Prologue
Lieutenant Colonel Wilson Hanes finished reading the latest funding application, scrawled his signature at the bottom, and set it in his outbox. He resisted the urge to glance at the clock, and picked up the next forty-page document from the pile.
There was no reason to be counting the minutes until quitting time. There were plenty of officers out there who would kill for a cushy position like his, promoted out of combat to a comfortable office in Washington, DC.
Working in an air-conditioned American building, with a Starbucks just on the corner (and another one two blocks away in the opposite direction)—well, it beat the pants off a Humvee in the Iraqi desert.
And Wilson truly didn’t miss any of his overseas postings. He didn’t miss the violence, the fear, the tense boredom, or the smell of unwashed Marines. He sure as hell didn’t miss losing men in combat.
But being confined to an office all day, with nowhere to shift and run, his snow leopard kept down to an annoyed presence in his chest, and nothing but small print and big meetings to take up his time...
It would be nice if there’d been a middle ground.
But this was where he’d been posted, and this was where he’d stay until he was promoted to a different office, or he finally decided to retire.
Of course, what he’d do, once he left the Corps, was a big, blank mystery. More than once, he’d considered taking the plunge—and then he’d imagined settling into his pension like other retired officers he’d met, picking up golf and buying some overcompensating fancy car. He’d shuddered and set the idea firmly aside.
Better to be useful, even if it wasn’t the job he’d choose. Who ever got a job they’d choose, anyway? He’d stay faithful to the Marines as long as it was right for the Corps.
Wilson settled in to the next hour of reading. He’d let himself woolgather long enough.
After he scrawled his signature once more, it was time to turn to his email. That could take longer than the physical paper, most days. He was expecting some intense electronic debates about the new SR-1472 forms today. In his opinion, some officers shouldn’t be allowed access to a Reply All button.
But to his surprise, the first message in his inbox wasn’t a fifty-email thread about paperwork.
Instead, it was titled wedding invitation, and it was from a [email protected]
Wilson stared at it for a long moment, and then clicked.
Hello, sir, the email began.
I know it’s been a long time. I hope you’re well. I’m getting married in April, and I’d be honored if you’d attend.
Even if you can’t make it, I want you to know how grateful I am for the job at Glacier. It truly changed my life.
Sincerely,
Cal Westland
Wilson read the email twice, then clicked on the attachment. It was an official invitation for the wedding between Westland and a Lillian Lowell.
Cal Westland. Wilson hadn’t laid eyes on his old gunnery sergeant in over ten years.
He’d always felt a bond with Cal, because they were the same shifter type—both snow leopards. It was tough in the desert heat for a snow leopard, and he’d kept a surreptitious eye on his gunny, knowing that Westland wouldn’t admit to any discomfort until it started seriously interfering with his ability to perform his duty.
When Westland had retired, after long, hard years of desert combat, Wilson had thought that the man deserved to go somewhere a snow leopard would appreciate. He’d put in a good word with the National Park Service, where he had some connections, and gotten the man set up at Glacier.
He’d checked up on him a few times over the years, and always learned that Cal was doing a top-notch job as a ranger—he’d even been promoted to lead the ranger contingent at Glacier a couple of years ago. Wilson had felt some quiet pride at that, though he hadn’t been the least surprised.
And now Cal Westland was getting married. And inviting his old Marine acquaintances, apparently.
Wilson checked the wedding’s address. Sure enough, it was at Glacier.
He thought about getting out of Washington. Out into the mountains, where a leopard could stretch his legs and get his feet dirty.
He could feel his leopard perk up in his chest with a yearning growl. The thought of mountains and trees awakened a deep hunger in it—and in Wilson.
Besides, it’d be good to see Westland again, meet his new wife. Maybe some of his other Marines would show up, too.
Wilson hit Reply. This was one email that he didn’t want to delay answering.
“I had a great time, Mom. See you tomorrow, okay?” Mavis’ daughter hugged her goodbye.
“Me too, honey.” Mavis held Nina close for a long minute, then reluctantly let her go. “See you at the dinner.”
Nina headed off down the street, waving over her shoulder. Mavis watched her go, and then once she’d turned the corner, sighed and turned to unlock the door to her building.
Mavis was so grateful for every moment she got to spend with her daughter. They’d only been back in contact for eight months, after years of separation, and Mavis treasured every second of it.
Mavis’ husband had kicked Nina out of the house when she was sixteen, and what followed had been the worst years of Mavis’ life.
She’d spent them certain that Nina was gone forever. That she was suffering terribly—or maybe even that she’d been killed. Daryl had kicked Nina out because she was a shapeshifter, and Mavis had had no idea what sort of creature her daughter was, if there were others like her, and if those others might be dangerous, or violent. She wasn’t sure if Nina was safe and happy with her own kind, or lost and alone—or if she was even alive.
Now, Mavis had finally left Daryl, and moved here to live by Glacier National Park, where many shifters made their home. Nina had a whole pack of young snow leopards to call her family, and Mavis got to see her several times a week, sometimes even every day.
It was all she could possibly have asked for.