Last Chance Llama Ranch

by Hilary Fields

  “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.”

  Taint!

  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.”

  Me
rry 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?”

  “Oh, for sure, Merrilicious,” said the Spirit Wind. He tossed his braids back in preparation for exiting the pool, moving his woman aside with a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Hang tight, ladies. I’ll just get my smudge bundle, and be right back.” Rising like the Swamp Thing, he sluiced water off his body.

  His very naked body.

  Oh boy. Merry caught a glimpse of a rather unfortunate piercing before Steve padded away toward the tree line to rummage inside an enormous macramé satchel hanging from a bough.

  Jane, eyes alight with mirth, divested herself of her own clothes and waded into the pool, Mazel making way for her like an aquatic guard dog welcoming her master home.

  “Hey, why do you get to go in and I don’t?” Merry demanded, crossing her arms over her breasts and trying to pretend the rest of her body did not exist. Once, she’d been rather proud of that body, despite its unfortunate height and the Viking warrior-maiden comparisons it had invited. But that had been when she was in competitive condition, when she’d been working out eight days a week and strong as an ox. When she had been whole, not looking like the aftermath of a bad slasher flick. Now…it was nothing but a source of shame, an announcement of her failures.

  “Oh, I’ve already been purified,” Jane told her. “A couple years back. It’s a blanket blessing.”

  A blanket would be a blessing right now, Merry thought. She turned her death ray up to eleven, but Jane only smiled wider, dipping her hair in the water and shaking it out sassily. For a healer, she seemed to have a serious streak of sadism.

  “Darn it! Mazel, where’d I put the premium blend?” Steve muttered, elbow deep in the bag.

  Merry edged farther away from Steve.

  “It’s next to the Udder Butter, sweetie,” Mazel called.

  I feel faint, Merry thought.

  “Right. Here we go!” Steve cried triumphantly. He raised his arm, at the end of which was a foot-long bundle of bound-up brush. He brandished a Bic, flicking it alight and holding the flame to the bundle, watching until it caught. “Comin’ at ya, Mer-Ber,” he said, suiting actions to words as he fairly skipped to her side. Merry squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see anything that jiggled. “Now, hold still. Won’t take but a sec!”

  Steve proceeded to smudge her.

  It did not take “a
sec.”

  Performed by Steve Spirit Wind, the ritual of sage smudging appeared to have a great deal in common with the acrobatics of a ground controller guiding a plane to a safe landing in foggy weather. He swooped and waved, flourished and swirled, smoke billowing and sparks spinning from the burning baton under his enthusiastic ministrations.

  I definitely feel faint, Merry thought, and it ain’t the sage. She was blushing from stem to stern, six feet three of pure, agonized embarrassment. Please, let this be over soon, she begged the god of hapless travel writers.

  “Sage smudging is an ancient practice,” Mazel informed Merry as she oversaw her man’s efforts. “Make sure you get the smoke everywhere, dear,” she chided.

  “You got it, babe.” Steve waved the bundle lustily, then, with spastic flaps of his hands, encouraged the resulting fumes to envelop Merry. “Cup the smoke,” he told her, panting from his efforts, “and wash with it.”

  “Ah…wash with it?”

  “Here, watch me. I’ll show ya.”

  Steve began to pantomime using the sage stick like a shower brush. Under the arms. Over the head. Between the toes. Behind the knees.

  And betwixt his legs.

  Bending over nearly double, limbs akimbo and tush aimed right at Merry, Steve passed his smoldering rod dangerously close to his other rod, encouraging the herbal effluvia to invade every one of his body cavities.

  Hole-y smokes…

  He straightened up, beaming, then made as if to give Merry the same treatment. “Now you!”

  “It’s okay,” Merry squeaked. “I think we’re all pure here!” She backpedaled furiously, but Steve would not be deterred. He advanced, waving his wand, fairly chasing Merry around the rim of the pool. Out of the corner of her eye, Merry just had time to register Jane, biting her fist and crying with silent laughter before her heels met only thin air. She hurtled backward…

  And found the third hag.

  With her ass.

  A series of kaleidoscopic impressions hit Merry, one after another.

  Scalding blue water.

  A scalding blue glare.

  A steaming cauldron.