Author's note - Just my luck, I'm finally back and the series is about to start. My plan is now up in the air. I don't want to plagiarize the series, so let's see what I can do.

Dani

1 – There's No Place Like Home

I stood on the wooden, front balcony, stretching toward the rising sun. Hands high above my head. Lean body reaching from ankles to fingertips, stiff muscles creaking as they woke up. My face tipped toward the brightening sky. Fawn-colored hair tousled by the light breeze that buffeted under the overhang. The sweet smell of prairie grass and green sage filled my lungs with a renewed sense of being. I was home, a feeling that was as inexplicable as where I had chosen to settle and live my life. I guess it was all in how one looked at it.

Exactly one year ago today, my mind had wandered in the contrasting beauty of rugged mountains, dry, flat land, and cerulean sky. It reminded me of the life I had been torn from, but instead of twisting my hurting heart, the serenity that waved across the wheat-like grass on a shimmer of heat soothed my aching soul.

I had been bitter, angry at the world. I had been seriously injured on the job and struggled with the fact that I had been sidelined, sent back to the states, and not permitted to continue my passion. I was forced to swallow that bitter pill but reluctantly chose to make the best of it. Seven pins in a map. Connect the dots. Travel a place and culture I hadn't live in for over twenty-five years, where I didn't want to be: the good ol' USA. Me and my newly acquired dog. Two damaged souls in search of…what…?

I was three quarters through my journey when I'd blown a tire on the I-90 travelling south out of Montana and into Wyoming. While changing it on the desolate stretch of highway, a tribal police officer stopped to help. I hadn't known I'd been trespassing on Native land, and old instincts kicked in making me mistrustful. Vigilance had kept me alive for so many years in East Africa, but the man's quiet assistance inexplicably eased my tension.

That was the beginning. My introduction to Wyoming and its people. The beauty of the land. The calm, quiet help from a stranger. He'd given directions to a State Park where I met new people who would become good friends. Within that first week, I would meet the man who would eventually chip away the bricks I'd build around my damaged psyche.

Ah… I smiled to myself, leaning against a support post of the sand-colored, ranch-style house, shielding my eyes from the glistening morning sun, look where my travels had brought me. Such an amazing gift it offered.

The screen door creaked open, and I shifted to glance over my shoulder. Henry's hand gently slipped around my waist, and we silently stood, side by side, gazing out at the new day, the smell of coffee wafting from his cup, tired creases still around his eyes. I tipped my head to his shoulder, slipping my arm around his waist in return.

"I missed you coming in last night. Were you late?" I asked.

He smiled and nodded. "I could have dance through the room with the Kick Shickers playing and you would not have woken. I am surprised I was able to squeeze in."

I laughed lightly. "I didn't take up that much space."

Henry snorted. "You were spread eagle on your stomach, taking all four corners of the bed. When I lifted the sheet, you shifted slightly, and I was able to find a small space. As long as I stayed perfectly straight and on my side, I was fine," he teased.

I playfully elbowed him in the ribs. "Next time, sleep on the couch," I smirked. "It's Friday." The subject changed. "Would you like help with your delivery?"

"If you like." He moved to lean against another post, sipping his coffee, running his free hand reflectively through his black hair.

Henry had been deeply affected by the level of poverty we'd seen in parts of Kenya. And, although he'd always been aware of the insufficiencies on the Rez, since we'd been home, he'd been more attentive.

Tribal Council oversaw a group that kept an eye on the most senior Elders – making sure they were taken care of - doctor's appointments, shopping, bringing in groceries, or simply going to visit. But, Henry took it one step further. Once a week, on Friday, with the surplus food from the Red Pony, he and Carl, his cook, packaged nearly twenty meals for those who were most dire. He would deliver them to the Tribal Council, and the group would distribute them as needed. He requested to remain anonymous, and Anita promised to keep his secret.

"You spoke with Anita yesterday?" he asked.

"Yes. We talked about the garden and about the youth group again. A nursery in town has offered to donate a number of plants if the Council will accept them. Pride is hindering the decision. And, the Across the Ages program that met during the winter - the Elders and younger children - produced a number of seedlings. Anita called for a group of volunteers to prep and plant tomorrow. I'm going to go help."

Henry nodded.

Last summer, I had initiated a plan to build a community garden beside the community center. Anita, president of the Tribal Council, had convinced young and old to get involved, and while I had given them the idea and offered my help, it was the cooperative effort of the people that made the garden a success. By the time the vegetables were planted, though, it was later in the season than should have been. As a result, the crop was limited, but what had been harvested in late October had been the base at a pot luck, community dinner at Halloween. The villagers were gratified by their effort, and I was pleased to see that interest had kept up over the winter.

The youth group was an idea that Henry often toyed with, but hadn't followed through on until the garden was being built. A group of indifferent boys had mocked and scoffed the villagers' efforts, and I had convinced them to get involved by producing a design and painting a mural on the side of the community center. Their pride had been tangible, and we wanted to nurture it. So, the idea of creating a safe place away from negative temptations in life, a place they could call their own, have pride in, had been brought to the Tribal Council. The concept had been embraced, but the Council questioned where the youth could meet and were very particular about who would be involved. Understandably, they wanted qualified people – an activities director, a social worker, a drug councillor, and they wanted all of the staff to be Native. So, in essence, my direct involvement had been ruled out. The project had been attempted but had failed over the winter and was presently on the backburner as volunteers that fit the Council's strict prerequisites had been near impossible to find. I was trying to encourage them to widen their parameters and try again.

"You will be heading to Casper on Sunday?" Henry asked absently, watching a hawk glide toward the distant mountains.

I nodded slowly. "Yes. My last talk is on Monday. Poli Sci and National Guard together. We're going to have a lunch after so I might be a bit late."

"Have you given any more thought to Sheridan's offer?"

I shielded my eyes again gazing out at nothing in particular. Sheridan College, just forty-five minutes up the road, had offered a part-time teaching post in the Social Studies department for the Fall semester, hinting at a course in Sociology – cultural diversity. I was thinking about it but still had plenty of time to give them my answer. Although the campus and classes were small and close, it didn't have the same connection with the National Guard, and I really liked that aspect of the job. I didn't want to give up Casper.

Henry took a step down and turned to face me, wrapping both hands around my waist. We were eye to eye.

"You are good at many things. Do what makes you happy." He kissed the tip of my nose.

I pressed my lips together and smiled at the man before me, bringing my fingers up to tuck an unruly black curl behind his ear. Lightly brushing my lips to his, I whispered. "I will."

We stood for a moment, souls meeting, enjoying the silent connection when Sugar, who had been stretched out in a sunbeam on the balcony, suddenly jumped to her feet, alert and attentive to the truck bouncing off the main road and onto the crushed gravel drive. Her paws began an anxious, stationary march as she began to whine.

"How does she know?" Henry's brows furrowed as he watched the excited dog.

I shook my head in amusement. "I have no idea."

Sugar waited for the truck to stop then leap from the top step and raced to the newcomer, tail wagging furiously, whining and yipping as if she'd found a long-lost friend.

I laughed as the man got out to greet the animal. "You know, we didn't even get that kind of response from her after being away for weeks?"

Walt grinned but said nothing. Sugar, for some reason, was unabashedly in love with the man, and as he approached, she trotted faithfully by his side.

"Sorry to interrupt." He tipped his Cattleman's hat back with a single finger. "Got a situation. Could use your help," he directed toward Henry.