I turned and walked quickly down the lane toward a street beyond the fence. When I reached the gate, it automatically swung open, and I tottled forward in too-big heeled boots onto the asphalt road.

I took the bills out of my pocket and counted eighty-nine dollars, which was the most money I’d had in ages. It would have to go straight to my landlord.

I looked both ways, but couldn’t see anything but road and trees. There weren’t even any sidewalks.

The man was coming down the lane toward me. He stopped at the gate. “Milagro.”

“If you would just point the way to the nearest bus or train station, I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re disoriented. You hit your head.”

I was disoriented, but other than this ookiness, I felt fine. I reached up and touched my noggin. “I don’t have any bumps or soreness. Did I hit my head, or did someone hit me?”

“You fell off your truck and knocked your head against a rock,” he said.

“My truck again.” I laughed. “At least you committed to the joke.”

He put his hands on his hips, and they were nice hips indeed. “Milagro, as much as I’d like to see you leave, I think you better let me examine you further.”

“Nice try, but you had your thrills last night and I hope you don’t have any communicable diseases, because the last thing I need is to catch some incurable condition from a casual encounter.” I’d go to the free “Does It Itch?” clinic as soon as I got back to the City.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

The air here felt so light and warm, so clean, and the sky was the vivid blue of bachelor’s buttons.

“Okay, I’ll go along with this idiocy. I was going to a party for a very dear friend, Sebastian Beckett-Witherspoon, the acclaimed novelist,” I said, although I hated Sebastian with the fire of a thousand suns. “I was dressed quite chicly. Obviously, I, um … perhaps I had too much to drink, and here I am. Where exactly is here?”

“The ranch.”

“Thank you for your total lack of specificity,” I snarked. “If you’re not going to be helpful, I can manage on my own.” I turned right and began walking.

He followed me, and I said, “Don’t try to stop me because I’ll scream.”

“I won’t try because you’ll throw me across the road.”

“You’re hilarious except for the being funny part of hilarity.” As I kept walking, I recalled leaving my crappy basement apartment to go to the party. I remembered waiting for the bus and worrying about seeing Sebastian, who had become successful while I was still patching together part-time jobs. What the hell had happened after that?