"True."
"You can't judge someone else's trauma, right? No one has the right to say you're a real victim or not."
"Survivor," I say. "Not victim."
"Right. I've heard that. Now the trick is to reach the point where I feel less like a victim and more like a survivor."
"You will."
We walk in silence. I'm never that open about my past, but I feel almost obligated with Nicole. On the job, I offered sympathy while maintaining professional distance. That's gone here. Or it is with Nicole, as if rescuing her gives me some responsibility for healing her.
"Can I hold that?" she says, gesturing at the leash.
I hesitate. Storm is darting from side to side, chasing whatever snow we kick up, constantly in motion, constantly tugging. Nicole is keeping up, but only because I'm taking it slow, and even then, her breathing says this leisurely hike is the equivalent of a 5K run.
"If it's too much, I'll give her back," she says. "I don't want you to lose her."
There's little danger of that. Even if Storm breaks free, she's still a puppy, with puppy-short legs and a puppy-short attention span. I'm more worried about what she'll do to Nicole.
Nicole has her hand out. "Please."
I hand the leash over. Storm promptly races behind us, twisting Nicole in the lead. I grab for it, but Nicole only laughs and untangles herself. She gives Storm a tug, and we continue on.
We're walking and talking, staying on the trail. I catch glimpses of Dalton--intentionally revealing himself to say I'm still here. Even when I don't see him, I feel him there, the sense that I can relax and get caught up in conversation with Nicole. Someone is watching out for me, and yes, I can do that myself, but it's nice to know I don't have to all the time.
I am on alert for one thing, though: Nicole's energy level. As it drops, I say, "I think we should turn back."
"Two more minutes," she says. "You can time me."
"I will." I waggle my wristwatch, and she gets a laugh from that. It's a nice sound to hear, a bubbly laugh, as if she's surprised that she can still do that, too.
I turn to motion to Dalton that we're getting ready to head back. He appears from behind a tree, meeting my gaze, his lips curving in a slight smile.
That momentary distraction is all it takes. Nicole yelps, and I wheel. She's only a few feet ahead, but it seems like twenty, and I'm running even before I realize what's happened. She's falling, and I think she's been shot or attacked and--
She lands flat on her ass in the snow, and she's laughing. I'm still in flight, and Storm is too, launching herself at Nicole. I let out a cry of my own, warning the puppy off her. Then I see a blur in the forest, leaping over brush. I get a split-second glance at the figure's face, and it looks like Dalton. And then I realize he's coming from the wrong direction. I pull my gun, and Nicole shrieks, her arms flying up to ward him off.
He skids into the path and stops short.
"Sheriff," Nicole says. "Sorry, I--" She stops as she sees it's not Dalton. Just someone who looks like him.
"Jacob," I say.
He glances at Nicole, then at Storm on her lap, the puppy's front legs planted on Nicole's shoulders as she licks the woman's face.
"I thought that was...," he says. "What is it?"
Nicole lets out a laugh, and Jacob's face turns bright red. "I thought--It looks like--"
"A bear cub?" Dalton says as he jogs over.
Jacob turns even redder. "No, course not."
"Totally does," Nicole says. "That's what I thought the
first time I saw her. But they tell me she's a puppy."
She reaches up for help, and Jacob is closest, but he just stares at her hand. Before I can step forward, he figures it out and tugs Nicole to her feet.