Last Chance Llama Ranch (17 page)

Despite topping him by a good three inches, in Sam Cassidy's arms, Merry felt suddenly, bewilderingly petite.

Which, all precedent to the contrary, was
not
a way Merry wanted to feel.

“Would you
please
remove your hands, Mr. Cassidy?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down so their wide-eyed audience wouldn't overhear.

“Sorry,” he grunted, shoving her away from him as if she were coated in six types of oobleck. “Don't get any ideas in that Wookiee head of yours,” he continued, as low as she. “I'm not asking you to the prom. I just overestimated the force I'd need to budge a woman your size.”

Who's the klutz now?
Merry thought, more than her old injuries stinging. She opened her mouth…

But Dolly beat her to it. “Sam Cassidy, that was a mean thing to say!”

His homely face reddened. “Didn't think you heard that, Aunt Dolly.”

“Whether I heard it or not ain't the point, now is it?” Dolly shot back. “You shouldn't have said anything like that either way.”

Sam reddened. “I'm sorry, Meredith,” he said stiffly.

“It's Merry,” she said, “and it's fine.”

“It's no wonder you locked up, Mer,” Jane said, coming to Merry's side—as much, Merry guessed, to defuse the situation as to prop her up. “After yesterday…you better let me check that le—”

“No!” Merry interrupted. “Everything's fine. I'm just clumsy, is all.” She shot Jane a “remember your promise” glare, and Jane subsided, holding up her hands in a gesture that said, “You wanna act like a crazy lady, who'm I to stop you?”

“Thank you for helping me up, Sam,” Merry said stiffly. “Did you need me for something? Some poop that needs scooping, perhaps?”

“No thanks. I've had about enough of your crap for one day.”

Merry's jaw dropped.
The hell did I do to deserve
that
?

Apparently Dolly and Jane were wondering the same thing.

“Samuel Cassidy!”

“Whoa there, Sam-o!”

The two women leapt to Merry's defense, but Sam was already in retreat. “Aunt Dolly, Jane, I'll see you soon.” He tipped his hat, already turning on his heel to go. “Miss Manning, the less I see of
you
, the better.”

T
aint!

Taint in the face!

Hairy, scary taint, mere inches from my appalled eyes!

Friends, the things I do for you.

But let me back up—as I wish Steve Spirit Wind would have—and explain myself.

How, you ask, did I come to be perilous breaths from the perineum of a naked, shame-free hippie?

Well, it's Aguas Milagros, my dear ones. And apparently, the miracle is that anyone surfaces from the waters with any simulacrum of their dignity intact. For the eponymous “AM” is a nude-only spring.

Not nude-optional. Nude-mandatory.

Apparently, something about the chemicals people wash their swimsuits in pollutes the pristine waters, and so bathing costumes have been banned.

Gulp.

The bare butt-ery is not, IMHO, what I would call a selling point. But in Aguas Milagros, it's just one of the little “extras” that really make your soak memorable. And, oh yes, my friends, whether you like it or not, the locals will ensure you experience the full package.

And by “package,” you can guess what I mean.

The moment a very naked, very close-talking gentleman by the name of Steve Spirit Wind asked if he might “sage smudge” me, I knew I was a fish in the wrong kind of water, but I had my
obligation to you, my dears…and so I soldiered on. But I can safely say—Do
NOT
Do What I Did today.

“‘Miracle waters,' eh?”

“That's right,” Jane said. She unhitched her seat belt and reached into the back of her pickup's extended cab for the two towels she'd tossed there on their way from the ranch. She sized Merry up as she slung the towels over her shoulder. “From the looks of things, you could use a miracle right now.”

“At least one,” she gasped as she half hopped, half dissolved out of the vehicle and wobbled on noodly legs. “I think sitting all afternoon actually made the leg cramp up more than if I'd stayed on my feet.” She shook her head ruefully. “I haven't been this sore since the time I took on the Austrian cross-country ski team.”

“Why, what'd they do to you?” Jane's eyes were twinkling as she came around the vehicle and linked arms with Merry.

Merry shut the truck door behind her and leaned on Jane more than her pride would have preferred. “I bet them their event wasn't as hard as mine.”

“And that was a problem?” Jane asked.

“Yeah. It's
harder
.”

“Ah.” Jane nodded as if understanding had just dawned. “No gravity assist?”

“Something like that.” Merry winced and rubbed her leg through the fabric of the skinny jeans she'd just as happily have tossed in the nearest pile of llama beans.
Maybe Dolly's got some old slacks I can borrow for tomorrow
, she thought,
though they'd be more like Bermuda shorts on me.
I certainly ain't looking to get into Sam Cassidy's overalls anytime soon.
“Suffice it to say it was a painful loss.”

“Well, don't worry, Mer. You're gonna be feeling a lot better in a few minutes, I promise. Our springs will fix you right up.” Jane steered them toward the head of a faint trail that disappeared into the mixed evergreen forest. It might once have been marked with a sign for a natural spring, or a warning of nuclear radioactivity, or a memorial to pioneer settlers forced to eat one another for sustenance. Now, all that remained was a wooden pole with half a weather-beaten board drooping dispiritedly from it by a single rusty nail. Nothing could be read of the words except, “…HOT!” and “…OWN RISK!”

Not going after the tourist dollars, I guess
, Merry thought. As a town, Aguas Milagros appeared to be woefully—or perhaps willfully—ignorant when it came to the art of attracting visitors.
Considering how close this community is to drying up and blowing away like one of their ubiquitous tumbleweeds, you'd think they'd want to advertise
any
selling point, no matter how small.

“How long's it been since you pushed your body as hard as you've been doing since you got to Dolly's spread?” Jane asked, interrupting Merry's musings.

“Probably BT,” Merry admitted with a wince.

“BT?”

“Before Tree,” she explained. “So, like, two years ago.”

Jane abruptly left Merry's side.

Jeez, I know I'm a lame-o, but you don't have to abandon me in the creepy forest just for being a slug.

The vet darted into the crepuscular woods, and Merry could hear branches snapping and leaves crunching beneath her boots. A moment later, her head popped back out of the trees, followed by a big stick.
What, is she gonna beat me for being out of shape?
Merry wondered. But Jane just handed her the shoulder-height staff she'd salvaged. “Here. You look like a woman who could use a good walking stick.”

She's too kind to call it what it really is
,
said Merry's inner voice.
A
cane.

Well, if the stick fits…

“C'mon, Mer. We'll have you limbered up and bouncy as a newborn kid in no time.”

Merry wanted to bounce, alright—back to her condo in Chicago. But she'd committed to DDWID, and that meant trying everything Aguas Milagros had to offer.
So suck it up, Merry
, she told herself,
and do what the nice vet lady says.
She followed her new friend up the primitive, stone-strewn trail into the mixed conifer forest.

“You never tried skiing again?” Jane asked over her shoulder as she skipped up the slope.

Merry's throat closed. Even if her parents hadn't done a complete NSA cover-up job after the accident, making all Merry's equipment vanish as if it'd never existed, she doubted she'd have strapped on skis again. After the effortless rush, the fierce exultation of owning every slope she faced, limping down some bunny slope, falling all over herself, would have driven her crazy with grief…and shame. “No,” she said tightly. “After the physical therapy was over, I figured it was best just to get used to the new normal.”

Jane looked back sharply. “New normal?”

Merry stabbed her staff into the dirt. “Well, I was never going to compete again,” she said, shrugging uncomfortably. “I was lucky to walk, or so they told me. My athletic days were over, so I decided to try out life as a civvie.”

“As a lady of leisure, you mean,” Jane corrected, looking at Merry levelly. “When the going got tough, you went on a cruise.”

Merry sucked in a breath, feeling as if she'd just been sucker punched. “That was my
job
,” she protested.

“Uh-huh. And it's a great job, Mer. Honestly,” she said, eyes earnest. “It just seems like…I don't know…like you left a lot of yourself behind along the way.”

Jane was far too nice a person to say things like “fuck you” to, but Merry was tempted. She gritted her teeth. “How much farther is it to the hot spring?”

Jane let the moment pass, shrugging. “We're just about there. Take a sniff.”

Merry sniffed. “Mm, rotten eggs,” she enthused.

“Medicinal minerals,” Jane corrected, disappearing over a ridge Merry was not at all happy to see. But she slogged up it, leg protesting all the way. And found…

A mud puddle.

Full of hippies.

The steaming, rock-outlined fissure harbored a woman with a serene face and long gray braids, bobbing neck-deep in the bubbling-hot water. A man with identical braids floated at her side, one arm wrapped about her shoulders. He had a feather tucked behind his ear, and a necklace that looked like it was made from every item in a kitchen junk drawer tangled in his abundant gray chest hair. Clouds of steam swirled about them, the whole scene reminding Merry of the hags from
Macbeth
.
Except there were three of those
,
she reminded herself.

But wait…For a second, Merry thought she glimpsed another body somewhere in the depths of the pool, but the vapors were thick enough that, in the fading afternoon light, it was hard to see all the way across.
Just my fevered imagination
, she told herself.
This place is creepy as hell.

“Yo, Lady Jane,” called the gent, distracting Merry from her spectral suppositions.

“Peace, travelers,” said the woman, who could have been his twin or his wife, holding up her fingers in the universal two-fingered salute. The crepe-like skin of her arm was dyed from fingertip to elbow with a multitude of intricate henna patterns.

“Hey, guys,” said Jane, unslinging her towel from her shoulder and looking around for a place to hang it. “Nice to see you.” To Merry, she said, “That's Steve Spirit Wind, and Mazel Tov, his woman.”

“Who's your pal?” the man asked before Merry could do more than raise a brow at this. His voice was rich, languorous, as if his tongue couldn't be bothered to get up in the morning and show up for work. He tilted his head to study them both, squinting at Merry through the steam. “Don't tell me—you're the travel gal, right?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Hey, Mazel, check it, baby; it's the lady who's writing about Aguas Milagros!”

The woman—apparently really named Mazel Tov—put her hands together in prayer position. “The peace of this place be upon you, dear one.”

“Um, thanks,” said Merry, clutching her stick. She thought she might need it.

“Thought we'd grab a soak, if y'all don't mind,” Jane announced. “I told Merry that this was one experience she really shouldn't miss while she's in Aguas Milagros.”

“Be welcome,” Mazel said, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled up at them. “There's always room for those of good intent. And,” she added in a less lofty tone, “I promise, I haven't fed Steve beans in at least three days. These bubbles are all products of nature.”

“Hey,” said Steve, pouting at his woman. “My bubbles are all-natural too, baby!” To Jane and Merry, he said, “C'mon in, gals. Join the party!”

“I'll just catch the next one,” Merry murmured, backing away slowly. She hadn't realized she'd turned to flee until Jane grabbed her arm.

“No wussing out, Mer.”

“I'm not
wussing out
,” she hissed. “I'm letting discretion be the better part of valor! And besides…” She gestured lamely. “The pool appears to be occupied.”

“Bah,” Jane scoffed. “We fit five times this many folks in here last New Year's, and we're all still friends! There's plenty of room.”

Yeah, if you want to play footsie with Mr. and Mrs. Free Love.

“We'll make room for ya, Merry-Bo-Berry,” said Steve, waving her in.

Merry gulped. “Um…I just remembered I didn't pack my antifungal powder,” she hedged, “and, I'm, like,
really
prone to catching athlete's foot. Seriously…they used to call me Funky-Foot Manning, back on the team.” She started to back up.

Jane set her fists on her hips and eyed the taller woman, shaking her head sadly. “These springs are naturally antifungal, and antimicrobial too. You're wussing out, Mer, plain and simple.”

Merry felt Jane's words hit home. She was right, damn her.
Since when did I become the kind of woman who “wusses out”?

Since
never.
“Show me to the changing rooms,” she said, steel in her voice.

Jane rolled her eyes. “Changing rooms? Look around you. Where do you think we are, the Ritz-Carlton?”

Merry looked around.

Right. A mud puddle. In the forest.

“If you're shy, go behind a tree to shuck trou,” Jane suggested. “Though I can't see the point. There's nothing to change
into
. It's not like we're gonna be wearing swimsuits.”

“Um…we're not?”

“Nope,” Jane said cheerily. “National park rules: The chemicals we wash clothing in contaminate the waters. Ergo, no clothing.”

“Ergo, I'm not going!”

“Suit yourself,” Jane said with a shrug, “but I've got the car keys. You can sit here and sulk while I rest and rejuvenate.”

I'm not a wuss. I'm
not
a wuss. And I sure as hell don't sulk.

“Last one in is a rotten egg,” Merry gritted, blasting Jane with a dose of Death Ray Number Ten, which should have incinerated the vet where she stood. She “shucked trou” with about as much enthusiasm as one would display for a full-body prison delousing. Merry stood there defiantly, scars exposed, just long enough to prove she
wasn't
a wuss, then made to slosh into the pool.

Except there was a hippie in her way.

“Before you can accept the gift of this healing spring, you must be purified,” said Mazel Tov, blocking the crude stone steps that led into the spring. Her pendulous breasts bobbed at the surface of the oily-looking water. “Steve will be happy to oblige; won't you, dear?”