Pronk (v.): A stiff-legged bouncing up into the air that llamas and alpacas occasionally demonstrate when playing with each other, or to scout and elude predators.

Author’s note: Immature goats are also known to perform this gobsmackingly hilarious maneuver. Imagine Pepe le Pew when he’s in love, leisurely skipping and bounding after poor Penelope Pussycat. Remove the reek—and the disturbing rapey-ness—and that’s what you’re seeing when an animal pronks. At least, that was what I was seeing when I came across the baby goats this afternoon. They were so excited to welcome their new playmate they couldn’t contain themselves.

And after I met the object of their affection, I felt like I’d gained a new best friend too.

*  *  *

The goats were…swarming?

Yes, distinctly, if unbelievably, this was the case. A pile of bleating, baaing, pronking brown-and-white bodies had something down on the ground and wouldn’t let it up.

That something, as it turned out, was a veterinarian.

A holistic veterinarian.

Jane Kraslowski, as a matter of fact.

And she was laughing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. “Help!” she squeaked. “Dolly, come get your fool kids off of me.”

Dolly rolled her eyes at Merry, whom she’d been leading over to the goat enclosure. “Come, child. I want you to meet the Last Chance’s guardian angel,” she said. “We couldn’t hardly manage a day without this lady, even if she is a goofball sometimes.” She strode the last few feet to the fence, and Merry trailed stiffly behind, pasting a smile atop her pained wince. Neither the Advil nor Bob’s booze-boosted latte had done much to eradicate today’s ill-advised excesses.

“Hang on, Jane. Help’s coming.” Dolly let herself into the pen while Merry leaned against the outside rail, grateful to let it take the weight off her leg for a minute. Dolly reached into the pocket of the worn smock she wore over her jeans and chamois work shirt, rooting around. “Lucy! Ricardo! Ethel! C’mere!” she called. The goats ignored her, continuing their efforts to engulf the veterinarian.

“I Love Lucy?” Merry asked. She was watching the goat swarm with equal parts horror and humor. So this is what being loved to death looks like.

“Yeah. I named this year’s kids after my favorite black-and-white-era TV characters.”

“Niiiice. Keepin’ it classic.”

“I try,” Dolly said. She moved toward her recalcitrant ruminants. “C’mon now, kiddies, leave the nice vet alone.” Oblivious, the goats continued their scrum, leaving Jane half smothered in playful animals, rolling and squealing with merriment as they tried to lick her face. Dolly snorted. “I swear Jane must wash her hair in alfalfa-scented shampoo. Watch this,” she said to Merry. “Never fails.” She held up a fistful of grain pellets. “Treats!”

Boi-oi-oing! The baby goats bounced up and practically somersaulted in midair, turning their attention away from Jane and charging Dolly. Hopping on pogo-stick legs, ears flapping with excitement, they stretched their little necks up, bleating and sticking their tongues out for the feed Dolly held in her palm. The pellets were gone in milliseconds.

And I thought llamas were greedy.

“Jane, quit your foolin’ and come meet our Merry. Merry, this is Jane, our resident vet and just about my best friend in the world,” Dolly said.

Merry, safely on the outside of the pen, studied the woman. Probably in her late thirties or early forties, she was grinning ear to ear and plain as the day was long. She had buckteeth, wide-spaced eyes, and no lips to speak of, with hair cut short as a man’s and of no particular color. And yet…her joy was so radiant she would turn heads anywhere she went. “Hi, Jane,” Merry said, waving shyly.

Jane rose to her feet, expelling a few lingering chuckles, and brushed at her clothes. “Ah, the famous travel writer!” She strode over to the fence, sticking her hand out.

Merry shook the proffered hand. “I don’t know about famous, but the writer part is true.” She smiled politely. “Dolly tells me you’re a…”

“A holistic vet. Guilty as charged. Certified naturopath but it’s not as woo-woo as it sounds. I went through veterinary school same as any other vet. Got my large animal certification, but, well…” She looked fondly at the kids, who, along with their mama, had surrounded her and were currently testing her pants legs for numminess. “The more research I did, the more convinced I became that the first line of treatment for our four-footed friends should always be close to nature whenever possible. Natural sunscreen, natural nutritional supplements, that sort of thing.” She spoke like a woman who was often forced to defend her opinions.

“Sunscreen? But aren’t alpacas buried under, like, four feet of fur? Er, I mean wool. Sorry, Dolly.”

Dolly waved off the apology.

“Oh, you should see the alpacas right after we shear ’em. With their crew cuts, their skin’s all pink and tender, and quite vulnerable to the sun.”

Merry tried, but she just couldn’t picture a shorn alpaca. Q-tip? Show poodle? “Speaking as a certified ginger, I can relate,” she said. She touched her cheeks with tentative fingertips. Yup, tight and hot. She’d gotten too much of that strong New Mexico sun today. “Maybe I can hit you up for some of that sunscreen. Snape kinda ate my sun protection this morning. Sorry about that, Dolly. I tried, but the rascal just wore me down.”

“Eh, what the hell. I never liked that hat anyway,” said Dolly. “Nor the head it rode in on.”

Jane smiled that sunbeam of a smile. “Happy to,” she told Merry. “I make a nice lavender lip balm too.”

“You gals can talk beauty products later,” Dolly said. “Now, come and meet Betty White,” she urged Merry. “That’s their mama. She’s quite a scamp, but she gives the best damn milk in four counties. Half the cheese in Northern New Mexico comes from Betty.”

“I’m good here,” Merry demurred. The fence was pretty much the only thing holding her upright.

“’Sakes, child. Can’t work a ranch without getting to know the goats. Betty and her sisters Bea and Rue need milking every morning, and the least we humans can do is provide a little polite chitchat before we wrap our hands around their nether bits. So come sweet-talk this little mama.”

“Oh! Right, sorry.” For a moment there Merry had forgotten she was here to work, not just gawk at the fuzzies from afar. “Coming.” She let herself into the pen, walking slowly to hide her stiffness. And her apprehension. As far as she was concerned there was a good reason goats were associated with the devil. Their alien eyes alone were enough to give Merry the heebie-jeebies, and no amount of cute pronk action was going to dispel that dismay. “Um, howdy Betty…how’s it…” She eyed the goat’s bulging udder. “…hanging?”

“Bleh,” said the goat.

“I feel ya,” Merry muttered.

“Go on, give her a treat. She’ll be your friend for life.” Dolly shoved a handful of grain into Merry’s tentative hand.

It’s not going to steal your soul. Probably. Just get it over with. Taking a deep breath, Merry strode forward.

“Hang on, you might want to slow d—” Jane called, but it was too late. She’d spooked the beast.

Being a creature of nature, a goat faces only two choices when confronted by six feet, three inches of klutz. Fight, or flight. Apparently, Betty White subscribed to the “fight” school of thought. Her head went down, her hooves pawed the dirt…

And she butted Merry for all she was worth.

Smack on Merry’s mangled left thigh.

Merry went down hard, but that was okay because she wasn’t actually there for it. She was somewhere deep, and black, and swirly, about a thousand miles distant from her body.

When the stars cleared from her field of vision, Merry found three pairs of worried eyes staring down at her. Only two had round pupils—the third was Betty White, Satan orbs wide and innocent as if she hadn’t just precipitated Merry’s blackout.

“Bah,” said Betty.

“To you too,” groaned Merry, her ears still ringing.

She tried to rise, but Jane held her down with a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa there, cowgirl. You hit the dirt pretty hard. Let me check you out first before you try to move.”

“I’m fine,” said Merry, who wasn’t. Pain was playing a violin solo all down her left leg, and not very expertly at that. The grating, shrilling thrill of it was making her nauseated, and chilly sweat had broken out all over her body. Don’t barf on the nice holistic vet, Merry. It isn’t polite.

“Slowly now,” said Jane, wedging a strong arm beneath Merry’s shoulders. “A bit at a time. We don’t want you blacking out again.”

Merry nodded and started to gather herself.

“You eat today, hon?” asked Dolly, face puckered with concern as she looked down at her fainting farmhand. She fanned Merry with her enormous hat. “I know you skipped breakfast. Sam better have fed you well at lunch, I hope.”

Merry had burned off that lavish lunch surprisingly quickly, which was fortunate, or it might now be spewed all over the goat pen. Where she was currently lying. In the dirt. In the poop. In hell. “It’s not that,” she said, levering herself to a sitting position with Jane’s assistance.

“What then? Hon, your eyes rolled back in your head like a porcelain doll’s.”

“Old war wound,” Merry said, trying for flippancy. “No big deal.” Teeth gritted, she managed to achieve her feet with Jane’s help.

Jane looked at Merry more closely as she led the taller woman over to the fence, and recognition dawned in her eyes. She steadied Merry as they walked, taking a lot of her weight. “Wait a second…I knew you looked familiar. You’re that skier, aren’t you. The one that crashed?”

Merry rubbed a filthy hand over a face that was probably equally awful. “Yeah,” she admitted. “The one that crashed.”

Dolly looked puzzled, so Jane explained. “Remember a couple years ago, there was a story in the news about this big-shot skier, odds-on favorite to win at the Olympics, but she had herself a terrible accident during trials?”

Dolly shook her head. “Can’t say I do, but then I ain’t much for the news. Or sports. John always hogged the TV for his damn bowling tournaments…as if bowling ain’t boring enough in person.”

Jane grimaced at the truth of that. “Well, if I remember correctly, the woman was setting crazy records for herself all day long…seriously leaving everyone else in the dust. Then, on her last run…boom! She crossed paths with a tree instead of the finish line.” Jane illustrated by smacking a fist into her palm, then fluttering her fingers as if they were debris from an explosion. “Pshhhhh…splat!” She looked over at Merry. “Is that about right?”

Shame curled in Merry’s gut. “About.”

“Damn, woman. I thought you were on life support in a coma in Switzerland or something.”

“I wish,” Merry muttered. It would save her the humiliation of this moment. The great Merry Manning…felled by a goat.

“How’d you end up here?”

“Funny story,” Merry said. “Mind if I tell it from a chair?”

“Shit! Sorry. Let’s get you sitting down.”

Between the two women, they managed to support Merry back to Dolly’s house, and get her seated on the sofa.

“Left or right, hon?” Dolly asked.

Merry, woozy from their jolting progress across the yard, didn’t catch on right away. “Huh?”

“Which leg’s gone gimp on ya?”

“Oh. Left.”

Dolly eased Merry’s dirty boots off and fetched a cushion, tucking it under her heel as the two women gingerly got Merry’s left leg propped up on the chest that served as Dolly’s coffee table.

“Let me take a look,” said Jane, kneeling on the floor at Merry’s feet between couch and coffee table.

“Um…no offense, but aren’t you a veterinarian?”

“Physiology is physiology.” She was already palpating Merry’s leg through her jeans, ignoring her hiss of pain, but working as gently as a person could. “Dolly, hand me those pinking shears from over there.”

Dolly went to her sewing basket.

“Wait—” Merry protested, but Jane already had her pants leg split halfway up her thigh. Crap. Those were the only comfy jeans I owned. Now I’m going to have to wear the skinny jeans Mother sent me.

When the thigh was fully exposed, both women sucked in a breath.

“Well, that ain’t good,” Dolly said.

The muscles had knotted around Merry’s scars in fierce balls of protest, locked up tighter than a Swiss banker’s vault at tax time. The scars were livid, and the damaged quadriceps twitched involuntarily around the worst of them. “Dolly, fetch me my bag from the truck, will you?” Jane said calmly.

“On it,” said the older woman, out the door in a flash.

“You hiked seven miles on this?” Jane looked up at Merry with mingled compassion and exasperation.

“Well, it wasn’t quite like this when I started,” Merry prevaricated.

“Damn, woman,” she said again. “Either you whacked your wits out when you crashed into that tree, or you’re just plain hardheaded to begin with.”

“Bit of both,” Merry said, groaning as Jane gently rotated her leg and examined the scars more closely. She leaned back against the sofa’s cushions, thinking of England.

“You’re white as chalk, child,” said Dolly, returning with a large, old-fashioned doctor’s bag.

Jane took the bag and started rummaging around inside, clucking her tongue. “Why didn’t Sam stop this? I can’t believe he’d make you walk the whole way if he knew you were in this much pain.”

Dolly snorted at Jane. “He’d sooner carry Merry down the mountain over his shoulder than let her suffer. And that boy could do it too.”

The horror of such a scenario made the pain Merry was in seem more palatable. “I didn’t tell him. And please, both of you, promise me you won’t either.”

“But why?” Jane asked. Her expression was bewildered.

Dolly spoke for Merry. “Pride. Pure, damn-fool pride.” She waved a hand at Merry. “Look at her. It’s about the only thing the girl’s running on.”

For the second time that day, Merry’s eyes welled with tears, and it wasn’t just from the pungent horse liniment Jane was rubbing into her leg. That pride is getting in the way of Dolly’s livelihood. She needs an able-bodied ranch hand…and I am anything but. The realization hit her like a fist to the gut. “I’m sorry, Dolly. I never should have come here. But I really thought I could do this.”

“Stop apologizing, child. You can do this, and you’re gonna.”

Had Dolly somehow missed the part where Merry had just made intimate contact with the dirt? “But…you need a real ranch hand. Someone to lift heavy stuff, and…and…I dunno—put it on top of other heavy stuff.”

Jane snickered, and Merry blushed, but Dolly patted her hand kindly.

“I’ll see if I can’t get little Joey from the village to pitch in and take over some of the chores until you’re feeling better. That kid loves the animals so much I practically have to shoo him away with a broom, and he takes his pay in biscuits, to boot. But even if he does the sweaty stuff for a coupla days, I’m sure we’ll find other ways for you to help out ’til that leg of yours calms down a mite.”

Merry shook her head. “I can’t let you do that, Dolly. You advertised for a ranch hand, and you deserve someone who can do the job properly.” She made her voice firmer than she felt inside. “I’ll leave tonight.” Though where she would go, Merry had not the faintest clue. To save money, she’d sublet her condo all the way through the end of the year and tossed what little personal stuff she had in storage, planning to hop directly from the Last Chance Ranch to her next DDWID mission, whatever that might be. Now, it was looking less and less like there would be a next mission, since she was failing abjectly at her first, and the corporate overlords at Pulse were unlikely to cut her any slack.

“Last Chance” indeed.

“No one’s leaving anywhere tonight,” Dolly said firmly. “I don’t know if it’s the pain talking, or you’re more of a drama queen than I pegged you for. But either way, I ain’t letting you give up on me so quick.” She marched over to the kitchen and opened her sixties-style avocado-colored refrigerator, coming out with a pitcher full of amber liquid, ice, and lemon wedges. Briskly, she poured three glasses of iced tea. She returned with the beverages on a tray, and shoved one tall, sweating glass at Merry. “Drink,” she ordered. “I put lotsa sugar in there, which should help with the wooziness. Maybe it’ll bring you to your senses too.”

Merry took a swig of the tangy sweet tea. “Thank you, Dolly,” she said thickly. “You’ve been more than kind. But if I can’t do the work, I don’t deserve the hospitality. I’d better get packing.” Merry made to get up, then thought better of it as a wave of nauseating pain washed over her. She took another sip of tea, swallowed hard, beads of chilly sweat popping out around her hairline.

“Child, didn’t you hear what I just said?” Dolly sounded exasperated.

“I—ouch!” Merry winced as Jane started wrapping stretchy bandage tape around her leg. It was, she noted absently, the same hot pink as Boudicca’s had been. “I did, but…” She gestured toward the yard outside. “I know there must still be chores left to do. If I can’t even finish out my first week properly, I’ve got no business imposing upon your generosity.”

The failure rankled. Merry had never left a task unfinished. Hell, even that fateful day in St. Moritz, her unconscious body had somehow managed to slide past the finish line.

I’m terrible at this. She wasn’t fearless, fun, or fabulous the way she’d portrayed herself in her column. No. She was facedown in feces and unable even to get up on her own.

Which, she realized with a start, is exactly what my readers are tuning in to see.

Merry sat back on the sofa, brain whirling. Maybe failing, in this case, was actually winning? Maybe being bad at this gig was exactly the point?

Duh. She could hear Joel’s voice in her head, telling her the more falling on her fanny, the better.

But was that really fair to Dolly? “Are you sure?” she asked, glancing over at the older woman shyly. “I don’t want to take advantage…”

“You just sit flat on your fanny and rest tonight, child,” Dolly said, as if she’d heard Merry’s thoughts. “Am I right, Jane?”

“Damn right, Dolly. This little chickie is roosting for the night. Doctor’s orders.” Jane threw the rest of the medical tape back in her bag, rose, and dusted off her knees. “Merry, if you so much as lift a finger for the rest of the day, I’m going to sneak up behind you and shoot you full of ketamine. You and Dolly can sort tomorrow out tomorrow. Tonight you rest, or I make you rest. You got that?” She waggled the black bag of doom in front of Merry demonstratively.

“Got it.” Clearly, there was no arguing with these two when they banded together. A wave of relief washed over Merry—she wouldn’t have to figure out what to do with herself quite yet. There was still a chance for her to figure out this DDWID stuff. A chance to succeed, whatever that might look like at the Last Chance Llama Ranch. “And again, I’m really, really sorry, Dolly. I never meant to be so freaking useless.”

“Shut your flappy trap, child. You ain’t useless. You did a great job for me yesterday, and Sam said you did just fine with the trekkers today. More’n fine. He said you were a big help.”

“Sam said that?”

“Right enough. Said the tourists loved you. And he told me you managed to make friends with Severus Snape—something not many do. That scamp makes Buddha look like an angel.” She clucked her tongue. “So you had yourself a bit of an unexpected sit-down at the end of the day. Big deal. You did what you had to do, Merry, and that’s what counts. If you have to take it light for a couple days, well, we’ll find another way for you to be useful in the meanwhile. Won’t we, Jane?”

“I do recall you saying you’ve been meaning to do inventory in the shop.” Jane scooched Merry over on the sofa and plopped down next to her, then dragged an afghan off the back of the couch and tucked it around Merry.

Merry looked down at the blankie, eyes moist. It was a stunning piece, a starburst of radiating earth tones ranging from cream to beige to deepest chocolate brown, with swirls of varying grays in between—courtesy of Dolly’s herd, no doubt. She rubbed the supersoft wool between her fingers, petting it. “Inventory?” she asked shyly.

“Yeah. Only been putting it off for about the last seven years. Yarn’s all over the damn joint, and I have no clue which goes where or how much is left of what batch.” Dolly made herself comfortable in a well-worn armchair across from them, by the spinning wheel Merry had noticed the day before. She sipped her tea, looking at Merry over the rim of the glass. “You any good with numbers, Merry?”

“Stats, mostly. I had to keep track of a lot of them before…” Her throat closed. “Anyhow, yeah, I’m not bad with numbers. And I’d be happy to help however I can.”

“Good. Tomorrow I’ll put you to work. But tonight we veg.”

“Music to my ears,” said Jane, a grin making her plain features radiant. “It is definitely veg-time.”

“So what does one do for, ah, veg-time out here?”

Jane looked at Merry like she couldn’t believe she had to ask. “Amigurumi, of course.”

And she tossed something soft and squishy into Merry’s lap.