by Zoe Chant
“Let me guess,” she said with a smile as she approached. “You all must have served with Cal in the Marines.”
“Got it in one, ma’am,” said the tallest of them. He had short military-styled hair, though the cut didn’t disguise the warm auburn color. His eyes were a striking green. “Though we’re all retired now. I’m Ken Turner.”
“Carlos Gonzalez,” said the next man, shaking her hand. His voice was quiet, but his handshake was firm, and though he was probably as old as Mavis, he was handsome enough to be in the movies, with silver-touched black hair and piercing black eyes.
“Nate Sanders,” said the third man. His hair was grown out into a wavy cut, and was a honey-blond that disguised any gray that might be creeping in. His posture was the most relaxed of the four of them, without any hint of Marine-Corps-style bearing. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he added with a sweet Southern twang.
“And I’m Ty Neal,” the last one finished. He was a broad-shouldered black man—it was nice, Mavis thought, to see another brown face in overwhelmingly pale Montana—and his smile was warm, his golden-brown eyes kind as he shook Mavis hand.
“Well,” she said. “How long has it been since you’ve all been the same room? Or do you have reunions often?”
“It’s been about ten years,” said the first man, Ken.
“Probably about the right amount of time for a break from these clowns,” Nate told her in his Southern drawl. “I’ve had just about enough civilization in the interim to tide me over.”
“If you’re calling someone a clown,” Ken said dryly, “then maybe someone should let this good lady know who she’s hearing it from. I seem to remember one night involving an MRE, night-vision goggles, and military-grade pepper spray—”
“This coming from the man who switched out the Sergeant Major’s toothpaste for, hmm, what was it again?” Ty put in.
An argument arose about what exactly Ken had swapped the Sergeant Major’s toothpaste with, while Mavis watched with a combination of amusement and wistfulness. These men had clearly picked up where they’d left off ten years ago, sharing jokes and good-natured insults, but with an undercurrent of real affection and camaraderie that was obvious even to an outsider like her.
She wished she had a group of friends like that, people who would stand by her even as they brought up old in-jokes and ribbed each other about incidents that had happened long ago.
The argument was rising in volume—“You’re telling me that Nate wasn’t out with a girl that night, he was sneaking around the tent pulling what exactly?” Ty boomed—and Mavis was about to discreetly slip away, leaving the men to their reminiscing, when another voice cut in.
“I see leaving the Corps hasn’t civilized any of you.”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it somehow sliced through the veterans’ back-and-forth, impossible to ignore. Mavis watched, fascinated, as the four men snapped to attention, as though the years they’d spent as civilians had just melted away.
“Sir,” said Ken. “Our apologies.”
The newcomer, a tall, handsome man in a dress uniform covered in symbols and medals that Mavis couldn’t parse at all, looked them over. “I left you alone for fifteen minutes, and you’re causing a disturbance with a lady present.” He turned to Mavis. “I apologize for my men. Colonel Wilson Hanes.” He held out his hand.
“Mavis Williams,” Mavis said, feeling almost like she should be fluttering a fan. The Colonel was a big, imposing man. Even more than his size, which was as considerable as any of the other Marines’, he seemed to exude authority and confidence. But his grip, when she shook, was gentle—not like the rest of the men, who’d all seemed to be demonstrating their strength with their handshakes.
She pulled herself together enough to say, “There’s no need to apologize. I was just going to leave them to their catching-up and go get a drink.”
There was a chorus of protests, but Colonel Hanes held up a hand, and they died instantly away. He turned back to Mavis. “Would you like company?”
She smiled. The slightly formal, old-fashioned air about him was charming. Not to mention the way he played these tough retired Marines like a violin. “Yes, thank you.” She looked at the four other men. “It was very nice to meet all of you.”
“You as well,” said Carlos, still noticeably more soft-spoken than the rest of the men’s You toos. Mavis smiled at all of them and stepped away at the Colonel’s side.
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” he said apologetically, as they walked to the drinks table. “I noticed them getting rowdy, and I thought you might want an out.”
“Not at all,” she said. “Anyway, they don’t need a stranger around while they’re catching up. Although—” She cast a look back. “You don’t want to stay back with them, catch up too?”
He shook his head, smiling. Mavis was struck again by how handsome he was. His short military-style hair only served to accentuate the strong, clean lines of his face. And the imposing uniform didn’t hide the strong musculature underneath; he was clearly in good shape for his age, which was probably about the same as hers—fiftyish or so.
But most noticeably, his eyes were a striking silvery color that reminded her of some of the snow leopards’. Could he be...?
“They don’t want an officer around for the sort of stories they’re telling,” he was saying.
“Oh.” Mavis tried to pull herself back to the conversation, instead of just ogling the poor man. An attractive Marine officer like him was probably used to women hanging off of him. “Are there other officers here, too?”
A regretful headshake. “Social events don’t often cross those boundaries, I’m afraid.”
“What makes this one different, then? Or—” Mavis dared a bit, “what makes you different?”
That got her a laugh. It was deep and rich, and made her feel temporarily light-headed.
“Nothing too special,” he said at last, though the laugh lingered in the smile at the corners of his lips. “I recommended Sergeant Westland—Cal—for this job at Glacier Park, years ago when he first left the Corps. He’s very grateful, and he wanted to tell me in person.” The Colonel looked over his shoulder, over to where Cal and Lillian were talking with several other members of their pack. “I’m glad to know it’s worked out so well for him, but that’s a credit to him, not to me.”
“You’re the Major I’ve heard him mention,” Mavis realized. He must have been promoted since Cal knew him, which would make sense. It had been ten years, after all, and the uniform suggested that this man was still in the Service, not retired like the others.
“That’s me. Or I was, back when I last saw any of the men.” He sounded a bit wistful.
The man must feel like a fish out of water here, then, considering what he’d said about officers and enlisted men. And he wouldn’t know anybody else here.
Well, she could spend some time with him. It wasn’t like it would be a hardship—definitely the opposite. And as it happened, they were standing by the drinks table. “What would you like?”
“No, no, that’s my line,” he protested, and stepped forward to get them both glasses of champagne. The delicate flutes looked tiny in his big, capable hands.
His fingers brushed hers when she took a glass. They were warm and rough, and Mavis was startled by the sudden, very physical reaction she had to the touch. When was the last time she’d responded to a man like this? “What should we toast to?” she asked, trying to distract herself.
He thought for a moment. “Wedded bliss?”
Mavis thought she recognized that same bittersweet feeling in his eyes. “Wedded bliss,” she agreed, and they clinked glasses.
Because it was important for some people to have it, even if it had escaped her. And perhaps him as well; there wasn’t a ring on his finger.
“How do you know the bride and groom?” the Colonel asked her after they’d sipped.
“Oh, my daughter’s in—” their pack, she almost said, b
ut then caught herself, and revised it to, “—the wedding party.” Even if the Colonel’s eyes seemed suggestive of snow leopards to her, she had no way of knowing if he really was a shifter, or even knew about them. Maybe Cal had had to keep his shifter nature secret while he was in the military.
Probably the military knew about that sort of thing, though, didn’t they? She cautiously tried, “Nina has...a lot in common with Cal and Lillian and some of their friends.”
The Colonel’s eyebrows went up. “Your daughter does...but you don’t?”
They had to be talking about the same thing. Didn’t they? “She’s adopted,” Mavis said.
His eyebrows went up. “Ah.” Then he smiled. “Is your daughter a snow leopard as well, then?”
“Yes,” Mavis said in relief. “Oh, good. I couldn’t have kept that up for long.”
“I’m not a fan of double-talk,” the Colonel said frankly. “I prefer straightforward honesty, when possible. Unfortunately, with shifters it isn’t always possible.”
“This town is very odd about it,” Mavis confided. “Everyone knows, but it’s still treated like a secret. People don’t talk openly, and there’s no way of knowing if anyone individually is a shifter unless they tell you personally.”
The Colonel nodded slowly. “Shifters are used to hiding, for their own safety. The military perpetuates that as well—they’re kept together in special units, and their shifter natures are classified top-secret.”
Mavis realized that that probably meant that all of Cal’s former platoon-mates were shifters, too. She wondered what types they were. “I understand the need for secrecy, but I wish it was safe for people to be more open. I want to learn more about the culture, but it’s difficult when no one will talk about it.”
The Colonel’s face was thoughtful. “Shifter culture varies widely, depending on the place and the type of shifter. They’re all fairly secretive and insular, but that can mean that they develop their own customs, some of which are unusual or surprising.” His face darkened a bit. “It can also mean that their systems of authority are—unfortunate. Since no one is policing them.”
Mavis nodded. She knew Nina had encountered plenty of packs when she was out on her own, but had been rejected or chosen to leave them because they were too awful to join. It broke her heart. “Cal and Lillian have been doing some wonderful things here in the Glacier pack,” she offered. “Everyone has input on any decisions, they meet regularly to discuss pack business...”
The Colonel smiled, though he looked a bit surprised. “That’s excellent news. Sergeant Westland—Cal, that is—was always something of a loner. It’s good to hear he’s developing his leadership skills.”
“I think a lot of it was Lillian’s idea, actually,” Mavis admitted.
But his smile only grew. “Then it’s good to hear he’s marrying someone with complementary leadership skills, how’s that.”
Mavis was about to say something about how the pack had welcomed Nina so generously when Nina herself appeared.
“Mom—” she said, and then came up short. “Oh, excuse me.”
“Nina, this is Colonel Wilson Hanes, Cal’s old commanding officer,” Mavis said. “Colonel, this is my daughter, Nina.”
“Wilson, please,” the man protested. He held out his hand. “Lovely to meet you, Nina.”
Nina shook and murmured something polite. “I don’t want to interrupt,” she started.
“No, no,” the Colonel said immediately. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Mavis wanted to protest, but the Colonel—Wilson—was already melting away into the crowd, with a startling skill considering how big and imposing he was. She turned to Nina. “Honey, I think you scared him off.”
“Ha ha,” Nina said. “He seemed nice.”
Mavis raised her eyebrows. Nina tended to be somewhat wary of strangers—especially strange shifters—after her experiences living out on her own. She always needed some time to warm up and get to know a person, before she would come to truly like them.
It broke Mavis’ heart a little, but she understood why.
Now, though...“Now what makes you say that?” Mavis asked archly.
Nina smiled a little. “He just seemed like he was a nice man, that’s all. I’m sorry I interrupted. I just wanted to ask if you were going to come sit and eat with us.”
“Of course I will,” Mavis said.
Nina looked out into the crowd, where the Colonel—Wilson, Mavis reminded herself—had taken up a position by the wall, sipping his champagne and surveying the room with a politely benevolent expression. “Maybe you’d rather eat with...new friends, instead?”
“Quit matchmaking,” Mavis said firmly. “I want to eat with my daughter.”
Though she did cast a second look back at Wilson, as they walked over to their table. She hoped he had a pleasant dinner, even if he thought he was a social inhibitor around his men. She was tempted to go over and invite him to come eat at their table...but Nina was sitting down with the rest of the wedding party, and surely it wouldn’t be any more comfortable for the man to sit with a pack he didn’t know at all.
There was a whole weekend for the wedding, Mavis reminded herself. They were doing a hike in the Park tomorrow. She’d probably see him then.
She hoped.
Because he’d been interesting to talk to. He was exactly the sort of person she’d been wanting to meet, after all: a shifter who wasn’t afraid to talk about their customs.
And anything Nina thought, well, that was Nina’s matchmaking ambitions carrying her away.
***
Wilson went back to the little bed-and-breakfast he was staying in after dinner, wishing he’d had more of a chance to talk to the lovely woman he’d met. Mavis.
He didn’t know what it was about her, but speaking to her had felt like taking a drink of cool water. She was so clearly a thoughtful, kind person.
A thoughtful, kind person who wanted to learn more about shifter culture. That was interesting, considering her daughter was a shifter. Wilson wondered when she’d adopted that young woman—Nina. Maybe Mavis had taken her in as a teenager?
It was very unusual to meet a shifter who had entirely human parents. A human and a shifter together might have a shifter baby, but two humans never did. But adopting would take that completely out of the equation.
Of course, he was making assumptions. Even though Nina was adopted, Mavis’ husband might be a shifter.
Though that wouldn’t explain why she felt she needed to learn about shifter culture. And she hadn’t been wearing a ring.
Had she adopted Nina entirely on her own, then?
Wilson told himself to stop speculating. There was clearly some kind of story there, but it wasn’t any of his business, and he wasn’t going to figure it out by theorizing wildly alone in his hotel room. Maybe tomorrow or the next day he’d have a chance to talk to Mavis again.
He hoped so.
Wilson had been assuming that this weekend wouldn’t be much of a social occasion for him, and figured he would spend much of his free time out in the countryside. He had been eagerly anticipating seeing Sergeant Westland again, of course, ensuring that the man was happy in his new life, that Wilson’s recommendation had worked out for him. He’d been looking forward to meeting Lillian, as well, and he hadn’t been disappointed.
But there would always be a social barrier between him and Cal. And it was the same with the rest of the non-coms who’d shown up. As pleased as Wilson was to see them, he could tell that they still weren’t quite prepared to relax around him. No matter how long they’d been out of the military, the Corps was in their blood, and with it, the instinct to snap to attention when an officer showed up.
Wilson couldn’t sit down for a few beers with them. Not if he wanted them to enjoy the experience, instead of keeping one eye on him the entire time.
It was good to see them, though. Particularly those four, who’d been the cream of the crop overseas. Ken Turner, quick
on his feet, sarcastic to a fault—Wilson could remember more than a few yes, sirs that had had a tinge of Screw you, sir behind them. But unbeatable in combat, quickest reflexes he’d ever seen on any man, shifter or not.
Carlos Gonzales, quiet and unassuming, but an absolute crack marksman. He could hit a target in the dead of night with a howling wind, no hesitation. Though Wilson had always had the sense that Gonzales wasn’t too happy with his lot in life as a deadly marksman, though of course the man had never said so out loud. He hoped Gonzales was happier as a civilian.
Nate Sanders, a Southern good ol’ boy who somehow managed to find single ladies no matter where they were stationed. He could smile lazily at a man, while behind those blue eyes, he was calculating the best way to take him out, and that brain never stopped working, not for one second.
And Tyrone Neal. Friendly, cheerful, dedicated to his family—and determined to keep them, and the rest of the country, safe from any threats that might come their way. Wilson knew that he’d stayed single while he was in the Corps because he felt his calling was to be the protector, always on the outside.
Four good men. From what he’d learned tonight, though, none of them had quite managed to settle down. Oh, sure, they all had civilian jobs, but none of them had families or kids. Maybe attending the wedding of one of their old buddies would give them some ideas. They all deserved to be happy.
Wilson’s thoughts landed on Mavis again. There was a good woman, he could tell. He wondered if there was a man in the picture somewhere, or if she might be looking around herself.
Maybe he should’ve left her to talk to the men, rather than taking her off.
Something in him rebelled at that idea, though. The thought of her graceful, thoughtful face turned to Sanders, or Gonzales, that quiet smile spreading at something one of them said—
No. He was sure she wasn’t suited for any of them. He didn’t know how, but he was sure.
***
Mavis set off for Glacier Park the next day with a strange anticipation in her chest.
She always liked going out to the Park, of course. It was the most beautiful place she’d ever been, hands down. And Nina loved it—she’d explored all over it, in human form and as a snow leopard, and she always wanted to show Mavis new and wonderful things about it. They’d hiked for miles, some days, with Nina pointing out this view and that flower and those animal dens.