. I . . . I . . .” She was pulling at him. “Up here. Up with me. I need you inside me.”

“Condom,” he groaned. Grabbed for it, somehow got his underwear off, got the thing on. Looked down at her, stretched out beneath him, the orgasmic flush on her chest matching the red on her inner thighs, where his beard had scraped. She was
right,
not shaving had been the right choice. Because seeing that . . . God help him, it
was
exciting.

He grabbed a pillow, lifted her hips and pushed it beneath her. Looked at her, lifted for him, and grabbed another, so she was stretched over the height of them, offered to him. Raised himself on his hands, looked down to watch as he entered her. Felt her stretching to take all of him, closed his eyes as the sensation threatened to overwhelm him. He dropped to his elbows, reached for her hands, threaded his fingers through hers, and began to push into her, keeping it slow, hearing the little moan she let out at every thrust. Kept on, felt the softness and the strength of her, the way her excitement was rising again to match his own.

“I’ve got you here,” he told her, his breathing shallow with effort. “Open your eyes and see.”

Her lids fluttered open, her beautiful eyes shining nearly gold in the early morning light, her pupils dilated. Her soft mouth open, panting.

“This is me,” he said as he moved, long and slow. “This is how I feel inside you.”

“Gabe,” she whispered.

“That’s right. I’ve got all of you now. You’re all mine.” He was starting to move faster now, driving deep, the angle increasing the penetration, and she was gasping with it. He released one hand, reached down, lifted himself a bit off her, and began to rub in time with his thrusts. Felt her respond to the increase in the stimulation, saw her tensing again.

“Come for me,” he told her, breathing hard with the force of it. “Come on, baby. You’re so beautiful. Show me you’re mine. Come for me.” He increased the tempo of his hand, his hips,
his
other palm flat against the bed now. And felt her beginning again, the beautiful contractions drawing him tighter and tighter, higher and higher, until they overtook him and he was coming too, long and hard, the groan it pulled from him mingling with her wail, like the cry of an ocean bird, filling the morning air.

They were a little late to breakfast. Chelsea and Alec were still missing too, Gabe noticed.

“Pancakes are gone,” Alma told them from her spot at the end of the table, where she was finishing a cup of coffee and chatting with the others.

“It’s OK,” Gabe said. “You mind if I fix us some eggs and toast? Sound good to you?” he remembered to ask Mira.

“Sure,” she said with surprise, pausing in the act of pouring them each a cup of coffee. “I didn’t realize you could cook.”

“As long as I don’t have to do it on a wood stove, I can cook just fine. I’ve been taking care of myself for a while now, you know. I can cook, and do laundry, and clean the toilet, and all sorts of wonderful things.”

“Want to come over to my house, then?” Zara asked. “I’ve got a few jobs you could take care of.”

Gabe laughed. The truth was, anything would have made him laugh this morning. He was feeling good. The only blot on his happiness was the sight of Mira’s bruised face. He’d have to get her to put that icepack back on after breakfast, he thought as he headed into the kitchen to see what he could rustle up.

He was just turning bacon and pouring scrambled-egg mixture into the hot frying pan when Alec appeared in the doorway, then came across
to join
him at the big six-burner range.

“How about adding a few more?” Alec asked hopefully.

“Forget it.” Gabe gave the eggs a flip with a spatula. “I’m almost done here, and Mira’s hungry. Make your own.”

“You know I’m a lousy cook,” Alec complained.

“Then you should have got up earlier, shouldn’t you?”

Alec sighed with resignation. “I’d ask Chelsea to cook, but she said all she wants is coffee and a slice of toast. Figures.” He watched as his twin turned the fire off under the eggs and lined a plate with paper towels for the bacon, began to butter toast. “So was the stove hot?” he asked innocently.

Gabe glanced up at him in surprise, registered the smirk, and caught on. “None of your business, and you know it,” he growled.