Kristin scanned Rachel’s notes, pretending to take into account her detailed instructions regarding the balance of anti-inflammatory and immune-optimizing ingredients.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m feeling inspired. Their immune systems are gettingboosted.”
“You are an artist with a blender,” said Darcy.
Kristin began rustling through the refrigerator and cupboards, pulling more ingredients out haphazardly. Rachel bought the weirdest shit for these smoothies: fruits and vegetables and herbal supplements Darcy had never heard of before, because Darcy found peanut butter and Oreos to be a very satisfactory and cruelty-free diet when she was planning her own meals. The ranch’s clientele, by contrast, were of the sort that would eatanythingif it was blended with ice and pitched as a health food.
Kristin tossed everything into the industrial-sized blender, pulsed and pureed, then grabbed spoons for them both.
“I call this the Fighting Farmer,” Kristin declared, dipping a spoon into the mush and handing it over to Darcy for her approval. “Apple juice, beet puree, carrots, arugula, garlic powder, and”—she winked at Darcy—“bee pollen.”
Darcy took a tiny taste off the spoon. It was awful. Kristin had truly outdone herself this time.
“You know, I think it needs a little something else,” she said, pretending to think very hard about it.
“Oh? More beet, maybe?”
Darcy tapped her chin. “No.” She scanned the piles of produce. “I think it needs some rutabaga.”
Kristin took her own wincing sip of the smoothie and nodded, impressed. “You are so right.”
“I’m always right,” Darcy said, grabbing the root vegetable and beginning to peel it. She scraped a little into the blender, then pulsed it again, followed by the ice that convinced their guests that the beverage was a treat, not a punishment.
Kristin poured the smoothie into two mason jars for Teagan and Sloane Van Zijl, then loaded the rest of the smoothie-filled jars into a basket with a handful of stainless-steel straws for transport to the meditation deck. Darcy checked the clock again. Still running on schedule.
“Darcy?” Kristin asked.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you tell Rachel you don’t have a job lined up? Maybe she or Dr. Goedert could find you a job in Bozeman. Like at his practice or something?”
Darcy kept her face carefully blank. The Goederts thought she was an illiterate knuckle-dragger. They wouldn’t hire her to do anything in an office besides clean it.
“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that,” she lied, grabbing the basket. “Thanks.”
Darcy was just in time for the end of the session, approaching as Rachel rang the crystal bell that signaled the end of meditation free time. There were about a dozen guests participating, most of them clad in expensive activewear or vaguely bohemian natural fibers. Darcy handed out thesmoothies, finishing with the Van Zijl girl, a skinny slip of a thing with a trendy layered haircut.
There was one smoothie left in her basket.
“I think this goes to your... guy...” Darcy let her voice trail off as she passed the beet-based beverage to the girl. Sloane Van Zijl looked almost a decade younger than Darcy, which was really young for a guest. Most people were trying to get over entire lifetimes of bad habits.
“Brother,” said Sloane, rolling her eyes. “Teagan’s not here. He went on a hike by himself after lunch. He didn’t want to do the guided visualizations.”
Darcy glanced over at Rachel. It was after three. It wasn’t like Rachel to let one of her baby ducklings wander off by himself for so long. Darcy did her best to check the luggage as it came in, but addicts were very skilled at squirreling things away for the second or third day of rehab, when withdrawal really started to hit. Sometimes she found them out in the forest, high as giraffe balls.
“Is your brother a big hiker?” Darcy asked.
Sloane dramatically frowned.
“Teagan? He lives in Manhattan. The last time he embraced the wilderness was the day a pigeon got into his condo.”
Darcy sighed. “Which way did he go?” she asked. She’d bring him back for painting or pottery or basket weaving or whatever Rachel had planned for art class today. Sometimes this job was a lot like being a preschool teacher. Sit down. Eat your snack. Don’t put that in your mouth; it’s poison.
Sloane pointed toward the waterfall trail. It was a five-mile loop, with a fair amount of elevation gain. Not a good trail for beginners, especially not alone.
“Ah, goats,” Darcy swore. She kept a hiking backpackready to go in her room, but retrieving it and the lost bumblefuck hiker would use up her time cushion for the rest of the day. She’d hoped to free up enough time before dinner to study for her final exams for once. “I’ll have to go find him.”
“Is it not safe?” Sloane asked anxiously.
