Welcome to Paradise (11 page)

“Let’s get to our women’s challenge,” Cliff said, standing in front of the two knots of women, who had moved at his direction into a long covered area set up as an outdoor kitchen. Two separate wood stoves were pouring smoke into the cloudless blue sky, with two pine tables standing ready for whatever was going to happen here. At least they’d have shade for their part, Mira thought, grateful for the structure’s simple tin roof. Because the temperature had to be over 85, and those hot stoves weren’t looking too promising.

“Cooking challenge,” Zara said at her ear. “Well, that’s all right. You and I are pretty good, and Maria-Elena’s not half bad.”

“None of us is as good as Lupe,” Mira said, “but we stack up pretty well overall. We can do it.” She hoped she was right. No matter what Scott said, she wanted to win. The men had put on a real performance, and she wanted to do the same for them. And if Arcadia won . . . If what she’d seen had been any indication of Scott’s overall performance or his popularity with his homestead, her stay here could be awfully short.

“I’m happy to announce,” Cliff said as the eight men settled themselves on two rows of benches at one end of the shelter to observe and the cameramen took their places. “
that
it’s a special season in the Pacific Northwest. It’s sour cherry time!”

Two production assistants came in from a room built into one end of the kitchen structure, each ceremoniously carrying a giant earthenware bowl of red fruit, and set their heavy burdens carefully on the work tables.

“There must be two gallons in there,” Zara said with dismay. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

Mira could only nod in agreement as the assistants added seven quart-sized canning jars to each table, along with a pile of lids and rings, a huge canning kettle and smaller pot, a ladle and wooden spoon, and a container of sugar.

“I know Alma taught you all how to can,” Cliff began again, “and luckily, she’s here today to do the judging.” He gave a flourish with his hand, and Alma stepped out of the room in her turn.

“Let’s see if they remember anything,” Alma said pessimistically. “Those jars don’t seal, they’re going to be eating a lot of cherries these next few days.”

“Well, with that vote of confidence,” Cliff said, “here’s your equipment. Hairpins.” He held up eight of the small U-shaped implements. “Which Alma assures me you know how to
use.
If you’ll just distribute these,” he handed them to the waiting assistant, “we’ll be all set. Just like the men’s challenge, it’s pretty simple. You’ve each been given exactly eighteen pounds of fruit. Alma tells me your jars and lids are already sterilized, just to make it that much easier. The homestead that ends up with the most quarts of properly canned cherries in the shortest time is the winner. We’ll give you a minute to strategize, and then we’ll get to it.”

“Strategize what?” Mira asked blankly. “We wash, we pit, we cook them in sugar syrup, we fill the jars, we boil. Right?” She and Maria-Elena looked at each other and shrugged.

“The guys get great big saws and five minutes, and we get teeny pieces of wire and, what, an hour and a half?” Zara picked up her single black hairpin with disgust. “Can I trade challenges?”

“Wow,” Maria-Elena breathed. “Look.”

It was Chelsea, over on the Arcadia side. She’d flipped down the top of her apron and unbuttoned her blouse, and was now unhooking her corset and throwing both garments into the corner. “If we’re going to be out here doing this in the boiling heat,” she told Cliff with a defiant toss of her ponytail, “I’m going to be comfortable, just like the guys.”

Maria-Elena stared enviously. Her mother was already catching her eye, though, and shaking her head. “That’d be, like, so much cooler,” Maria-Elena sighed. “And hot,” she giggled. “Look at the guys staring.”

It was true. Chelsea’s torso, revealed in nearly all its glory in the skimpy garment, was definitely attracting some attention.

“Well,
I’m
doing it,” Melody decided. “Because Chelsea’s right. It’s too hot out here to wear all these clothes.”

 
“
Aaaand
here we go,” Kevin announced from his spot in the spectators’ section. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a contest on our hands. In this corner, the champion, Chelsea, rocking those 34Ds. And here’s the challenger, giving her a run for her money.”

“Whoa,” Gabe grinned as Melody pulled off her blouse, unhooked the corset, and tossed both garments aside in her turn. “A little extra eye candy for the folks at home. And here I thought this challenge was going to be boring. Funny how exciting a little bit of flesh can be when the girls are so covered up all the time.”

“Not so much of the candy,” Alec said, eyeing Melody and Chelsea in the thin, low-cut, sleeveless chemises. “The tech guys are going to be busy blurring out those puppies.”

 
“Well, at least they don’t move much,”
Gabe
said wryly. “That’ll make it easier.”

“Yep,” Kevin agreed. “Two fine examples of modern surgical technique, LA style.”

“That kind always look so much better than they feel,” Alec murmured. “One of life’s little
ironies
.”

“And you’re speaking from experience, I take it,” Gabe sighed, turning to his brother. “We
talked
about this.”

“Relax. No hearts broken, I promise. She’s bored out here, that’s all. And you know how chivalrous I am about helping a lady in need.”

“We weren’t issued condoms,” Gabe reminded him, keeping his voice low, mindful of Mike’s ever-present camera.

“I paid attention in Health class, Doctor. A little messing around, that’s all. Passing the time. And ensuring a vote for you and me at the end.”

“Bro, that’s some ego you’ve got there. What if she winds up hating you?”

“But they never do. Leave ’
em
smiling, that’s my motto.”

“Yeah, I have to say, that seems to be the way it works out for you,” Gabe conceded. “Somehow or other.”

“Because I only get involved with the ones who don’t want to get . . . involved, these days. You know that.”

“And you didn’t confide any autobiographical details?” Gabe pressed. “Because she doesn’t strike me as the reserved type.”

“I am but a simple programmer,” Alec assured him. “What about you? Making beautiful music with the lovely Melody? She’s no slouch herself in the looks department.”

“Not my type. And unlike some people, I have to feel a connection.”

 
“Uh-oh.” Alec followed the direction of his brother’s gaze. To Mira, concentrating fiercely on the cherries she was pitting, sweat beading her forehead and her thick braid falling over her shoulder as her fingers flew. “I have a really bad feeling all of a sudden. Like I’m not going to be the one getting us in trouble for once. That’s not going to go over well at all, you know. Vote-wise or any other way.”

“What?” Gabe asked, but knew it was a losing battle. It was no use keeping anything from Alec. He wasn’t quite as astute at homing in on his twin’s feelings as Gabe, but he did his fair share.

“Hands off, bro,” Alec said firmly. “That’s just way too much complication. And nobody can tell me that she’s up for a little messing around. She’s not in it for a good time. That’d be serious business.”

“I’m not doing a thing,” Gabe said irritably. “F— Lay off. She’s a really nice person.”

“Yeah. And so is Zara. I bet Maria-Elena’s a nice person too. Go charm them. Charm
him,
for that matter,” Alec said, nodding around Gabe at Kevin. “Anybody but her. Because that’s going to lead us both straight to disaster.”

On and on the challenge went, the tedious business of pitting the fruit proceeding slowly despite the women’s haste. Their hands worked the curved hairpins with varying degrees of dexterity. Lupe was good, Gabe saw with some trepidation, but nobody else on the Arcadia team came close to matching her speed. Chelsea was frankly useless, stopping frequently to wipe her stained hands on her increasingly sticky apron, rubbing them together and grimacing as the acidic fruit shriveled her fingers, exclaiming with disgust as she accidentally dropped her pits into the bowl of fruit and had to go digging for them. Meanwhile, Zara, Maria-Elena, and Mira worked doggedly and efficiently, Melody was putting forth a surprisingly game effort, and the Paradise women made steady inroads on their pile.

Mira stopped to take a drink of water. “Eyes on the prize, sweetie,” Gabe heard Scott calling from the row behind him. “You’re falling behind. Come on! Try harder!”

Mira immediately set down her water jar and looked in alarm at the other team. She picked up her hairpin and started in again, but fumbled in her haste, cherry and hairpin slipping out of her hands onto the floor. She bent to search for them, came up a minute later, red-faced and breathing hard, quickly pulling the hairpin out of the fruit and splashing water over it before starting in again.

“Come
on,”
Scott exhorted again. “You can do better than that! Concentrate!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Alec demanded, turning to glare at Scott. “She’s on the other homestead! We want to win, remember?”

“Don’t worry,” Scott answered smugly. “We’ll win. Trust me.”

“You’re messing with her head,” Gabe realized, swiveling in his turn to look back at the other man. “You’re
trying
to throw her off.”

“Hey,” Scott said, with a wink for Calvin, sitting beside him on the rough bench. “Whatever it takes.”

“Man, you’d mess with your own teammate?” Calvin asked in disbelief. “With your
girlfriend?”

“Right now, she’s not my girlfriend,” Scott said. “She’s the opposition. And the point is to beat the opposition, so we get to do the choosing. So we can figure out how to stay strong and weaken them.”

“No,” Alec corrected him, exchanging a disgusted glance with Gabe. “The point
right now
is not to be a dickhead who gets voted off by his homestead. And gets his teammate voted off too.”

For all Scott’s continuing efforts and Lupe’s skill, the Paradise women finished their pitting first, and soon had the fruit boiling in its syrup. When Arlene began to argue with Lupe on the correct extent to which they should screw on the lids before putting the jars into the boiling water, causing the older woman to throw up her hands in resignation, the result was a foregone conclusion. At the end of the challenge, the Paradise team’s jars had all come through the canning bath with seals firmly set and were sitting proudly on the table, having passed Alma’s inspection.

“Well, good news is,”
Alma
said judiciously, testing Arcadia’s seals with a poke at each lid, “you can take these cherries on back tonight, bake a couple pies with ’
em
. Bad news is, you’ve only got five of them sealed, and you did it slower too. Looks like Paradise
wins
this one.”

Gabe joined the rest of the Paradise men in applause as the women laughed in delighted, exhausted relief and hugged each other with stained, sticky hands. Then he rose with the other men to congratulate or console their homesteads.

Melody flung herself into his arms. “We both won!” she enthused. “Isn’t it
great?”

She pressed herself against him, and Gabe thought wryly that if he’d been in any doubt as to the source of that spectacular chest, it was now entirely removed. He extricated himself gently. “Great,” he agreed.

“I was worried,” she confessed, “but I did it! Even though my hands got all icky.”

“You did real good,” Stanley agreed, coming up to give her a hug that was warmer than Gabe’s version. “You stepped right up to the plate today. Good job.”

Gabe congratulated a beaming, flushed Maria-Elena, then turned to Mira, standing a little apart and scrubbing at her hands, a frown on her face. “You were terrific,” he told her.

“I got flustered,” she admitted without looking him in the eye. “I’m just glad the others kept it together.”

“You got distracted for a little while,” he corrected. “By somebody trying to distract you. And then you got yourself back on track. Congratulations.” He reached out and pulled her close. Felt her melt against him for just a moment before she pulled back again.
 

“Thanks.” She smiled a little shakily, lifted her apron to wipe her eyes on a clean corner. “Well, nobody could say
you
got flustered. Good to know that if the doctor thing doesn’t work out, you can always get a job logging.”

“OK, homesteads.” They both turned at Cliff’s voice, rising above the hubbub. “Get on out of here, all of you. You’ve got a date with me tomorrow night.”

“What?” Martin asked in surprise. “You mean we do. Paradise does.”

“Nope,” Cliff responded. “That’s not how it’s going to work. Both homesteads will have a team member sent home, remember. So it seems only fair that all of you hear how the discussion goes, even though only Paradise will be allowed to participate. And Paradise, you’ll have some talking to do amongst yourselves. Because you’ve got
your
first tough decision coming up.”

By unspoken agreement, nobody mentioned the subject on the walk home, everyone seeming content to relish
their
homestead’s undisputed triumph.

“I’m declaring another fishing trip,” Stanley announced. “Soon as we get the animals set. We all deserve a good dinner, and the ladies deserve a break. We might even be real daring, bust loose and wash the dishes for ’
em
. Fishing first, though. Who’s coming with me?”

“I will,” Gabe volunteered. “Fishing sounds terrific.” Standing beside the creek, he thought with pleasure, in the long shade of late afternoon. That would feel good. Casting into that spot at the base of the rocks with the technique he’d begun to pick up from Stanley. He was feeling lucky today.

“Me too,” Kevin decided. “Not saying I’ll catch anything, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“I’m going to pass,” Martin declared. “I brought Thoreau’s
Walden
with me, and I haven’t had a single moment to read it. This seems like the perfect time.”