“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.

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