She wasn’t quite sure why they’d stopped when they had—the lack of protection had certainly factored in, but Merry had also sensed a hesitation in Sam that was more about wanting to do things right than wanting to avoid unintended consequences. At first she’d been stung when he’d pulled his lips away, his body held tense above hers, but the undeniable evidence of his desire for her and his labored breathing against her neck had told her it was no easier for him to stop than it had been for her to find her desires thwarted.
It had been a long night.
Even remembering it made Merry squirm…in the best possible way. She sipped her latte, which Bob had decorated with a simple but rather cheeky heart, a Cupid’s arrow piercing it.
“How do you always know?” she asked Bob, who had a huge platter of nachos in one hand and a beatific smile on his face.
“I’m good like that,” he said. He slid the piping hot plate down in front of Merry, narrowly avoiding her laptop. The smell made Merry’s mouth water. She’d already been feted with Dolly’s best breakfast efforts upon returning from their adventure this morning—Dolly had been overjoyed to see them safe—but she found she was a bottomless pit today. She and Sam had worked up quite an appetite…
“Share these with me?” Merry invited.
“Sure.”
They crunched chips and savored spicy jalapeños in companionable silence for a while. “So how’s it going, Lady Hobbit?” Bob asked at last. “Any news?”
Merry’s face turned pink.
“About the Kickstarter campaign, I mean.”
“Right! Of course.” Merry pecked at her keyboard for a minute or so, squinting at her site stats and following the link to the crowd-funding site. “We’re doing respectably, but we’re nowhere close enough,” she reported glumly. “If only we had more time…I really think we could have made it. As it is…I don’t see a way.”
“I’m sure your story about last night’s adventures will help,” said Bob. “The pictures you posted of little Bill were out of sight. Sounds like quite the tale.”
A tale I have no intention of sharing in full, Merry thought. What had happened was for her to savor. And Sam too, she hoped. They’d fallen at last into an exhausted sleep—at least Merry had, though she suspected Sam had lain awake after she’d passed out, watching over them. At dawn he’d gotten them all up, checked to see that mother and baby were still thriving, then wrapped Merry in his coat again, along with every other item of clothing he could spare. The sun had come out, and the snow had been sparkling like a field of diamonds, already starting to melt as the temperature climbed. Merry had been almost sorry to say good-bye to their little haven, but she knew Dolly must be frantic. She herself was rather desperate for a hot shower…and some time to think.
Sam had been quiet too, hard to read in the light of day, and Merry hadn’t pressed. He’d picked up baby Bill in his arms, and led them all back to the ranch, breaking trail without even breaking a sweat. At Dolly’s door he’d refused her offer of his coat back, ignoring her protests. “You’ll need it,” he’d said, “if you’re gonna stick around awhile.” Then he’d traced one hand down her jaw, tucking a strand of her hair back under her ridiculous hat. “You are going to stick around awhile, aren’t you?”
“If I’m wanted,” she said simply.
“Oh, you’re wanted.” His blue eyes had burned into her. “I’ll see you later, Merry Manning.”
Standing there in Dolly’s doorway, clad in mismatched knitwear and a coat she could have wrapped around herself twice, dirty and disheveled in a way that would have given her mother fits, Merry had known she must look a fright. Yet in his eyes…she had felt anything but. “Later,” he’d said, and somehow Merry knew it was a promise. A promise she was looking forward to him keeping.
* * *
“Banana Hammock! Banana Hammock!”
Bob eyed Merry’s phone in mild alarm. “Your device appears to be having an identity crisis,” he remarked. It was jumping and jolting all over his Formica-topped table.
“That’s my brother,” Merry said. “Or his text message tone, anyhow.” She picked up the phone and checked the screen, glad of the distraction from her heated thoughts about Sam.
How’s tricks in llama town, Sis? Gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed in our boy Sam there. Doesn’t he know what a sweet piece of ass you are? I’ll be sure to tell him how overrated gentlemanly behavior is when I see him.
Ha. That day would never come. The thought of Marcus descending on Aguas Milagros was so incongruous it made Merry snicker. But that reminded her…she hadn’t heard from her parents in a suspiciously long time. She knew she’d have to deal with them soon enough, but she was more than happy to let that one slide while she faced the far more immediate—and important—crisis facing Dolly’s ranch. If G&P were letting her off the Thanksgiving Day hook, Merry wasn’t about to quibble.
Don’t you dare, she typed. I’ve got enough going on around here without “Manning Meddling” to add to it. Thanks for keeping the ’rents off my back, by the way. I assume that was your doing.
Ass. U. Me, typed her brother. There was a pause. Oops, speaking of asses, my spectacular buns are due on set in a sec. Got a shoot for Armani Privé and my privies are anything but private in it. Just wanted to tell ya I love ya while I had a minute, Squatchy. I’m proud of you too. So are Mom and Dad, if you can believe it.
I *can’t* believe it, Merry typed back, but her brother had already moved on.
Which is what we’re all going to have to do, she thought with a pang. Unless I can save the Last Chance.
“What will happen to Aguas Milagros if I can’t save the ranch?” Merry said to Bob, who was crunching meditatively on the last of the nacho chips.
“Why don’t you ask the mayor?”
Merry followed Bob’s gaze to the gentleman entering the café.
So what do you do in Aguas Milagros?” Merry asked, wriggling her tush more comfortably into the worn vinyl of the booth’s bench seat. She poked at her phone until it coughed up the voice-recording app, turning the device on the table so that the speaker faced Federico Rios y Valles. She wanted to get everything on record properly, so she could do him justice in her column. His demeanor demanded it.
The gentleman straightened his bolo tie, as if the phone could see him. “I’m the town barber, but that didn’t keep me busy enough, so they made me the mayor.” He took a sip of the cappuccino Bob had left at his elbow. It had a pair of scissors painted onto the foam, but they were fading under the predations of his tidy mustache. He looked, Merry thought, rather like John Waters, with a dash of Salvador Dalí thrown in. “I think they believed they were doing me a favor.” He sniffed.
Merry raised her pirate brow. “Isn’t being the mayor kind of an honor?”
Federico pursed his lips. “Have you seen this town?”
Merry’s own lip twitched. “Things do move pretty slow around here, I guess.”
“An understatement,” he said with a tiny sigh. “No one cuts their hair in Aguas Milagros. The men barely see fit to shave themselves more often than their sheep. Dolly’s buzz clippers saw more action at shearing time than mine did all year.” He clicked his tongue. “I daren’t speak about the women.”
“That must be a drag,” Merry said.
“You cannot imagine,” he said. “I have certificates of excellence from every major academy of cosmetology. I have decades of experience styling celebrities, public figures, and Fortune 500 executives. My shave is so smooth it makes Julio Iglesias look rude. Back in the day, it took months to score an appointment at my salon. Now? I’m lucky if I get asked for the odd updo for a girl’s quinceañera.” His gaze was dejected as he stared out the diner’s window, obviously seeing more-glamorous horizons. “You have very nice hair, by the way,” he said, returning his gaze to eye Merry’s long, coppery waves.
Merry blushed, glad she’d taken the time to scrub up after her adventures overnight. She hoped Sam would appreciate it t
oo. He’d seemed to enjoy running his hands through her hair plenty last night…“Thank you,” she said, fiddling with a strand self-consciously. “So what, if you don’t mind my asking, brought you to Aguas Milagros?”
Federico’s eyes darted about the diner, as if someone might be watching. “I had a bit of trouble, back in the city of my birth.”
Merry raised her eyebrow again.
“Let us say that I was moved here…for my own protection.”
“Like, witness protection?”
“I did not say that. But…a man of my accomplishments…well, you may extrapolate as you wish.”
Merry examined the immaculately groomed gentleman before her. He seemed completely serious, and not obviously delusional. We all have a past, I guess, she thought. Some of us are just more eager than others to leave theirs behind. “So you’d leave if you could?” she asked.
“I did not say that,” Federico said again. He examined his manicured fingernails. “Country life does have a certain piquance. And the privacy has its benefits too.”
Merry raised the brow further.
“Oh, alright.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I will tell you, since you are so insistent. I…grow a little something on the side. For extra cash. You might want to ask Steve Spirit Wind and his woman about that.” He nodded over at the two, who had just entered the café in a cloud of patchouli and pleasant vibes. They grinned and waved energetically back.
“See you tonight, Mer-Ber?” called Steve.
Right. She’d promised to interview the hippies tonight, at their home, and feature their side business while she was at it. Which meant she wouldn’t be spending “quality time” with Sam again as soon as she’d hoped, but…duty called. Her readers were loving the profiles of the townsfolk, and each article she posted on her site spurred a fresh wave of contributions to the cause. They were still far from their goal, but Merry was holding out for a last-minute miracle. After all, the holidays were coming up. People would be in a giving mood, she hoped. Meanwhile, she’d share Steve and Mazel’s gifts with the world, as best she could. “Sure thing, guys,” she called back.
“Groovy.” They grabbed a booth and started chatting with Bob.
“You won’t discuss that on your blog, I hope,” Federico said. He was eyeing her phone and its recording app with belated alarm. “And you won’t feature my photo? Not that I’m averse to pictures in the normal run of things, but there are certain people who, shall we say, ought to remain unaware of my current whereabouts.” He twisted his mustache ends anxiously.
“Oh, no,” Merry assured him. “I wouldn’t dream of it, though of course you are tremendously photogenic, Mr. Rios y Valles. Actually, what I wanted to talk to you about today is Dolly’s ranch, and the impact the potential sale to Massive Euphemistics would have on the town. My readers will want to hear the opinion of the town’s foremost elected official.” Now that I know there is an elected official.
The mayor puffed up with pride. “Well, as you may know, Aguas Milagros is a town of some historical significance. The great Navajo Chief Manuelito made a stand here, back in the 1860s. In fact I believe Mrs. Cassidy’s hacienda is built around the site, but you’d want to consult Rebecca, our archivist, about that.”
“I’ll do that,” Merry promised, though it wasn’t uppermost on her list. She wasn’t sure how keen her readers would be to read about bloody battles and the ignominious history of the US Army’s pogroms against the indigenous peoples of the Southwest. Maybe after I do the bit about the hippies, she told herself. “Are you a fan of local history, Mr. Rios y Valles?”
“Not really,” he said, deflating with another sigh, as if maintaining even a minute’s worth of enthusiasm were beyond him. He picked a nonexistent fleck of lint off his crisp sport jacket sleeve. “But again, there’s not much here to occupy a man of my talents. One must read something on cold winter nights.” He stared out at the single street, watching the fast-melting snow drip glistening into the gutters in the slanting afternoon light.
He wasn’t giving her much she could publish for her readers. She tried again. “I know the hot springs are a big deal with the locals. Do you think having a corporate retreat center nearby will help to spread the word? Boost tourism?” Say no, Merry mentally coached. Corporations = bad, little folk = good. That’s the message we’re going for here.
“It will probably end up like Truth or Consequences, in Southern New Mexico.” Federico made a face. “‘Miracle waters, now available through your bathroom tap!’ They’ll be building water slides, next thing you know. So tacky. No one here wants that.”
Steve and Mazel might get a kick out of it, Merry thought. She looked over at their booth, where they were tickling one another with their long braids, and smothered a laugh at the image of the two of them whizzing buck-naked down a water slide into the springs.
“The town is sure to go to hell if the ranch gets bought out by those people,” Federico continued. “Because it’s never just one incursion, is it? No,” he said bitterly. “First they want ‘protection money.’ Next they’re demanding you launder their ill-gotten gains. And before you know it, they’ve destroyed your business, and you’re forced to testify against them…”
Somehow Merry got the feeling they weren’t talking about Aguas Milagros anymore. “Um…right!” she said. “We don’t want any of that here, do we?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said wistfully. “Might provide some excitement, at least.”
Federico looked so full of ennui Merry couldn’t help herself.
“You wanna do my hair?”
The smile on the dapper man’s face made the resulting foot-high bouffant worth it.
The beehive is a noble hairstyle, with decades of history and tradition to, er, prop it up. It is the very pinnacle of coiffage, and only the finest stylists can achieve such heights, be they literal or follicularly figurative.
One such cosmetological genius abides in Aguas Milagros, where he also happens to do double duty as the town’s esteemed mayor. Today he had a go at my hair. The attached is a picture of the magnificent results.
P.S.: If you dare laugh I will so pop out of this computer and smack you upside your head.
* * *
“Don’t say a word,” Merry warned, glaring at Sam. She was in Dolly’s front yard, eyeing the MINI Cooper’s clearance with despair. Between her natural height and the extra foot of shellacked helmet-hair, it was looking like she might have to walk to Steve and Mazel’s tonight. And while yesterday’s surprise snow had melted away, she didn’t think she wanted to walk home in the evening chill, despite Sam’s donated coat. “I promised Mr. Rios y Valles I’d leave it up for the night, so as not to waste his talents.”
“You’d need the SWAT team from Los Alamos to dismantle that thing,” Sam said, swallowing snickers. He was leaning against the low adobe wall that enclosed his aunt’s front yard, barefoot again now, wearing a heavy Clint Eastwood–style poncho over his jeans. Merry wondered which of his llamas had donated the wool to make the rough-spun garment, but she thought it was actually rather fetching. Unlike her hair.
“I said not a word, buster,” Merry warned, but she was grinning. His presence was making her the teensiest bit giddy. “I’ll have you know this hairdo wins friends and influences people.” She tried to pat it in a ladylike way, and ended up sending it sideways into a tower to rival Pisa. “Buddha thought I’d brought him cotton candy when I came to give him his evening treats,” she informed him. “Didn’t even spit at me today. And Dolly thanked me for cleaning the rafters. Cleared away years of stubborn cobwebs in one fell swoop, she told me.”
“Can I touch it?” Sam asked, eyeing the coppery cloud. “Will it purr?”
“It won’t, but I might,” Merry said before she could stop herself. She bit her lip.
She wasn’t sure they were quite “there” yet in their relationship…or if there actually was a relationship between them. A few kisses—okay, a lot of kisses—do not a
love match make, she reminded herself.
But Sam was already taking hold of her lapels, pulling her close. “I’d like to make you purr,” he said. He began nuzzling her neck in a way that sent her blood pressure soaring.
Oh, goodie.
“And I’d like to let you,” Merry told him. She ran a lingering finger along his jaw, tucking a strand of his blond hair back behind his ear. It didn’t seem so much like straw to her anymore. “But I promised the Wind-Tovs I’d interview them tonight for the column, and I don’t want to disappoint them—or my readers. We haven’t got much time left before Mr. Dixon comes back with his papers and his ultimatum. We probably won’t make the funding goal, but maybe if we’re close enough, Dolly will be able to get a bank loan or something to make up the rest.” Merry’s throat went tight. “It might take a miracle, but I have to try, Sam, and this is the only thing I can think of.”
“This isn’t all on your shoulders,” Sam told her. “We’ll work something out. Us Cassidys have faced tough times before, and we’ll survive whatever happens this time as well. And, Merry—you may not have been here long, but I can tell you’re a survivor too. We’ll work this through together. You’re not alone.” He smiled up at her, blue eyes twinkling. “Besides, if anyone messes with you, you can always head-butt them with your beehive.”
Merry smiled wryly, pulling away to open the MINI’s driver-side door. “Speaking of butting heads, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a shove, maybe I can even wedge myself into this blasted Matchbox car.”
Friends, do not pass up the hospitality of hippies. At least not in Aguas Milagros.
The home of SSW and his ladylove may be small, it may be creaky, but at least it makes a great getaway vehicle if you ever find yourself in a Partridge Family escape caper. They live, you see, in an ancient school bus painted every color in the rainbow, and then some. Generations of local kids have been invited to hone their exterior decorating skills by adding some element of whimsy to the rusting metal sides, which are a wonderland of mythical beasties, Cubist portraiture, and frankly rude suggestions.
Last Chance Llama Ranch Page 34
