Last Chance Llama Ranch

by Hilary Fields

  Their eyes widened. Sam’s narrowed as a thought occurred to him. To Merry, he side-mouthed, “Ah, do I need to get release forms or something?”

  “Only if I use their pictures and their real names. We can ask their parents afterward.”

  “That might be tough,” Sam said quietly. “These kids haven’t got the most, um…involved…families.” He turned back to the teens. “Why don’t you introduce yourselves to Ms. Manning—”

  “Call me Merry, please, for the love of God.” Merry pulled a face. “I feel ancient enough in present company, Mr. Cassidy.”

  One or two of the teens cracked a smile.

  “Right. Say hello to Merry.”

  “Yo. I’m Thaddeus.” This came from a tall, budding lothario with overly gelled hair and an attitude that said he knew he was irresistible. He had the sleeves of his white tee shirt rolled up to his shoulders to reveal arms that were corded with muscle, which he was flexing at the magenta-hued girl with no particular subtlety.

  “Hi, Thaddeus,” said Merry.

  “You could call me Thad if you want,” he said gruffly.

  “I’ll do that,” Merry said with a smile. She turned to the next boy. “And you are?”

  “Mikey.” He was a plump, sandy-haired kid with more smudges than clean spots on his oversized tee shirt and torn jeans. He couldn’t have been above fifteen.

  “Hey, Mikey. Pleasure to meet you.”

  The boy colored, staring down at his feet. Merry let him off the hook. “And who’s our curly-haired friend?”

  “I’m Bernie.” The kid was a born charmer (now that he was no longer scowling), with wild, corkscrew curls and chocolate brown eyes like a Labrador’s. “You can call me Bernito, or Beebs, or B-Bomb. Anything but Bernardo. Cool?”

  Merry nodded, smiling her promise to the boy. She looked expectantly at the last of the group.

  A pause, but eventually the girl gave it up. “I’m Zelda.” Her crossed arms trumpeted just how impressed she wasn’t, but her toe, tapping in Chuck Taylors that had been graffitied over with markers into a colorful abstract painting, showed she was nervous in Merry’s presence. “So, what, like, you used to be like on TV and shit?” She shot a glance at Sam, then amended, “I mean, and stuff.”

  Merry darted her own glance at Sam, whose expression was approving of the girl’s belated retraction. Interesting. Prickly as they were, the kids seemed to worship Sam.

  “She used to be on the US Ski Team,” Joey volunteered, seeming to enjoy being the possessor of proprietary information.

  Captain, actually, Merry thought, but saying so would have been blowing her own horn a tad too much. “It’s true, I was,” she said. “But I don’t ski anymore. Anyhow, today’s not about me. It’s about you guys. So, Sam”—she turned the smile up to blinding—“what’s on tap for us on this excursion?”

  Momentarily, Sam seemed knocked off kilter by the wattage of the smile. Then he shook off his bemusement, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his overalls and rocking back on his callus-crusted heels like a proper rancher. “Right! I promised you guys last time we’d be going balls to the wall this go-round, and I mean to keep that promise.”

  There were some smothered grins at his choice of phrase, but Sam kept on going. “I don’t care what you may have heard outside of this circle, what people tell you at home or around town. You guys are badass. I don’t call you ‘the Survivors’ for nothing. You’ve made me proud these past few months, and I think you’ve proven you’re ready for just about anything I can dish. Am I right?”

  “Fuckin’ A right!” yelled Thad.

  “You know it, dude,” Bernie said, ruffling up his hair into a lion’s mane and making fearsome faces at the other boys.

  Mikey flashed gang signs and assumed a pose of supreme confidence. Joey just smiled shyly.

  Zelda rolled her eyes at their antics, but Merry noticed her cheeks had flushed at Sam’s praise.

  “Alright. So, since you’re such badasses, I figured you’re not going to freak out if I really challenge you this time. I’m talking a twenty-four-hour immersive experience.” He paused to give them each a lingering look, as if measuring their mettle. The teens stood up straighter. “Today’s survival scenario is all about roughing it, like you’d do if you were caught out lost on the woods and had to make it through the night with no time to prepare. Now, did you all bring your overnight gear with you?”

  There was some shuffling around, and Merry noticed a pile of packs at the feet of the teens. Most of them were beat-up old school book bags, scribbled over with band logos and anarchy signs, ripped and torn. One was the same magenta as Zelda’s hair. The kids nodded.

  “Did I tell you to bring overnight gear?” Sam’s eyes were alight in a way Merry had rarely seen. He loves these kids, she realized. Loves ’em like his llamas.

  Bernie spoke up. “Well, no, but dude, you did say we were gonna be out all night…”

  Mikey cut in. “And, like, it’s barely fifty overnight.”

  “I brought my old man’s camp stove and sleeping bag,” Joey said softly. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  “Well, dump it all in the house, guys. You aren’t going to need it.”

  “I don’t travel without my eyeliner,” Zelda informed them loftily. “Girl’s gotta have standards, amirite?” She glanced shyly at Merry as the only other female present, but, seeing Merry wasn’t wearing any, seemed to deflate.

  “Eyeliner too, Zelda. You can get reacquainted with your cosmetics tomorrow.”

  Huge sigh. But she trooped into Bag End with the others, tossing her knapsack with a distinctly teenaged thunk onto the mudroom floor. Before the kids could return, Merry gave Sam a skeptical look. Eyeliner might not be de rigueur for a camping trip, but she was pretty sure blankets and flashlights and s’mores were. “Um, Sam? Is it wise to go without any gear up into these mountains? Like the little guy—what was his name, Mickey?—said, it gets pretty darn cold up there overnight.”

  Sam scowled. “Mikey,” he corrected. “Are you questioning my judgment? Do you seriously think I’d endanger these children?”

  “Well, no, but…”

  “We all have hidden depths, Ms. I-failed-to-mention-I-was-in-the-Olympics. You weren’t always a writer? Well, I wasn’t always a llama wrangler—or a Wall Street shill, for that matter. Before I came to Dolly’s to help her run the ranch, I was a certified survival instructor. I’ve taught kids and adults primitive skills for years, and I’ve never lost a student yet. I don’t intend to now.”

  Merry felt a pang of conscience. Not because she’d questioned Sam’s judgment—she’d be happy to do that all day long—but because she hadn’t done her research. A professional journalist should have done more thorough background on her subjects. Not that Sam had been any too forthcoming about his past with her—or welcoming in any way whatsoever—but still. I’ll do better from here on out, she promised herself. My readers deserve it.

  “Anyhow,” Sam added grudgingly, “I’m not going to starve them.” He gestured to the enormous picnic basket Merry had laid at her feet. “With my adult excursions, we go without the smorgasbord, and just eat what we can forage. But you can’t do that to teenagers unless you want a riot on your hands. Besides, while the idea here is that they learn something that helps them become more self-reliant, some of these kids already know more about deprivation than you or I ever will.”

  Merry thought of how skinny Joey was, how Mikey’s clothes seemed to have come straight from the rag bin. Her heart ached. “So what’s the plan?”

  “You’ll find out when they do, Wookiee,” he said.

  The teens trooped back out to surround them again before Merry could flip him the bird he so richly deserved.

  “So, dude, what’re we s’posed to do without our shit?” Thad said, forcing his voice into its lowest register. “You want we should cuddle together for warmth?” He grabbed Zelda around the waist and made humping motions while the other boys howled with laught
er. Merry started forward, but Zel was way ahead of her. She snatched hold of Thaddeus’s ear and gave it a twist that had him yelping and crying uncle.

  “Thaddeus, we talked about this,” Sam said sternly. “We do not dry hump our fellow survivalists.”

  Bernie fell out laughing, his snorts and giggles contagious.

  “Except Bernie. You can dry hump him.”

  “Hey!”

  “Alright, enough, you reprobates. Daylight’s burning, and we’ve got miles to cover before we make camp.”

  “What’s a reprobate?”

  “Look it up in the dictionary, Thaddy-puss,” Mikey advised. “You’ll see your ugly face staring back.”

  “I’ll show you ugly face, you little…”

  Zelda snapped her fingers in Thad’s face and said one word. “Chill.”

  Thad chilled.

  Merry hid a smile. She has that boy wrapped around her little finger, and hoo-boy-howdy does she know it.

  “If you’re finished clowning around, Survivors, circle round and I’ll give you the equipment that’s gonna save your life tonight.” Sam grabbed a box that had been on the ground beside his bare feet. A box…of lawn and leaf bags. He whipped one out with a flourish and handed the slippery black plastic to Merry, who accepted it with all the enthusiasm of someone receiving a dead fish. Then he proffered the box to each of the teens in turn. “Here’s your gear, guys.”

  “What’re we supposed to do with this? Tidy up the forest like Yogi Bear?” Bernie flapped his trash bag open, looking hopefully inside as if he might find a nice propane stove and some hot dogs.

  “I’d never ask you to clean anything, Beebs,” Sam said on a smile. “Badass you may be, but every man has his limits, and tidiness is clearly beyond you.” His gaze rested on Bernie’s wild-and-woolly hair, and the boy grinned and shook his head to send the mass even higher.

  Merry noticed Sam hadn’t subjected Mikey to the same teasing, and her estimation of him rose, for clearly Mikey’s dishevelment had more to do with his home life than his personal habits.

  Sam scraped his own hair back under his hat and settled it more firmly on his head, obviously eager to get the show on the road. “We’re learning the art of self-reliance here. With just this one tool, and the skills I’m going to teach you, you’ll come through in great shape. So stow those bags in your pockets, tighten those shoelaces, and hit the bathroom if you need it. It’s the last chance before it’s all leaves and squatting in the bush for the next twenty-four hours.”

  Zelda looked faint. Merry didn’t blame her.

  Sam wasn’t concerned for their tender sensibilities. “Merry, would you please go fetch Snape from the pen over yonder?” Merry gave him a goggle-eyed glance for this unaccustomed politeness, but he just waved out past the vegetable patch, up a dirt track, where, now that she put her ears to it, Merry could hear the unmistakable hum that was Severus’s morning warm-up song. Glad he’s treating me with a bit of respect in front of the kids, at least. “He’s already haltered up and waiting,” Sam informed her. “Just don’t be drawing any fire this time, you hear me? We haven’t got time to hose you off again.” He flashed a grin at the kids. “You wouldn’t believe how much the llamas love to lob loogies at our friend Merry here.”

  “It’s true,” Merry had to admit. “I’m a loog-magnet.” The boys made “ew, gross” faces that made them look, suddenly, very young and sweet. Zelda just shuddered.

  “Zel, why don’t you help Merry load up Snape’s panniers with the picnic basket Dolly sent over, and make sure you secure those four-gallon water canisters too. Don’t forget to distribute the weight equally or our lunch is gonna get mighty dusty dragging on the ground. Once we’re loaded up, we’ll get moving on up the mountain. Oh, and Merry, make sure the tincture of iodine’s still in the small pouch at the front, okay? We’ll probably be sucking stream water by morning.”

  Ew, gross indeed.

  “Can Snape carry that much?” Merry asked as Zel took off up the path, towing the picnic basket and leaving the far heavier water jugs for Merry. Her new friend was doughty, but that was a heck of a lot of food and water…

  “He’s a llama. He could probably hump half those kids up the mountain and not break a sweat.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly, Merry remembered. “Um, in that case, is there room for one more?” She held up Cleese’s travel terrarium.

  Sam’s lip twitched. “You brought your turtle?”

  “What? He gets separation anxiety. I didn’t want him to languish in my cabin while I got to have some fabulous adventure. And I can’t leave him at your place now. He might get in a race with your rabbit, and who knows what sort of tesseract of bad literary metaphors they could create in there without supervision.”

  The lip twitched some more. Then he sighed. “Fine, pop him in there. The kids will love him. But if he gets llama-sick, you’re cleaning it up.”

  * * *

  Sam gathered the flock to him and off we trooped, Von Trapp–style, into the pristine wilderness for our overnight adventure. Now, Sam’s charges—whom he calls the Survivors—are no children of privilege like the adorable Austrian warblers. In fact, these kids are a lot hardier—and harder up. For the truth is, charming as Aguas Milagros is, New Mexico can be a tough place to grow up. Poverty is pervasive, the education system sucks (at forty-ninth in the country in terms of success, I’m told the state motto is, “Hey, at least we’re not Mississippi!”), and alcoholism and drug abuse are rampant as well. Tight-knit as this community is, some of the kids fall through the cracks.

  Sam catches ’em.

  * * *

  Sam walked alongside Merry and Snape, the kids ranging ahead of them up the trail with an energy Merry envied. Her leg seemed to be holding up better as the days at the Last Chance went on, but she was still struggling not to limp in front of Llama Boy. He might show a softer side around the kids—and Merry wasn’t going to argue he was awesome with them—but she had no such faith he’d stay Mr. Mush when they were alone.

  She eyed him warily.

  He eyed her back.

  Merry increased her stride, but he kept pace with her effortlessly on those bare feet of his.

  He said nothing.

  He said it a lot.

  “What,” she finally snapped.

  “What, what?”

  “I know you’re dying to ask, so just get it over with.”

  “Alright then,” he said. “So, you weren’t just blowing smoke up my ass with that whole ‘I’ve already been famous’ thing?” He gave her a searching look. “Like, really famous?”

  “Well, I’m no Kardashian, but yeah, if you think of athletes as famous, I wasn’t exactly hiding under a rock.”

  “You’re under one now,” he pointed out, gesturing to the dusty track that wound up into the mountains. “No cameras here, no adoring fans.”

  “Yeah, well, your fans stop adoring you pretty fast once you stop spreading butter on the mashed potatoes and start spreading your guts across the finish line.”

  “Butter on the mashed potatoes?” His face was a mask of incomprehension.

  “Yeah, you know. Carving the gnar pow. Thrashing the sickey poo. Shredding the cheddar.”

  “Either you’re hungry, suffering intestinal distress, or you’re teaching me ski slang.”

  Merry allowed a smile to escape. “The latter. Well, and the first one too. Not so much with the intestinal distress, but if you’re going to be forcing me to drink water that needs iodine to make it safe, I can’t promise that won’t come later.”

  Sam studied her face, then ran his gaze down her body to rest on her left leg. The one he’d seen the night of the centipede attack and knew was covered in scar tissue. “So what happened?”

  “I crashed.”

  He sucked on his teeth meditatively, nodded. “Bad?”

  “Yeah. Bad.”

  He let that sit awhile as they hiked up the track, Severus pacing between them. “I’m sorry, Wookiee,” he said at la
st.

  Her throat tightened. How many times had she heard the same, from how many well-meaning people? Yet somehow, coming from Cassidy, the words felt both simpler and more sincere. “I’m fine now,” she said gruffly. “Long as it’s cool if I co-opt your llamas for crutches once in a while.” She patted Snape’s neck, and the beast responded by whuffling her neck…and then attempting to steal her well-monched hat. “How did you get involved with the fabulous five over there?” she asked, changing the subject. “It’s obvious you mean the world to those kids.”

  Sam shrugged uncomfortably, reaching into the pocket of his overalls for a carrot to feed Snape. He wiped the resulting drool off on the denim, ignoring Merry’s wince. “It started with Joey,” he said, nodding to the littlest of the bunch, who was fending off a Star Wars–style stick incursion by Bernie and Mikey with a stick lightsaber of his own. “I noticed this scrawny slip of a kid was hanging round the ranch a lot, at odd times of the day, when he should have been at school. He was so skittish I could barely get him to say hello, but he loved the animals, and honestly he didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go. Came to find out, Dolly had been feeding him on the side, like a stray cat. His mom didn’t seem to notice, or care, and his father…” Sam shook his head, eyes gone stormy. “Better that asshole stays gone.”

  “Mm,” Merry said. Her eyes softened as she watched the boy try to keep up with the others. “Poor muffin.”

  “He holds his own surprisingly well,” Sam said. “Sometimes I worry more about Thad, to tell you the truth.”

  “Really?” Merry examined the tall, well-built boy, but he seemed without a care in the world, trotting backward up the trail so he could talk with Zelda, who was just behind him. Kid like that’s probably the most popular boy in his class, she thought. “Why?”

  “Thad was the second of my strays,” Sam told her. “A lot smarter than he looks, but he’s dyslexic, and no one intervened early on. Or pretty much at all. He’s basically illiterate, though he hides it well. His folks are migrant fruit pickers, so he stays with his grandmother out here a lot of the year, and she doesn’t speak English, so she hasn’t been able to help much. She has some health issues too. Thad takes care of her as best he can, but he doesn’t have a lot of prospects and he knows it. Makes him a mite prickly, but underneath it he’s sweet as they come. He just needs someone to give him a chance.”