But then maybe he’d want to see her shift.
And that gave her a shivery, uncertain feeling. Like it was too intimate a thing to show him.
Show him! her lynx said. He should see us. See me. We should shift and run together.
And she wanted to.
So much it scared her.
She avoided the issue, and all the self-conscious feelings that that brought up, by asking, “So did you grow up in a pack of lion shifters? Was it hard to keep secret? I can’t imagine where you’d all be able to shift, being so conspicuous.”
Even here in Glacier, it could be difficult for the bigger, more ostentatious animals to find places to shift. She knew the snow leopards all used caution, because Nina talked about it sometimes—and snow leopards were built for camouflage; they practically turned invisible on a mountainside. Maybe lion shifters lived down south somewhere, in southern Utah or Arizona, where they’d be much better concealed in the scenery?
But Ken was shaking his head. “No, I didn’t grow up in a pack, just a small family—and my mom wasn’t a lion shifter, just my dad. No siblings, so it was only the two of us lions in our small town.”
“Oh. That must have been easier, then.” Maybe.
But Ken was grinning ruefully and shaking his head. “Nope. My dad was a paranoid guy. He was sure that we’d be caught at some point, and he put the fear of God into me about shifting. He was a stickler for rules, too—we were only allowed to shift on family vacations into the middle of the desert.”
“That sounds hard,” Lynn said involuntarily. Hard to imagine, too, when she’d grown up practically able to shift in her backyard. With the mountain forests stretching away for miles in several directions, and as unobtrusive as a lynx could be—and considering how well-known shifters were in the Glacier area, especially—there hadn’t been anything like the kind of fear and paranoia that Ken was describing.
He nodded. “The Marines were an escape for me. And they felt less oppressive and constrained than home, if you can believe it. At least in the Corps, the rules were consistent, and it felt like I was working towards something.”
Lynn couldn’t help but picture it—an eighteen-year-old Ken. Skinny, maybe, and certainly in possession of that irreverent twinkle, maybe even more sarcastic as a teenager. Running away to the Marine Corps because he needed to live his life for something, instead of just in the pursuit of fear.
“Saved my life, probably,” he was reflecting. “Which not everyone can say about serving in combat. But it definitely put me on a different path than my dad’s.” A flash of that insouciant grin. “I keep waiting to see if I’m going to turn into him in my old age, but so far, so good.”
Lynn suppressed a smile. “It’s impressive,” she said instead. “That you’ve stayed so—so lighthearted. After an upbringing like that. And seeing overseas combat, too. That’s an admirable thing.”
He paused, turning to fix his eyes on her. Lynn wasn’t sure what his expression meant. He looked maybe a little surprised, and more serious than she was used to seeing him.
“You’re too good at that,” he said after a minute.
She stopped walking too. That sober stare was putting her off-balance. “Too good at what?”
“At making me take myself seriously.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, as though searching for the smile that should’ve been there.
Lynn didn’t know whether he was expecting her to apologize, or what. Well, she wouldn’t, because she wanted to see what was beyond Ken’s careless smile and offhand jokes. As disconcerting as it was when he looked at her as though he was seeing right through her skin…she wanted to see more of it.
She hadn’t expected Ken Turner to be a complicated man. Now that it was becoming clear that he was, she wanted to know how, and why. Greedy, maybe, but it was the truth.
So she said, softly, “Good.”
There was the smile. But it was softer than she was used to.
“I suppose combat puts things in perspective,” he said. It took her a minute to realize that he was responding to what she’d said. His patient stare had almost made her forget what had come out of her mouth just a minute ago.
“It made me realize that I should be—should be appreciating all the joys in life,” he continued. “All the things that aren’t combat. Anytime I’m somewhere pleasant, anytime I’m not in danger, when I’m with people I like or looking at something beautiful or hearing a funny joke—I’m grateful for that. I’m happy to have that. Because there are so many people who don’t. There are so many places where that doesn’t exist. And having been there, it’s even sweeter to be here.”
Lynn felt caught up in his words; when he was done speaking, it was almost like she had to catch her breath.
“That’s very profound,” she said finally, feeling like it wasn’t enough, but not knowing what else to say.
She didn’t know how good she was at that sort of happiness. That continuous appreciation. Maybe when she was out alone in the forest, just her and Glacier. She definitely didn’t manage it much around other people, though, not like Ken seemed to.
Ken just smiled at her—that soft smile again, not the irreverent grin—and turned to start walking again. Lynn followed, then remembered she was supposed to be leading, and caught up. They were heading to his next research spot, she reminded herself, the place she’d marked on the map as having been logged just over a hundred years ago. So he could compare the data with the old-growth ecology. For his job. Which was why he was here.
It’s even sweeter to be here, he’d said. And she couldn’t help wonder if he’d meant here, like not in combat, somewhere other than combat, or here like—here. Right here, with her.