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  “Good.” He stopped on the path so abruptly that she nearly bumped into him, turned to face her. “When?”

  “Next time we see them, if I can. Friday at the dance, I’m thinking. But having it happen on camera would be so humiliating for him. Maybe I should wait till we’re voted off after all. It can’t be that long.” Sadness filled her at the thought of leaving this place. Of leaving with Scott.

  “If he’s humiliated, that’s his problem,” Gabe said firmly. “You need to get yourself free. For yourself, and for me. Because I need to kiss you. I can’t wait much longer.”

  “Hell,” he groaned as she looked up at him in the twilight, those eyes shining almost gold, “I can’t wait at all.”

  He did kiss her, then. Pulled her into him, the way he’d wanted to do since the first time he’d seen her. Wrapped his hands around her head, fingers tunneling into the new waves that she’d left loose tonight. Tilted her face up to his, and settled his mouth over hers.

  The heat of it was like a shock. Her soft lips opening under his, her gasp into his mouth. One hand left her head, moved down to pull her lower back into him. He felt the press of her uncorseted softness, her entire body held against his now, and almost groaned aloud with it. Her own hands were on his shoulders, holding on, and she was kissing him back with a passion that told him she’d imagined this almost as many times as he had.

  They stood like that for long minutes, lips and tongues chasing, exploring, the soft sounds of her desire taken into his mouth, her body, with all its beautiful curves, straining against his own. Then Gabe pulled his mouth from hers, raw need pounding through him, urging him on. Resisting it took every bit of his strength.

  “That’s all,” he said, his voice rough. “That’s all we’re doing until he’s gone. And until we have some privacy.”

  She nodded, looking as shaken as he was feeling. “OK,” she whispered. Her body swayed against his, though, and those eyes, looking up at him with so much yearning, urging him to abandon every principle, nearly undid him.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he ordered harshly. “I’m trying to do the right thing here. And it’s hard as hell.” He turned back to the cabin, but took her hand in his again. He wouldn’t do anything else if he could help it. But he was damned if he wasn’t going to hold her hand.

  “Friday,” he reminded her when they were in sight of the clearing once more. It was full dusk now, and everyone else was already inside. Except, of course, the ever-present Stu, still patiently recording.

  “Friday,” she agreed. “I’ll do it then. Even if it’s on camera,” she said, with a return of worry in her voice. “But I’d hate to do that.”

  “He’s humiliated you on camera enough times, I’ll bet. All you’d be doing is turning the tables for once.”

  People Who Speak to Your Heart

  The little cabin was still steamy the next evening as they sat down to one of their less ambitious dinners. Beans with salt pork, cornbread, and greens.

  “Sorry it’s not more exciting, guys,” Mira sighed. “Laundry day’s a tough one.” Kissing Gabe in the cool twilight felt like something that had happened a week ago.

  “What you’ve got here is just good Southern cooking,” Stanley objected. “This is what I was raised on. No apologies necessary.” He lifted the glass of buttermilk Mira had, as always, set out for him. “Here’s to another good meal.”

  “Think they’ll have alcohol tomorrow?” Kevin asked. “At the dance?”

  “Wow. Alcohol,” Zara said, pushing beans around her plate with her fork. “There’s a concept. I could use a cold beer right about now.”

  “Didn’t the laundry feel easier to you today than the first time, though?” Mira asked her.

  “Hmm.” Zara considered. “It did, I suppose. Not quite as bad.”

  “Isn’t that interesting?” Mira asked, the chance to sit, the food beginning to revive her. “We’ve got twenty-five percent fewer people here now, and twenty-five percent less laundry too. And, of course, twenty-five percent fewer women to do it. So technically, it’s the same amount of work per person, right?”

  “Right,” Zara said slowly.

  “But our perceived effort is less,” Mira went on, caught up in her analysis. “Because we know what to expect, and how long it’ll take. And we had to boil fewer loads, which I always think is the toughest part. We spent more of our time working outside, which feels easier.”

  “And,” she added, “we actually were more efficient. First, we know what we’re doing. And second, we didn’t get rid of twenty-five percent of our productivity when Melody left. More like . . .”

  “Ten percent,” Zara said dryly. “Or eight.”

  “She wasn’t that bad,” Maria-Elena protested.

  “No, she wasn’t,” Mira agreed. “At least at the end there. But it does make you wonder how much more efficient we could get over time. Whether we’d find some shortcuts, as laborious as the process is. It’s interesting to think about, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely fascinating,” Kevin said with a straight face. “There’s nothing I personally love more, after a day spent slaving over a hot stove, than a bit of process engineering. Maybe you could create some bar graphs, Mira, and do a PowerPoint presentation for us next week.”

  Gabe laughed. “She can’t help it if she’s good at her job. You can take the girl out of the conference room, but you can’t take the conference room out of the girl.”

  “You’re right,” Mira said with a smile of her own. “And I haven’t got to practice my skills as much as you have out here.”

  “Yeah, well,” he said, “I could’ve done with practicing my skills quite a bit less myself. I wasn’t counting on Martin.”

  “Well,” Mira got up from the table. “I guess it’s time to get efficient with the dishes.”

  Zara got up to help, but Mira waved her back down. “You take it easy. Maria-Elena and I’ve got it.”

  “I’ll wash tonight,” Gabe decided, getting up in Zara’s place. “Give you two a hand.”

  “Whoa,” Mira said. “Pretty daring, isn’t it?” She nodded toward Stu, filming from his corner as usual. “What’s Alec going to say about your role reversal when you’re found out?”

  “That I obviously had an ulterior motive.” He lifted the heavy kettle from the stove, poured hot water into the washpans on the high work counter, added a bit of cool water from the bucket, a dash of the harsh lye soap into one of the pans, and began scrubbing the plates Mira had already wiped out. “He’ll say that I was trying to make points before the dance. And making sure my partners had some energy left to dance with me.”

  “I wonder what kind of dancing it’ll be,” Maria-Elena said, picking up the plates as Gabe dropped them into the rinse pan and wiping them dry before setting them on the shelf above.

  “Square dancing,” Zara said. “That’s got to be it.”

  “What’s that?” Maria-Elena asked doubtfully. “It sounds kinda lame.”

  “You’re going to think it’s completely lame,” Kevin predicted. “We had to do it in P.E. in middle school, and I thought it was lame. And I’m gay. We like dancing.”

  “Guess we’ll all learn how to do it tomorrow night,” Gabe said. “Personally, I’m up for any kind of dancing. Are you and Hank going to sing for us?” he turned to ask Zara. “That would really be something. I’d dance to that. Especially one of those slow ones.” He looked at Mira as she dumped silverware into the washpan. Reached for her hand under the soapy water, wrapped his own around it and held it fast. She stood stock-still, her gaze caught by his own.

  “They waltzed in those days, right?” he went on, his eyes not leaving Mira’s. “I’d love a waltz. In fact, I’m asking for it right now.”

  “If they ask us to sing, we’ll sing for you,” Zara promised. “And if we do, it’ll be my pleasure to help you get your waltz.”

  “All right, then,” he said, his slow smile growing. “I know what I’ll be looking forward
to.”

  “I’m going to take the chance while it’s still light,” Gabe announced once the last dish was washed and he’d dumped the pans of water outside, “to check the corral fence. That top rail was looking a little wobbly. And we won’t have much time tomorrow.”

  Maria-Elena watched him go, a wistful look in her eyes. “And no singing tonight,” she said with a sigh. “I think I’ll go up to bed early. I’m tired anyway.” Not much to stay up for, Mira thought with some sympathy, without Gabe around.

  “Hard being young out here, nothing to do,” Stanley said with a smile of understanding.

  “Yeah,” Maria-Elena agreed. “I mean, there’s lots to do. But nothing fun. I miss going to the mall. I miss my friends. But I don’t mean it’s, like, bad,” she went on with a hasty glance at Zara. “I like the singing and stuff.”

  “That’s OK,” Zara said. “I was young once too, about a hundred years ago. I do vaguely remember.”

  “How about you, Miss Mira?” Stanley asked, leaning back against the wall of the cabin and taking a contemplative sip of coffee as Maria-Elena set about getting ready for bed and Mira took a seat at the table again. “You’re young too. Miss the mall?”

  Mira laughed. “Nope.” She paused, struck by the thought. “Partly, I suppose, because I am more than ten years older than Maria-Elena. I don’t shop much for entertainment.”

  “You astonish me,” Kevin drawled.

  “Yeah,” Mira smiled. “I guess that was obvious. I mostly just have a work wardrobe. And that’s the other thing. I’ve spent so much time traveling, living out of a suitcase, staying home is what’s exotic to me.”

  “I’m with you there,” Zara said. “Airports, hotels . . . Seen one, seen ’em all.”

  “It’s weird,” Mira went on impulsively. “But being here, this place, even this funky little cabin. It feels more like home than anyplace I’ve ever lived.”

  She caught herself, looked down at the tabletop in pained embarrassment. What was it about being here? She kept oversharing. It was a game, she reminded herself miserably, rubbing at a smudge with her finger, pretending to be busy, trying not to show the tears. These weren’t really her friends. They certainly weren’t her family. She might very well be voted out in a few days, even if Paradise won.

  She got up, pasted on a smile that felt a little wobbly despite her best efforts. “Since we’re not singing, I’m going to take a walk. See my favorite view.”

  Stanley got up himself. “If you don’t mind a little company,” he decided, “I’ll go with you. Better not to walk alone at dusk anyway, animals and such.”

  Mira fetched her shawl, and they walked without speaking for a few minutes on the open path that led through the hayfields toward the Clearing, Daisy trotting along behind.

  “I know how you feel,” Stanley finally said, breaking the silence. “About this place feeling like home. Even though you felt foolish saying it because you’re supposed to be playing a game, competing with all these folks.”

  Mira glanced up at him, startled, then hastily away again.

  “But I’ve felt that too,” Stanley said. “Seems you just can’t help but get close when you’re living together, working together every day. You get to know a person, doing that. And if you’ve been lonely . . .” He stopped, walked on a few more yards before continuing. “Well, it’s natural, then, to form some bonds. Natural, and human too, no matter what other people might say about strategy and competition. Plenty of things more important than a million dollars. Can’t help realizing that out here, if you’ve got a lick of sense.”

  Mira nodded, a lump forming in her throat at his understanding. “I think you may have been lonely too,” she said softly. “I’m sorry if I’m trespassing. But I think maybe so.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his deep voice gruff with emotion. “Yeah, I sure have been, ever since my wife passed. That’s probably why I agreed to do this with Calvin. It’s not about the money, not for me. I’m all right there. Never been rich yet. Wouldn’t even know how to be. I thought it’d be something good to do with my boy. And even though we’re not doing it together after all, we’re still sharing it.”

  “And there’s been the bonus, too, the part I didn’t expect,” he went on after another minute. “Making real friends out here. You think, at my time of life, you’ve made all the friends you’re going to get. You forget that friends can come in all ages, all shapes and sizes and colors, anytime at all. That they’re the people who speak to your heart.” He looked down at her. “People like you.”

  She took his arm and squeezed it, then held on. It felt so good, so solid and comforting. She could tell he didn’t mind, because he brought his other hand around to press hers.

  “That’s right nice,” he said, “having a woman on my arm like that. It’s been a long time.”

  “How long?” she asked. “Since your wife passed away? What was her name?”

  “Althea,” he said with a sigh. “Almost two years now. She didn’t last long, once they found it. The cancer just moved too fast, took her right away from me.”

  He stared into the distance, his gaze on the mountains, as they continued to walk. “I always thought we’d get old together. Rock away into the sunset, on the front porch. When she got sick . . .” He broke off, looked up at the sky, took a deep breath before he resumed. “She was so brave. When she asked me to shave her head, during the chemo. Made a joke of it, a little party. Wore those scarves, those hats, like they were some kind of fashion statement. We’d go to church, and she’d be hugging everyone else, asking after their kids, their grandkids. She broke my heart. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be as strong as she was. She was the one dying, and she was comforting me.”

  He took the handkerchief out of his back pocket, wiped the corners of his eyes, gave a little laugh. “Sorry. It’s knowing you, thinking how much you remind me of her, when we were young.”

  “I suspect,” Mira said slowly, squeezing his arm a little tighter, “that it could be harder to be the one who‘s left behind than the one who . . . leaves. She’d had a good life, I’m guessing. She’d made her peace. I’m sure the hardest thing, the very hardest thing for her, was leaving you alone.”

  “That’s what she said,” he agreed with a sigh. “You got it. Leaving our kids, and leaving me. The last thing she said,” he said, his eyes tearing up again, “was, ‘I’ll see you soon. I’ll wait for you.’ She’s in a better place, I know that. Maybe she had to go on ahead of me, because she knew how hard it’d be for me to get there. That I’d need some help from up there, a reminder to do right so I can join her someday. That’s what I hold on to.”

  Mira lifted the corner of her apron to wipe her own eyes. “I think,” she said softly, “that your wife was a lucky woman. And I think she knew it.”

  He shook his head. “I was the lucky one. Even though I lost her. Because at least I had her. I got to love somebody that much, to have my angel love me with her whole beautiful heart, for almost thirty years. I had her to show me the way.”

  He pulled out his handkerchief again, gave his nose a good blow. “That wasn’t what I meant to talk to you about at all. You’re too good a listener, is what it is. You’ve got a beautiful soul, Miss Mira. A heart full of love. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you that’s a bad thing, or a weak thing.”

  She was the one who had to look away now. “I won’t,” she promised at last, her throat tight with emotion. “Not any more.”

  “And now I’m going to ask you what Althea would, if she were here,” he went on more briskly. “How are you using your precious, God-given, one and only life? Would you say you’re doing what you were meant to do?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “No. I’m not sure what I was meant to do. But I’m sure I’m not doing it.”

  “And why is that?” he pressed.

  “I don’t know. Trying to please my dad, I guess. He wanted me to go into business, since I didn’t like medicine. And then he got me hired
at my firm, originally. A favor from a patient. He’s a surgeon,” she explained. “He wanted me to be one too, or at least a doctor, but I just couldn’t. I’m not tough enough. Too soft, just like he said.”

  “Does he like you better now, since you did the business thing? That all work out good for you?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I don’t think anything I did would make him . . .” She trailed off. “Approve of me, I guess.”

  “Say you just pleased yourself, then,” he suggested. “What would that look like?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I’d have a different job, I know that. One that . . . mattered to somebody. And where I could stay home instead of traveling all the time. Where I’d be able to spend time with my friends, and get to know my neighbors. Where I could say hi to the checker at the grocery store, know that she had kids. Maybe even know their names.”

  “And what about your heart?” he asked gently.

  “I want what you had,” she said soberly. “I want it more than anything. I thought I had it with Scott, at first. I thought this could be it. But it’s not even close. I’ve figured that out. I’m a lousy picker, that’s the problem. I choose the wrong guy, over and over. Or I let him choose me, I suppose. That’s probably more like it.”

  “Sometimes,” he said, “the first step is just recognizing what you’ve been doing wrong. That you deserve better, that you can set your sights higher. You’re a good woman, and you deserve a good man.”

  She glanced across at him, a little smile hovering at the corner of her mouth. “And Scott isn’t it?”

  He chuckled. “You know he isn’t. Not even close. None of us knows what’s in someone else’s heart, or can tell anyone else what they ought to do. I’m finally old enough to have learned that. But I’ll do it anyway, just because I’ve been around a few years longer than you. If you were my daughter, I’d be telling you to kick that bum to the curb.”

  “I just feel so . . . stupid,” she said, wiping away the stubborn tears again. “I’m going to be on TV, looking like a fool.”