Mavis smiled as she chattered. Nina had been a talkative kid, but nowadays she was much quieter and shyer. Anytime she got excited and started going a mile a minute about something—usually the Park or Joel—Mavis felt a flush of happiness, remembering that little girl.
Cal called everyone to order, and they started off. Mavis let herself fall back a bit, wanting Nina to be able to run ahead with the young pack members. She watched her and Teri, Lillian’s little sister, sprint ahead for a bit. Probably wishing they could shift, Mavis thought.
She wondered, often, what shifting into snow leopard form was like. Nina had tried to describe it for her, but it was always clear that there was more than she could say in words. A whole other half of her, something beyond normal human experience.
Mavis wished sometimes that she could share it with her. She knew that humans could be changed, sometimes, and she’d thought about asking Nina to do it for her. But it didn’t seem the sort of thing you should ask of your daughter—what if Mavis wasn’t meant for that life? What if she felt wrong, after? That would be an awful thing to burden Nina with.
Besides, she was too old to start an entirely new type of existence. Fifty was surely past the point where you could take on a whole other half of yourself.
“Hello again.”
Mavis was startled out of her thoughts by the deep voice. She looked over to see Colonel Hanes—Wilson—coming up alongside her.
Unlike last night, when he’d been wearing the dramatic and imposing Marine dress uniform, with its ribbons and insignia and red stripes, today he was wearing hiking gear. Mavis was caught by how warmly attractive he looked in a sweater and jeans. Much more approachable than the uniform. Even his salt-and-pepper hair looked a little mussed from the wind.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he was saying. “I can go on ahead if you’d rather be alone with your thoughts.”
“Not at all,” Mavis said quickly, again struck by his slightly old-fashioned, formal phrasing. Alone with your thoughts.
It sounded a lot better than lonely middle-aged woman, that was for sure.
“Good.” When he smiled, his eyes crinkled, little lines appearing at their corners. They weren’t visible at all when he was serious, and Mavis wondered if that meant he hadn’t laughed much in his life.
Not that that was any of her business. After all, she had lines of sorrow carved into her face from years and years of a missing child, and she wouldn’t want a stranger asking her about that.
Though something about the kindness and warmth coming from Wilson’s eyes...she didn’t know that she’d mind if he asked about her past. She had a strange feeling that he’d understand.
He was looking out at the Park, his silvery eyes dark with some kind of emotion. “This is beautiful. You’re lucky to live so close.”
Glacier Park spread out around them; they were walking through a valley full of early wildflowers, glacier lilies and forget-me-nots and trillium. Up on either side, the mountains swept up in a vista of snow-capped peaks. The air was cool and fragrant; Mavis inhaled the scent of spring with pleasure.
“I am,” she said softly. “I moved here to be close to my daughter, and I’m so glad this is where she found her home, because I think it’s the most beautiful place on Earth.”
He breathed in, too, and she could see his shoulders relaxing as he turned his face into the spring breeze. “I have to agree.”
“Where do you live?” The way he looked—like he was drinking in the sunlight, like the sight of the mountains was nourishing him—suggested to Mavis that it must be somewhere in the city, away from natural wonders like this.
“Washington, DC,” he said on a let-out breath. “It’s a necessary evil once you’re in a position like mine.”
A necessary evil. “It sounds like you could use a break from it, with language like that.”
He chuckled, but it seemed tinged with sadness. “It surely does, doesn’t it? I’m lucky this vacation came up when it did. And it’s been even more of a breath of fresh air than I’d thought it would be, back home.”
Was it her imagination, or were his eyes lingering meaningfully on her as he said it? It must be her imagination; they were talking, after all. Of course he would look at her.
“It must be important work,” she ventured.
He waved a hand. “It’s mostly administrative. Not much to write home about. What about you, what do you do?”
Changing the subject. Well, fine. Maybe she’d bring it up again later, see if he’d be more open once they knew each other a bit better. “I’m a financial advisor for small businesses.”
His eyebrows went up. “That’s an impressive line of work. Valuable, I imagine.”
“I do my best.” Mavis smiled at the thought of her clients. “A lot of people who go into business for themselves are experts at whatever their line of work is—sewing, or sales, or dance, or what-have-you—but don’t know a thing about running a business. I help them make the connection between their passion and the sort of revenue they need to keep doing it.”
“That’s admirable,” he said quietly.
It was strange. His phrasing was still a bit formal, a bit old-fashioned. But the depth of feeling behind it, the richness of emotion, was undeniable. When he said That’s admirable, she could hear the admiration coming from somewhere deep inside.