Welcome to Paradise (32 page)

“In case you haven’t noticed,” she pointed out, “I’ll have all the time in the world. I’m going to be at liberty the moment I tell my boss I’m not coming back. And you’re right. I’d like to live someplace where there are . . . birds. And sky.”

 
“I mean,” she elaborated with a little laugh, “there are always birds.
Pigeons, anyway.
And obviously there’s always sky. But someplace where you can see the mountains, do you think?”

“That’s exactly what I think,” he agreed. “Someplace where we can both
see
the mountains.”

“But I won’t live with you,” she found herself adding, “if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t play house with you on some kind of trial basis, trying to fit into your life, trying to figure out how to be what you want so you’ll want me too. I just can’t do it. It would hurt so much.”

“Oh, Mira.” He began to reach for her, seemed to realize for the first time that he was still holding his sandwich, and set it hastily down. Pulled her into him and held her close.

She laughed a little shakily, sat back and picked up her glass again. “Sorry. Blame the wine. I didn’t realize it was going to come out quite like that. I was just going to say, I’ll move. I’ll help you do your research, and I’ll find a place not too far away from wherever you end up. I have to live someplace, after all.” She swallowed against the bleakness of it.

“Don’t be sorry,” he protested. “I want to know. I’ve always wanted to know, but you’ve never seemed to want to say. But I want you to tell me. Because we all have scars, you know. That’s just being human. It’s OK to show me your scars, and let me help you heal them, just like you’ll be helping me heal mine. It’ll always be OK.”

She looked at him searchingly, felt the emotion tightening her chest, her throat at the look in his eyes, the understanding she saw there. It really was, she realized. It really was OK to show him.

“You mean,” he prompted gently, “that’s how it was for you. With your parents, growing up.”

“Yeah,” she said, staring down at the blanket, studying the plaid pattern, blue stripes on a cream background, as if she were memorizing it. She picked at a ragged edge, wanting so much to tell him, to explain it to him, but unable to meet his eyes. “When everybody has this fancy new life, you know, and you’re just a . . . a leftover from the old life, and there isn’t anyplace you belong, no matter what you do, how hard you try. Anyplace you fit, where they . . .
want
you. Where if you were gone, they’d miss you. That they’d say,” she said, her voice breaking a little despite her best efforts, “where’s Mira? It’s just not Christmas without Mira. It doesn’t feel right without her here. Without her at home with us.”

“So I’ve decided something too,” she said fiercely, looking up at him, keeping her voice as even as she could, despite the treacherous tears that insisted on rising, threatened to spill. “I’m not going to be that person anymore. I’m not going to be wishing. I’m not going to hang around, trying to keep you happy. Hoping that if I try hard enough, if I can somehow please you enough, you’ll love me enough to want me forever, like some sad, desperate stray dog
who
’s trying to be good so I won’t be sent back to the pound. I’ll live near you. And I’ll love you. But I won’t live with you.”

Gabe scraped the razor over his throat and chin with the inadequate aid of the small age-spotted mirror hanging over the cabin’s bathroom sink. And thought about Mira, everything she’d revealed to him yesterday, the raw vulnerability she’d exposed. It was as if she had opened her chest, showed him her beating heart. He’d held
her,
kissed her, told her he loved her. Had wished he could go back and erase her past. Had wanted nothing more than to promise her a shiny new future. How could anyone who’d been given the gift of Mira toss it away like that?
he
wondered, angry all over again for her. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He finished shaving, put the razor and shaving cream neatly back into the medicine cabinet. Held onto the chipped porcelain sink for a moment, looked at
himself
in the mirror. At the man who was going to be doing his best from now on to deserve her trust, her loving heart.

“Your turn,” he said, coming out into the bedroom again. “Although you look perfect to me now.”

She smiled ruefully, got up from the bed where she’d been reading, already wearing the yellow dress she’d had on the first time he’d seen her, hanging a bit loosely on her now. Her hair pulled back on one side, the waves falling to her shoulders.

“That shows what you know,” she said. “I’m not going back on camera without makeup. Not for the grand finale and my first time in the jury box. And not sitting next to Chelsea and Melody, I’m sure not.” She came to him, reached up for a kiss that had him pulling her against him, forcing her up on tiptoe.

She dropped to her heels again, ran a soft hand over his smooth cheek. “I think I miss the stubble,” she decided. “It’s a good look for you.”

He laughed. “It’s a little bit caveman, though. And I’ve probably presented that side of myself enough on the show, not to mention to you. I do have a professional image to maintain, you know. It’d probably be a good idea to look a civilized, twenty-first century man at least once, instead of some kind of half-barbarian on testosterone overload.”

“I predict,” she said, her hand on his bare chest now, “that your . . .
image
isn’t going to suffer one little bit from being on this show. And that every woman within a hundred miles is going to have an unfortunate sports injury that requires your immediate attention once this thing airs.”

“Alec’s the good-looking one,” he reminded her, watching her from behind as she walked into the bathroom to begin the all-important makeup process.
One of his favorite views.
Well, that and the front view.

“Maybe so,” he heard just before she closed the door. “But he’s not the sexy one.”

By the time she came out again, he’d pulled on the white button-down shirt she’d ironed for him, tucked it into his Levi’s.

“We’re ridiculously early,” he told her. “You’re not nearly high-maintenance enough. And we’ve both gotten way too used to getting up at five. We’ve still got an hour before breakfast. Plenty of time to climb back into bed and have some more sex to relax us first.”

“Dream on,” she said, showing him the sassy side he liked so much. “I’m not redoing all this makeup. Come on. Let’s go see if we can get a cup of coffee.”

He was standing in the common room, examining the old tools and firearms hung on the wall, when he heard the sound of the door opening behind him.

“Hooray,” he began to say, turning. “Breakfast.” But it wasn’t Alma kicking the door shut behind him. It wasn’t Alma who had Gabe frozen to the spot, finding out what it meant to have your blood run cold.

It was Scott. Nothing of the smooth lawyer left about him now. His navy blue T-shirt and jeans wrinkled, hanging on him, looking as though he’d slept in them. His expression fixed, eyes burning with fury and hatred. No rationality left.
And with a semiautomatic in his wavering hand.

He came across the room fast, stopped a cautious fifteen feet away and steadied the weapon with both hands so it pointed directly at Gabe’s chest. Gabe stared down the barrel, the hole in the ugly black thing looming huge as he imagined in sickening detail what a bullet would do to him. What it would do to Mira.

Stay in the kitchen
. It wasn’t a thought. It was a prayer.
Please, Mira. Stay there.
His mind was racing. How long did it take to start a pot of coffee?

“Scott,” he said, his voice sounding bizarrely calm in his ears, a contrast to his thundering heart. “What are you doing here?”
Keep him talking.
That was his only hope. Alma had to come in soon. Any moment, she’d open the
door,
give Gabe the couple of seconds’ distraction he needed to rush the other man. Without that, the expanse of floor between them was too broad. Scott was too close to miss him, too far for him to grab.

Scott sneered at him, seeming to read his mind as he kept well back, out of Gabe’s reach. “What do you think, asshole? I’m here to kill you.
You and that bitch.
I spent three nights in a jail cell like some kind of criminal.
Three nights,
just because she set me up, pushed me until I finally slapped her one lousy time. Three nights with the two of you laughing about me, thinking you’d beat me, thinking you’d won. But who’s won now? Who’s laughing now?” He laughed himself, the sound high-pitched and wrong. “Me, that’s who
.
Because you’re both dead.”

Gabe caught the movement of the kitchen door to his left, just behind Scott. Kept his gaze fixed on the other man.
Oh, no. Please, God.

“Scott. Listen. You don’t want to kill us,” he said loudly.
Run,
he prayed.
Run.
Saw the door pause in its opening in his peripheral vision, didn’t dare to believe that she’d heard. “Nobody’s laughing at you. You can turn around right now and we’ll forget all about this. You don’t want to do this.”

Scott laughed again. “Oh, yeah. I do. I really do. Where is she? Where’s that two-faced bitch?”

“Staying with Zara,” Gabe improvised madly. “We had a fight, and she left me. She’s sleeping over there.”
Keep him talking,
he thought again.
Give Mira time to run for help.

“Yeah, right,” Scott scoffed. He staggered a little, and Gabe realized he was drunk. Had probably been up all night drinking, alone in his motel room, nursing his grievances. Why hadn’t he anticipated this? Gabe thought in despair. Why hadn’t he realized how far gone Scott was?

Scott was talking again now, and Gabe forced himself to listen, to concentrate. “She’s not worth protecting, haven’t you figured that out? She’s nothing but a whore. And you know what’s really great? You don’t even have to pay her. She’s so pathetically grateful for a little attention, all you have to do is talk nice to her and she’ll fuck you. It’s so easy.”

Gabe forced himself not to react, kept his voice level with the greatest effort of his life. “You’re right. She’s not worth it. You can turn around, walk away right now and go on with your life. But if you shoot us, you’re going to spend it in prison. It’s not worth it. No woman’s worth it.”

 
“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.”

“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 part, 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.