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Mary chuckled. “He’s changed in more ways than one. That’s a fine-looking man, now, not a boy, along with lovely manners. And someone’s told him to get his suits tailored.” She fanned her face. “Nothing like a good-looking man in a well-fitted suit.” Her brows lifted. “I didn’t see a ring, but maybe he’s got a girlfriend.”
The jolt of jealousy shocked Sam. What she’d said was true—she didn’t know Trevor Mills. He was a stranger, with a life she knew nothing about, far from Marcus. But they’d been inseparable for years until he left, and that kind of closeness left a mark.
But in the end, Trevor Mills had left her with nothing but emotional damage. That’s what she needed to remember—he may have developed skills and muscles, but his base personality was unlikely to have changed.
Even if he had changed, she couldn’t take the risk. Trevor Mills was trouble, no matter how much high-school Sam wished otherwise. He’d cruelly dropped her, leaving her devastated; it took years for her to recover.
She wouldn’t go through that again for any man, and especially not Trevor Mills.
Chapter two
Trevor stared at the TV in his bland hotel room, but he wasn’t watching the talking heads. No, all he could see was Sam. She’d been pretty in school but had matured into a gorgeous woman. He’d seen her around town, but in her office, up close and personal, he’d longed to pull her slim body into his arms and release her long auburn hair. All these years later, and he still had it bad.
His responses were ridiculous. He didn’t know her anymore. From the way she’d dealt with their intrusion, and her record as a successful lawyer, she’d found determination and strength since he’d left.
While he deeply regretted his last malicious, nasty words, his departure had obviously been for the best. It was as he’d been told—if Sam had stayed with him, she wouldn’t have grown. She’d have moved from base to base with him, becoming the epitome of the Navy wife, stifling her ambitions for his.
And in the end, she’d have resented it. He’d seen it happen, time after time. They’d get off the ship, returning to cheering families and eager children, but more than a few spouses’ smiles would be forced or non-existent. Or worse, the sailor—man or woman—would return to an empty house. Or discover their significant other was cheating. Successful marriages were few and far between in the Navy.
But if he and Sam had tried and failed, it wouldn’t have been the military’s fault. He’d been too spoiled, too insecure, and too selfish to be a decent husband.
He’d changed and grown since then, but if he’d stayed, neither of them would have matured. They’d have held each other back. Or maybe they would have beaten the odds, grown together, encouraging and supporting each other during good times and bad.
Trevor tied his running shoe. Regret was useless, but his cruelty had sent that ship sailing long ago. Sam would never forgive him—and she shouldn’t. All he could do was avoid her when he could and give her every courtesy when they had to interact. He’d be the consummate professional, the epitome of a federal agent, sworn to uphold the Constitution, just as he’d done in the Navy.
Even if she believed he’d changed, she wouldn’t want him, anyway. A simple internet search proved she had a thriving business, dated successful men, and was an up-and-coming pillar of Marcus. He lived in an apartment outside of Washington, DC, with a horrible commute, and traveled enough that he couldn’t even keep a plant alive.
He slid his running harness on—modified for concealed pistol carry—and warmed up for his daily run. A long one to burn off the inconvenient longing, the trip down memory lane, and the strangeness of returning to Marcus.
Running through town wasn’t likely to improve his mood. But the sun was shining and he couldn’t stand the tiny hotel gym. Even if his supervisor wanted him to stay out of sight, few would look at his face. Even fewer would recognize him. The slim chance was worth breathing fresh air.
Besides, the curved blade taking the place of his right foot provided an excellent distraction. By the time anyone looked at his face, he’d be gone. After the initial adaptation period, he’d become a better, faster runner. And in a suit or jeans, few realized he had a prosthetic foot. Even he forgot about it most of the time; he’d learned to accommodate the change.
He didn’t have trouble dating, either. Finding a long-term partner was much harder, although the injury had little to do with that. His profession and travel schedule killed relationships before they began. Working from home hadn’t made it easier, either. Finding a stable, career-minded woman who wanted a real relationship was practically impossible. He’d been on so many bad dates that he’d stopped. He still used dating apps, but only to find out-of-town dinner companions without expectations for more.
Outside the hotel, he pulled the brim of his running cap low, activated his fitness tracker, and ran. He trotted along the tree-lined streets of Marcus toward the Bitterroot Mountains, pushing his cares and worries away. He’d enjoy the peaceful beauty around him; the rest could wait.
But the memory of Sam’s composed face obscured the trees and mountains, and the melody of her voice washed the Bitterroot River’s rush away. He sprinted back to the hotel, his gasping breaths and burning muscles shoving his memories away.
Later that evening, Davidson texted him. Schon was on an airplane home, no longer able to damage the case. Between the juniors sent earlier and that guy, it seemed like someone was actively trying to sabotage the operation.
And they were. The question was who and why; the real reason he was in Marcus.
He flopped into the uncomfortable hotel chair. Appearing at Sam’s office risked his cover, and his boss wasn’t happy about it. But he could recover if he kept his head down, executed the plan, and Mary Walker kept her mouth shut. Mary wasn’t a problem, but executing his plan meant going home. Almost the last thing he wanted to do.
Still, he picked up the phone and dialed, relieved when voice mail answered. “Hi. It’s Trevor. I’m in town. I’d like to take you two to dinner. Please let me know a good time and day. See you soon.” He clicked the red button and sighed again, not sure if he wanted an answer or not.
Most days, it was easier to forget he had a family. Certainly, neither his parents nor brother remembered until they needed money. Dylan could ask all he wanted, but Trevor wasn’t giving him another penny, no matter how much his mother might beg. The kid needed to grow up and get a job, not waste money chasing dreams he didn’t have the talent for or the determination to pull off.
But no matter how unreasonable his father’s plans were, Trevor couldn’t let the family farm fail. He’d bailed them out of foreclosure three times. The first time, he ended up joining the Navy; his signing bonus went straight to Marcus Bank. The second time, he’d saved enough that he paid off the arrears in cash without a word to his father. He sent a wire transfer to the bank and arranged a meeting between his parents and the county extension agent, so they could modernize the farm.
Mom attended the meeting, but his father refused to go. Which meant nothing changed because Father made every single decision. Including signing Trevor up for the Navy.
The third time, he insisted on changes. He wrote loan paperwork that included adding his name to the mortgage and the deed. His father blustered and cursed but in the end, realized having a mostly silent partner was better than not having a farm.
Trevor also insisted on modernization. Again, his father put up a tremendous fuss but in the end, grudgingly adopted about half the changes necessary. Since then, they’d paid late a few times but recovered before foreclosure proceedings occurred. If he had to bail them out again, he’d own the entire thing, including the farmhouse.
The changes improved the farm’s profits, while damaging their relationship even more. But it didn’t matter. His father could hate him, but he’d survive and the farm would remain in the family.
