Where We Are

by Annie McDonald

  Cassidy (Sid) Harris is an uncompromising art gallery curator, blindsided and thrust into the midst of a career-ending deal involving a powerful celebrity art collector. Making matters worse, when called back to her family’s ranch to help end a mysterious series of cattle thefts, she’s faced with memories she thought she’d left behind long ago.

  Mia Jarvis, a herding dog trainer who has set up camp adjacent to Sid’s family ranch, is emerging after years from the desolate fog of grief. Mia and her canine companions can’t seem to stop running afoul of the decidedly prickly rancher.

  Where We Are is a sensual account of two women who discover a way to walk on the same path together and—with the help of an Indigenous tale, a Canadian art movement, and the mysterious appearance of dimes—also discover the gift of staying in one spot, in time, in space, and in love.

  Where We Are

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  Where We Are

  © 2019 By Annie McDonald. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-580-6

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: December 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Barbara Ann Wright

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Tammy Seidick

  Acknowledgments

  This story is wholly inspired and devoted to Sharon Rochelle Little. The seven dollars and twenty cents might as well be a million.

  Thanks to Laurie Danowski, who stood in my corner through each chapter, over and over again. Soul sister. Eagle eye. Big heart.

  Thanks to Heather and John, who pushed me into the deep end—NaNoWriMo—and convinced me that I could swim.

  I’m grateful to my beta readers, Fiona, Maria, and Marlene, whose encouragement buoyed me.

  I’m indebted to the expert folks at Bold Strokes Books, most especially to Barbara Ann Wright, whose guidance was instrumental and whose patience was unfathomable.

  Special thanks to Sandy B. for holding my hand and steadying me through the grind. Words matter. So does love.

  For Sharon.

  Thanks for the dimes.

  Ebby.

  Prologue

  Mia Jarvis caught a glimpse of herself in the shiny silver metal of the trailer and considered wiping the black streak of grease from her cheek. Instead, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and tried again to set the sway bars on the hitch to the recommended tension. Better to be safe than sorry, she thought. Her determination and caution might have merit, but she accepted that hypervigilance was both overkill and part of her process. After one more minor adjustment, she smiled and stepped from behind the trailer, satisfied that she was ready for the open road.

  “Are you sure? Absolutely sure?” Leah asked.

  “I’m not sure of much right now,” Mia said. “The past year has been a blur, but I need to lay a new foundation.”

  “Can’t you lay it here?”

  “Riley’s gone. I know that. But our life was here, and it’s still too hard.”

  “I get that, but in a trailer? Mia, are you sure? Alone?”

  “I won’t be alone. I have Flynn.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes. And I know you’re throwing up fences to keep me from harm. And I love you for that. But I’m forty-six, Leah, and I need to find out what the rest of my life will be.”

  Mia circled the small airstream trailer, stopping here and there to check compartment latches and signal lights as her best friend and Flynn, her smooth-coated collie, followed.

  “I’m pretty self-sufficient, and you and I both know how to use cell phones, so we’ll never be out of touch. Well, except for those long stretches through the prairies and some spots in the mountains.”

  Noticing her friend still hovering anxiously, Mia changed tack. “Hey, what do a divorce in Alberta, a tornado in Saskatchewan, and a flood in Manitoba have in common?”

  Leah was already rolling her eyes.

  “Somebody’s fixin’ to lose a trailer!” As she always did at her own jokes, Mia laughed. Leah joined in with a groan, as she had so many times through their long friendship.

  “You’re not running away?” she asked when her groan ran thin.

  “I know you think I’m taking on too much too soon, but no, I’m running to. I just don’t know to what, or where, exactly.”

  “Love you, Mia Jarvis.”

  “Love you back.” They hugged, and she climbed into the cab of her Ford F-150.

  “Find some dimes,” Leah said through the open window.

  The inexplicable appearance of the coins brought Riley to mind, and she smiled. “You know I will.”

  Chapter One

  Mia couldn’t believe how quickly the next twelve months passed by. She had travelled west from Ontario across Manitoba and Saskatchewan, a distance equivalent to driving across the breadth of Texas at least twice. Her trailer was not only her home but also served as the mobile headquarters of her dog training service. Specializing in herding techniques for canines and their owners, she worked with ten young dogs, migrating more or less westward after each client through the livestock-rich farms of central Canada. More important than the respectable income was the time it afforded her. Time for grieving. Time for healing.

  And now, a whole year of smooth sailing churned into a maelstrom as ATVs roared over the banks of the creek where she was walking, the machines side-sliding to a stop in tandem not twenty feet from where she stood.

  “It’s impossible that you didn’t see the fence!” the lead driver bellowed over the deafening engines, gesturing toward a gap in the nearby trees.

  “I saw it, but to a dog,” Mia said, “cedar rails are just a bunch of fallen trees. Milo’s curious. And fast.”

  Milo, a sweet but undisciplined black and white border collie and her most recent client, had cowered from the noise and size of the trail-runners, abandoning his dreams of chasing the distant cattle he’d spotted from the other side of said fence. Now his natural curiosity turned to the driver on the lead vehicle. He moved forward and pressed his nose against a leather boot, then nestled it into the cuff of the overlaid jeans. It was only when Mia let her eyes follow the blue denim upward from where Milo sniffed, along muscled but undeniably curvaceous thighs, that she realized the rider was a woman.

  “Is the dog yours?” The tone was not so much angry now as it was cold and sardonic.

  What kind of a question is that? She can’t use his name? The interrogator pulled off her black leather riding gloves, draped them over the handlebars of her still-rumbling all-terrain vehicle, and pushed the peak of her trucker’s cap back on her forehead. Mia recognized the move as a power gesture but not before it had its intended effect. She found herself staring quite helplessly into hypnotic hazel eyes or maybe green or dark grey…it was hard to tell. Regardless, they unnerved her. She silently chastised herself for allowing this stranger’s eyes to distract her, and refocused on resolving what was now an unnecessarily escalating dispute. Before she could form
ulate a plan, repeated vitriol was hurled her way.

  “I said, is he yours?” The words he and yours were emphasized, with a pause in between that infuriated Mia enough to break the spell. Rather than react as usual, in terms that would not exclude several of the four-letter variety, Mia instead took a breath to compose herself.

  Be nice, Mia. These are Beth and Owen’s neighbors.

  She looked calmly to the other driver, a handsome young man wearing a ball cap that looked similar to the one his partner wore but backward, and directed her response at him.

  “He’s in my care, yes.”

  Before backward hat could respond, his partner did.

  “Then care for him. I can’t be responsible if he gets hurt. My cattle aren’t used to herders.”

  The way the woman stressed the word care rankled Mia. There was really no need for the attitude.

  “He’s hardly a herder yet. And he didn’t get hurt. He’s just young and impulsive.” Mia stressed the last word but bit her tongue, knowing better than to draw an obvious comparison between Milo and this rancher anywhere but in her thoughts. “We’re working on it.”

  As if to undermine Mia’s fading authority, Milo sat up and placed his paws on the rider’s leg, tail wagging rapidly as if she had bacon in her boots.

  She stroked Milo’s head, wrapping long fingers around his ears and rubbing the sweet spot under his neck. His gratitude was obvious, but the kind gesture did nothing to soften the woman’s next words.

  “Well, work elsewhere.” Mia could see that the eyes were unquestioningly grey. Without waiting for a response, the woman fired up her ATV and—pulling on the long penny-brown mane of hair held in place by the hat band—pulled her cap tightly back into place.

  Mia couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. She had given nice a chance. But neighbors didn’t always have to be neighborly. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but there’s no need to be rude.” She raised her voice above the engine noise. At the sound, Milo moved from beside the machine and took a stance in front of it. He lowered his shoulders and stayed square to the vehicle as its wheels began to slowly turn, and the machine edged forward.

  “I’m Sid Harris,” was the terse response. “I don’t know or care who you are either, but you’re standing on my family’s land. And in five minutes, I’d prefer you weren’t.” She pulled on the leather gloves. “I trust you can find your way back to wherever you and your dog came from.”

  Again with the dog.

  As the vehicle began to power forward, Milo stood his ground, staring at the headlights, swaying side to side. This was instinct for a border collie, the breed naturally standing and facing the lead cow, a herding strategy called heading. Borders weren’t predominantly nippers—dogs who used small leg bites to enforce movement—though a cow would be ill-advised to test them. Instead, they mostly opted to command cattle with a head-to-head, strong-eye stare, using intimidation to move the herd.

  Mia was pleased to see Milo’s breed intuition in action.

  Now we just need to teach you the difference between an ATV and a cow.

  She was also consoled that the rider—as abrasive as she was—at least had taken care to move around him before gaining speed and spraying gravel away. Maybe there was a human being somewhere under that cap. Too bad her behavior doesn’t match her looks.

  As the ATVs disappeared, Mia found herself transfixed and oddly breathless, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Yes, she was trespassing. But she wasn’t doing any harm, and Milo had obeyed her command to retreat in spite of how excited he was when he spotted the cattle on the Harris side of the fence. Yes, the landowner had a right to ask her to leave. But Mia hadn’t done anything to provoke the level of rudeness shown by this Sid person. Replaying the event in her mind left her wondering what else might be going on with the Harris woman to have elevated the intensity of what could have, and should have been, a polite request but was instead a diatribe. She also wondered why she was giving such consideration to someone so inarguably undeserving.

  Walking back through the band of trees along the Miller-Harris property line, Milo easily vaulting the rails ahead of her, Mia chose to focus on the matter at hand. She was now two weeks into training eleven-month-old Milo. His agility and tirelessness were excellent markers, and she felt confident when she told his owner, Jack McCann, that he would be ready within the month to start working with herds. Her next lesson was to create a healthy appreciation in the pup for all things big, including—now—ATVs. Milo had already shown an appreciation for a certain driver.

  What a bitch. But those eyes. And her hands. Damn.

  The cultivated fields of the lower foothills opened up and rolled for acres in the morning sun as they came out the other side of the narrow forest. Mia gazed at the hills which built into a spectacular range, the eastern edge of the majestic Rockies. The snow was no longer visible on the peaks, the latest Alberta heat wave finally melting the last remaining glaciers. To her right, the wheat fields were well short of being the paler shade of yellow that signalled readiness. Now, midsummer, they shone and gently swayed like a vast green-gold ocean.

  Mia retraced her steps along the east side of the south-flowing creek, its bed rocky with gravel and its water clear. She recalled from her childhood, having grown up less than ten miles from here, that there had been some mining along these cuts way back in the day, but when the mines dried up, all that was left were unusable extracts from the deep pits and a few legendary caves, home now to a protected population of bats.

  Beth and Owen Miller’s acreage was impressively large, and it extended from the far ridge of the foothills on the other side of the creek, cascading down before flattening out, crossing the road in the south, and reaching farther than the eyes could see. The only livestock they managed were the fifty or so head of beef cattle that were currently held in a stockade on the lower tier of the property. This was the reason Mia had set up her trailer here instead of at Milo’s owner’s ranch. This spot was far enough away from cattle which would distract an untrained dog, but when the time came, and Milo was ready, he would have access to a small, manageable number of cattle to complete his training. Provided he achieved his training goals, he would then be handed back to the McCanns, whose herd numbered in the thousands.

  Beth Miller’s daughter Leah was Mia’s best friend. The two bonded as eleven-year-olds when Leah’s dad and Mia’s mom died in the same tragic winter pileup on an icy mountain highway. Now remarried, Beth had invited Mia to set up on their property when she heard that the nearby neighbors, the McCanns, had hired her. Neither Miller would have had any qualm with having Mia—or her dogs—staying with them in their home, but Beth respected Mia’s independent streak and was satisfied just knowing Leah’s “bestie” was within the realm.

  As the trailer came within sight, Mia saw her own beloved boy in the shade. Flynn was at attention, his ears raised and his body crouched in the stalking pose, watching for movement in her direction. Milo saw him, too, and Mia anticipated quickly.

  “Milo. Stand.” He stopped.

  Pretty good. Now praise.

  “Good boy.”

  As fond as she was of Milo, Flynn would always be her baby boy, and seeing him in guard mode, she realized how much she loved the way he remained determined to retain his alpha status in the company of the much younger dog.

  “Flynn. Come.”

  Flynn abandoned his predatory stance and came forward, slowing as he neared, his tail wagging with unmitigated joy. Normally he would have joined her on walks, but Flynn’s presence would have been one more distraction for Milo. Now that there was distance between her and the Harris land, Mia regretted that she hadn’t seen the tumbled rail fence or the cattle in the field on the other side of the trees, and she had no issues taking full responsibility for her charge’s behavior.

  No matter. That woman was over the top.

  Mia smiled and imagined there were many women who would enjoy being under Sid Harris. And
quite possibly men. She laughed, recalling that her gaydar had always been horribly inaccurate. Even Riley had to wave a rainbow flag in front of her face before Mia let her feelings be known. A risk taker she was not. At least not then. Now, well, it had been so long since anyone of interest flirted with her that it wasn’t something she had cause to think about. Her stomach fluttered for some incomprehensible reason. Hunger maybe.

  Giving rein to more rational thought, Mia allowed the two dogs to run back to the trailer. Milo bounded with the unfathomable energy of youth, tripping over Flynn, who was a good ten pounds heavier than the border yearling and used his advantage to push the youngster away with his snout while maintaining shoulder checks every few steps to ensure his owner was following safely behind.

  “Be nice to your little brother, Flynn; he’s had a rotten morning.” But she knew that Milo’s impression of Sid Harris was far from her own; he seemed happy indeed with the ear scratch. She considered it no less than an act of treason and felt that the whole encounter could simply be chalked up to the misdirected behavior of someone with other issues nipping at her heels, a person she hoped she wouldn’t run into again any time soon.

  Chapter Two

  Sid knew her cousin. And she knew what was coming. When they returned from their foray to the creek, she watched Aaron pace contemplatively while the ATVs were powering down and the dust settled in the barnyard. She knew there was no point trying to avoid him when something was gnawing at him. Especially when the gnawing had something to do with her. It might have been a year since they’d seen each other, but Sid was sure he wouldn’t sugarcoat his words. Most often, in the Harris clan, there was no simple way to make things sweet.