Guests press closer to the fire pit, warming feet and faces, as the dusk chill settles over the Rocky Mountains. Cocktail glasses chime through the laughter and chatter. I give the scene wide berth, hobbling across the thick grass. My legs bend and wallow, entirely disobedient. After six hours in the saddle - the first time in 15 years - my limbs are mutinous. They lurch towards the soothing warmth of the flames and the chilled Pinot Grigio on the lodge's log porch.

Too late. I've been spotted dithering. "Amanda," a cheerful voice cries out. "What are you doing? Why aren't you here?"

"Work." I demur. A chorus of boos floats across the lawn.

"Come have a drink, silly. You're not here to work."

Actually, I am, but my resolve melts before the campfire and gentle camaraderie. A gentleman relinquishes his chair by the hearth. An unobtrusive waiter slips a glass of white wine and plate of hors d'œuvres into my hands. I snuggle up and sigh.

These people - strangers until yesterday - called me out of the darkness. Without strain, without pretence, they wove me into their close-knit circle. Some have visited the CLazyU Ranch for more than 50 years. The lawyers, professors and entrepreneurs, so dignified in western couture now, once scarfed s'mores in the children's program. They return the same time each year, greeting old friends, breaking in new boots.

"This place has turned into family," one explains. Another chimes in; "It's like intergenerational summer camp. The kids get to tent out, visit the rodeo, brand their leather boots and belts, and watch films. Meanwhile, we sit and drink nice wine."

We - the adults that is - do indeed live well. Soufflés and gourmet pancakes greet us each morning. We lunch by the pool after three-hours on horseback. Hiking, trap shooting, tennis, rafting: the options are vast. The ice cream parlor opens twice daily, crafting ornate banana-syrup concoctions, and the bar manager circulates during cocktail hour, topping off glasses with a sincere smile.

(CONTINUE...)