Last Chance Llama Ranch (30 page)

A
guas Milagros might be Merry's new favorite hangout, but Taos was a pretty magical place too. With the bigger ski destinations of Aspen, Vail, and Telluride not far away, she'd never had cause (or time) to visit the funky little town, though she'd heard good things about the skiing here. Turned out Taos had a lot more going for it than just slopes.

Especially during the annual Wool Festival.

The town was painted in a palette of soft browns and faded greens, all beneath a sky so blue and wide the clouds that hung suspended from it seemed designed to reassure you that you weren't just going to float away into forever. The city center was a surprisingly sophisticated mix of chichi shops, hotels, and restaurants, Merry saw. Tourists strolled the narrow sidewalks, popping in and out of coffeehouses or window-shopping at the many galleries showcasing both modern and traditional Native American arts. While the architecture was similar—all quaint one-story adobe construction—the vibe in Taos couldn't be less like sleepy Aguas Milagros, Merry thought. It was a town for the well-off, the tourist, and the aspiring artist.

In the distance, she could see the ski valley and Kachina Peak looming over the little city, promising steep runs the likes of which she'd once thought nothing of tackling. Now, she'd rather not think of them at all. Merry turned her gaze back to the road as Dolly wound their way toward Kit Carson Park, where the festival was already under way. Dolly's pickup rumbled and groaned, towing behind it a horse trailer full of slightly queasy but extremely well-groomed alpacas and one unamused llama. Merry had managed to load up Snape and his smaller cousins this morning without so much as a drop of saliva being slung her way, and she was quite proud of that fact. Now she was all eyes, straining to see everything around her from the adobe-fronted shops and galleries to the snowcapped mountains visible through the funnel of the little city's streets. “Is that the park?” she asked, pointing.
Duh
, she thought. The enormous “Taos Wool Festival!” banner spanning the entrance and the people streaming in and out of the green space were a bit of a giveaway.

“They better not have given away my slot,” Dolly grumbled. “Paid extra for a good one by the entrance too.”

“We're not late, are we?”

“Nah. I just ain't willing to get my ass in gear as early as some of these fanatics. I mean, it's great to see everyone, and I sure appreciate the chance to show off my handiwork, but some of the MAVWAs are plain gaga for this shindig.”

“Mav-
wha's
?”

“Mountain and Valley Wool Association people,” Dolly explained. “Mostly it's the same vendors every year. It's not like there's an unlimited pool of idiots ready to beggar ourselves raising hay burners. You gotta love it pretty fierce to keep doing it year after year.”

“Don't you?” Merry asked, surprised.

“'Course I do. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't jump at the chance to take a hiatus…say about five years long. I think I could pretty much see all I want to of the world in that kinda time. But Sam can't run the ranch all by himself, and I can't afford to go gallivanting all over God's creation anyhow. I barely scrape by as it is. The festival's a good opportunity to get the word out about the Last Chance, sell some wool and whatnots, and even get my babies the recognition they deserve in the competitions, which doesn't hurt when I sell off a cria or two. Always helps the price when you can say they're sired by a blue-ribbon winner.” She jerked her thumb toward the trailer they were towing. “That's why we got the fluffies all floofed up. Hope this year Greta and her coven of witches play fair and give us first prize like she ought to've the last five years running. She's been favoring her cousin Beth's sorry beasts too damn long.”

Merry had seen the extreme cuteness of Dolly's little herd, whom she'd helped wash, brush, and blow-dry over the last few days. If they weren't the epitome of alpaca-dom, she wasn't sure what would be. Even Severus was looking dapper, flicking his banana-like ears and stepping high as if to show off his extra-petable pelt. “I'm sure they'll kick ass, Dolly.”

“If they don't, I'll kick
her
ass. And I don't mean any damn donkey either.”

The Wool Festival at Taos is a three-ring circus, where the rings are full to bursting with woolly goodness. On one side of the wide, grassy Kit Carson Park (apparently, ol' Kit was a resident of these parts), there are pens for the show animals waiting on the judges' decisions, a petting zoo, and even a bit of horse—er, sheep, goat, and alpaca—trading. Then you've got your booths full of fantastically talented folks selling hand-knit ponchos, cowls, mittens, booties, hats, sweaters, scarves, and just about anything warm and fuzzy you can wear on your bod. There are play areas for kiddos, and tents selling treats from fry bread and Frito pie to sandwiches of shaved goat meat (a bit disconcerting considering the goat's cousins are bleating not far away) and cheeses that can be traced back to the very sheep from whence they sprang.

A terrier in a sweater trots by. Not unusual, perhaps, except that he's trailing the loose end of the yarn used to make it, and behind him is a woman frantically trying to stop him from unraveling. A toddler feeds a lamb, and squeals as he gets slobbered on. There are hand-spinning demonstrations using fibers from vicuna to dog hair (ew). Weavers work their looms. Dyers dip and knitters purl. And fiber fanatics of every stripe find themselves in seventh heaven.

And I? Well, your newly freelance heroine spent the day manning the Last Chance's little booth, selling balls of yarn and adorable amigurumi to connoisseurs of the craft.

To sum up…it's loud, it's zany, and it's where Dolly Cassidy truly shines.

Dolly had her fingers six inches deep in Fred Astaire's beautiful beige pelt and was extolling the virtues of the alpaca's “well-organized fleece” to the panel of three judges who were visiting their booth when a voice brought her up short.

“Finally bred yourself a show-worthy herd sire, did you? Didn't think you'd manage it, Dolly-my-girl.”

Merry saw Dolly's spine stiffen, and her expression grow almost…horrified? Yes, there was no “almost” about it. She was really, truly horrified. Merry turned to see what could possibly have the fearless ranch owner blanching. And came face-to-face with Sam Elliott's doppelgänger.

Lush, lip-obscuring white mustache? Check. Craggy, lean-and-handsome face? Check. Twinkling blue eyes? Yup. He even had on a dashing cowboy hat with an eagle feather trailing jauntily from it, a denim shirt tucked into form-fitting Wranglers, and alligator-skin cowboy boots that only needed spurs to complete the look.

The man was a total silver fox.

Dolly could not have looked more repulsed had she been popping llama beans in place of chewing gum.

“Why, John Dixon, what in blazes are you doing here?”

This did not come from Dolly. It came from one of the judges, a middle-aged lady named Greta wearing an enormous pair of spectacles that did nothing to obscure the prurient interest in her eyes. “Dolly, you never said your husband was back in town!”

“That's because he
ain't
my husband. And as far as I'm concerned, he's on his way
out
of town as soon as can be arranged—on a rail if I have anything to say about it!”

“Now, is that any way to greet your long-lost love, Dolly dear?” The tall, handsome cowboy looked indulgently down at Dolly, whose face was apoplectic—
much like Sam's gets when he's pissed at me
, Merry thought. She took a step closer to Dolly to back the older woman up, but Dolly was holding her own just fine.

“A thing ain't lost if you never go looking for it!”

The man chuckled as if she'd said something terribly quaint. Merry bristled on Dolly's behalf. “Dolly, is this man bothering you?”

“Only for the last eighteen years,” Dolly said drily. “That's my no-account ex,” she told Merry. To the no-account, she growled, “What are you doing here, and what the hell do you want?”

“Do I have to want something to come say hello to my wife?” His twinkle turned aggressive. “Now that ain't kind.”

“
Kind?
The only kindness you ever did me was running off with that senorita seven years ago!”

The judges tittered. “We'll leave you to your lovers' quarrel,” Greta stage-whispered. “We can come back later to look over your other animals, Dolly.”

Dolly only nodded tightly, not taking her eyes from John.
Like a scorpion that might strike at any second
, Merry thought. “What. Do. You. Want?” Dolly repeated. “You got about five seconds to tell me before I sic ol' Snape on you, and he packs one hell of a loogie!”

John's jolly demeanor slipped a notch. He crossed his arms and puffed up his chest. “Knew you'd be at the festival, and I figured I'd be less likely to get a shotgun in my snoot if I found you here instead of at the ranch,” he said. “I came for what's mine, Dorothy.”

“I ain't yours!” Dolly was scandalized.

“Well now, that's not exactly true,” he drawled, stroking his epic mustache in a way that made Merry think of penny-dreadful villains. “Thing of it is, I never actually got around to filing those divorce papers.”

“What?!”

Dolly's mouth gaped open in pure disbelief, but John barreled on before she could demand an explanation. “Still, handsome as you are, Dolly-my-dear, I ain't actually talking about you. I'm talking about the ranch.” He smiled through his mustache. “Long as we're still hitched, it's still half mine.”

Dolly fumbled for the counter behind her and leaned against it as if all the stuffing had gone out of her. Merry put her arm around Dolly's shoulder. “You okay, Dolly? You want me to go find a security guard?”

“It takes more than a snake in the grass to spook me,” Dolly told Merry. To John, she said, “Even if that were true—and I don't for one minute accept it—you've never shown the slightest bit of interest in the Last Chance all these years. Why come after it now?”

“Well now, that might have something to do with this tall drink of water right here,” said John, leering at Merry.

“Me?”
Oh, no
, Merry thought
. He doesn't mean…

“Imagine my surprise when I come to find out the Last Chance is all of a sudden famous 'cause of some writer on the Internet.” He shook his head, clicked his tongue. “Never imagined folks would get a kick out of Aguas Milagros. It never held much to interest
me
, and the ranch sure's heck wasn't no prize. I was happy to leave you to it, Dolls…until I got a better offer.” He looked over his shoulder, and the two women followed his gaze.

What met their eyes was rather unexpected.

The cowboy had brought along his lawyer.

The gentleman, stiff and sweltering in a blue pinstripe suit on this unusually warm November day, shifted foot to foot in his polished wingtips, as if afraid of stepping in dung. Which, Merry thought, was a pretty reasonable fear considering the venue. His thinning hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and he was clutching an attaché case as if it might shield him from attack by wild animal. Snape, picketed by the side of the booth, stared at him from under his long forelock, flicking his banana ears in a way Merry had come to know meant a loogie was a definite possibility.

John aimed his thumb at the suit. “This-here fellow says he'll give me four hundred grand
for the ranch, kit and caboodle.”

The man stepped forward, seeming relieved to get to business. “That's correct, Mrs. Cassidy. I represent a company called Massive Euphemistics, based in Denver. And we'd like to talk to you about buying out your ranch.”

“What the hell for?” Dolly straightened up from the counter, stiffening her spine.

Seeing her expression, the lawyer took an involuntary step back. “Well, Mrs. Cassidy, our morale department feels it would make a perfect location for a retreat and conference center.” He shrugged, as if the idea were beyond his personal comprehension. “Running team-building workshops, llama therapy exercises…that sort of thing.”

“You have a
morale department
?” Merry muttered incredulously.

“
Llama therapy
? The hell is that?” Dolly demanded. She moved nearer to Snape, as if to shield him.

The lawyer consulted a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “Well, I'm not fully up to speed on all the details, but, ah, I believe the idea is to allow our management leadership to express their core values and explore their initiative in a rustic environment, and to interact with the animals in a way that's conducive to freeing their inner creativity and adding value to the collective.”