Last Chance Llama Ranch (36 page)

S
o 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 too. 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.

T
he 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.”