Change of Heart (3 page)

CHAPTER

“Y
OU DIDN’T ANSWER ME,”
Evelyn said after a long and silent drive back to Whitney Farms.

“What do you want me to say?” Trevor tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. “I hope it’s not true.”

“But it wouldn’t surprise you if it was?”

Trevor’s jaw twitched. He’d gotten more withdrawn and difficult to talk to over the years and he knew it. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Evelyn had even begun avoiding him in town
 
—which was probably for the best. Now that she was a rich senator’s wife, she didn’t have time for people like him. At least that’s what he told himself.

After a long silence, he finally said, “I know Chris lost a lot of money a couple years ago.”

She shook her head. “How is that possible?”

“Bad investments.” He kept his eyes on the road. “You know Chris
 
—always has something to prove.”

Evelyn stilled. “So what? He got desperate enough to steal from the government? From Loves Park?”

It did sound pretty stupid when he heard it out loud, but then Chris didn’t always use his intelligence and political connections for good.

“They think I had something to do with this.” Evelyn’s voice trembled as she spoke. Did Chris have any idea what he was putting her through? Trevor wanted to drive to Denver, pull him out into the parking lot at the police station, and throttle him.

“You’ll be fine. They’ll do their search and clear your name.” But even as he said the words, he wondered. What if it did come back on Evelyn? What if Chris had implicated her somehow without her knowledge?

This is not my problem.

They turned onto the gravel road that led to the farm.

“By the time they clear my name, all the damage will be done. Everyone in town will think I knew.” She wiped a tear.

“So?”

Evelyn shot him a look. “So?”

“Who cares what people think?” He never understood that about women. Always so concerned with what other women thought. It made no sense to him.

Judging by the steeled jaw and tense shoulders, he’d offended her.

“Why did you come for me?” She sniffed, her eyes fixed on him.

He hated questions like that. So many feelings had to be hidden in order to answer. “Thought it was what Chris would want me to do.”

Evelyn stared out the window. “You always did watch out for him.”

Not lately. Not for years. Not since he married the woman Trevor loved.

And not since watching out for him came to mean covering up for him. Trevor wasn’t a liar, but Chris had a way of turning people into something they weren’t. Just look at his wife.

Or maybe he’d misjudged Evelyn all those years ago. Maybe she wasn’t the kindhearted, thoughtful girl he’d believed she was. Maybe she’d always been caught up in power and money and appearances, and he hadn’t noticed. It certainly seemed that way from where he sat now, on top of his John Deere.

He didn’t respond. Instead he drove past the farmhouse.

“Where are we going?”

“To the guesthouse. I lived there until my parents moved to the retirement home, before they died. It’s small, but it’s quiet. No one will bug you there.”

“I feel like a fugitive.” She stared at her hands in her lap.

He drove around the bend and pulled into the narrow driveway in front of the guesthouse. A smaller version of the main house, the bungalow at the rear of their property had been his pet project for years. Some days, the old farmhouse seemed too large for him, and he considered moving back to the guesthouse, but at that moment it seemed the smaller house had a bigger purpose.

“I didn’t even know this was here,” Evelyn said as he parked the truck. “It’s lovely.”

Trevor laughed.

“What’s so funny?” She looked offended again.

“Nothing. It’s just not a word I hear around here very often.”

“
Lovely
?” Her face twisted. “It’s a perfectly acceptable word.”

He nodded. “It is. For a rich person.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“I can take you back to the reporters.”

She glared at him.

“Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Evelyn sat in the truck while Trevor circled to her door, which he opened, waiting for her to get out.

She looked at him for several seconds but didn’t move.

“You coming out?”

“Thanks, Whit. I mean, I’m probably going to be arrested for leaving without their permission, but thanks anyway. I couldn’t stand to be at that house for one more second.”

He shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

Evelyn didn’t know what to do with Trevor Whitney’s unexpected generosity.

She knew better. He didn’t have to help her. No one else had come over. Or even called. Come to think of it, there weren’t many people in town she’d expect to stop by or give her a call. All she had were superficial friends. The realization made her feel a bit nauseous.

Still, Trevor Whitney was about the last person in Loves Park she’d have thought would come to her aid. She used to find him mysterious yet kind, but in recent years he’d turned cold. Irritable. And he’d made it clear he didn’t like her or her lifestyle.

So why was he helping her today?

“Have you talked to Christopher?” She got out of the car and followed Whit toward the front door of the little white house.

“Tried him on the way over. No answer.”

“They took my phone.” Evelyn felt lost, like a child who’d wandered too far from home. She walked up the steps to the front porch. “You should plant some flowers out here,” she said mindlessly, looking at the empty flower beds.

“I’ll get right on that.” Whit pushed the door open and stepped out of the way so she could go inside first. Evelyn nearly gasped when she saw the open floor plan of the Whitney guesthouse. Thick crown molding encased built-in bookshelves, and a fireplace stretched up to the top of the ceiling. Hickory floors throughout the house kept everything light and bright.

“This is an amazing space.” Evelyn actually liked it better than her own house. It was cozy, not the kind of place you could get lost in. She couldn’t say the same for the house she and Christopher shared on Brighton Street. Something told her it would be hard to feel lonely living in a place like this.

And she couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t feel lonely.

“Didn’t used to be.” Whit opened the curtains in the dining room, letting even more light pour in.

She turned in a circle, admiring the home. A photo on the mantel caught her eye. “What’s this?” She picked it up.

“That’s my dad standing right where you’re standing.”

All the built-ins in the guesthouse were new. The flooring had been restored entirely. Walls had been removed. Someone had done some serious work on this house, and judging by the aesthetic, she could safely say it was not Christopher’s designer.

“It’s like a completely different house.”

“It’s
lovely
, isn’t it?” Whit’s tone dripped sarcasm. Her life was falling apart and he was cracking jokes. Or maybe he was just intent on making her feel foolish. He’d gotten awfully good at that, hadn’t he?

She shoved the picture back at him. Never mind that he’d practically rescued her, she knew it wouldn’t be long before his grouchy side appeared.

He stared at her for a few long seconds, then finally walked away. “I’ll show you the rest of it.”

She followed him to the kitchen. Good size for such a small house. “Bumped out the original kitchen a few years ago and added this breakfast nook.” Another built-in, this one a wraparound bench edging a table along a row of windows facing the pastures behind the house.

“Who did this work for you?” She admired the butcher block–topped island that stood at the center of the room.

He frowned. “I did it.”

“All of it?”

“I’m not going to hire someone else to do this stuff.” He made it sound like the most outrageous idea he’d ever heard. How he and Christopher had ever been friends, she would never understand. They couldn’t be more different.

It had been a long time since the first night she’d met Trevor. He’d been so kind then
 
—but quiet and humble. A stark contrast to Christopher, who, even in high school, was larger than life. She’d been enamored with his ability to command a room
 
—a talent she didn’t possess or understand.

Back then, it was Whit she related to best, but it was Christopher who’d won her heart. He exuded self-confidence and security and everything she craved. Until today, their life had been nearly perfect.

“There are just two bedrooms upstairs,” Whit said, pulling her from the past and back into her horrifying present. The realization that this wasn’t a bad dream struck her all over again and turned her stomach over with a flop.

Whit continued. “Take the big one. There’s a bathroom attached to it.”

She nodded as though taking instruction from a teacher.

He stood awkwardly at the center of the kitchen, looking almost too big for the space. Knowing Whit, he wanted to be there about as much as she wanted him to be, and he had no idea how to escape.

Finally he said, “I’ll run up to my place and grab you some food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He looked away, an almost-wounded expression in his eyes.

Evelyn hadn’t expected that. He needed something to do and she was making it hard for him. Why?

“Maybe just some coffee.” The reality of her situation hung heavy on her mind. There was no waking up from this nightmare. She was horrified to realize tears had filled her eyes.

He stared at her, an awkward, uncomfortable look on his face, and she begged her emotions to stay tucked out of sight until Trevor had gone, but the tears didn’t ask her permission. They came hard, fast, and without warning. She turned away. How embarrassing. Never mind that this wasn’t the first time Trevor Whitney had seen her cry because of something Christopher had done.

She felt his hand on her shoulder. He turned her around and pulled her into the kind of hug that didn’t promise to make everything better. After all, the last thing she needed was another empty promise.

He held her while she cried bitter, angry, humiliated tears, anxious to talk to her husband and praying there was some sort of explanation for all of this.

But deep down, she had the most terrible, scary feeling that none of it could be explained. At least not in a way that would ever make sense to her. And the faint knowledge that this might be the case was enough to keep her confined to that very spot for far too many minutes, her shame and sorrow colliding right there in Trevor Whitney’s kitchen.

CHAPTER

T
REVOR MIGHT’VE SLAMMED
the back door when he returned to the farmhouse. He might’ve banged a cupboard or two gathering food for Evelyn. It was possible he almost broke a pickle jar rummaging around in the refrigerator looking for coffee creamer.

“Trevor?”

And he knew his aunt was about to call him out on it.

“I don’t want to hear it, Lil.”

“Where is she?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I can help. The police don’t scare me
 
—what they did barging into her house like that was wrong.” Lilian leaned against the doorjamb, eyes fixed on him. His mom’s youngest sister had become a staple at the farm when her marriage went awry years ago. Trevor had been a teenager then with no plans of ever entering the family business.

But things changed. Some things, anyway. Not Lilian. For as long as he could remember, she’d always spoken her mind without any filter. Some might say she was kind of pigheaded, but they’d never say it to her face.

Truth be told, the farm wouldn’t have made it without her. She was a whole lot more than just the lady who grew the vegetables. She was the voice of reason.

Trevor sighed, tossing a loaf of bread onto the table where he’d thrown the rest of the supplies he planned to take to Evelyn. “We need to try calling Casey again. Find out what we’re looking at here.”

Lilian stilled. “Are you okay?”

“This isn’t about me, Lil.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Another thing about his aunt. She had this weird sixth sense when it came to detecting feelings he thought he’d done a sufficient job of burying. Somehow the two of them were cut from the same cloth, and it gave her the keen ability to read his mail.

He hated it.

Because, no. He was not okay. And he had her to thank for telling him about Evelyn in the first place. It was Lilian’s fault Evelyn was now only a few yards away, in
his
guesthouse. Lilian was to blame for that hug
 
—for the nearness of her, holding her in his arms. This was why he’d purposely put so much distance between them.

It would take days to erase the smell of her from his mind.

“Maybe I was wrong.” Lilian sat at the kitchen table, letting out a heavy sigh. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you to get involved.”

Now she was worried?

“It’s too late.”

He grabbed a cardboard box and threw the food in, then stormed out the door, angry at Lilian for pushing him. Angry at himself for listening. Angry at Chris for allowing it to come to this. He’d done a lot of stupid things in his life, but this was a new low. But that wasn’t all, was it? He was mad at himself for still, after all this time, battling raw feelings for Evelyn.

He thought he’d gotten over it. He thought he’d set this one down and told God he was done pining away for someone who would never be his. It was wrong. She was married. To one of his oldest friends.

And he’d done a pretty good job of convincing himself he’d been successful. Until today.

Trevor set the box on the passenger seat of his truck and drove toward the guesthouse. Just as he arrived and got out, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A Denver number he didn’t recognize.

Did the FBI know he’d gotten Evelyn out of there?

Against his better judgment, he answered. “Hello?”

“Whit?”

Chris. After all this time, Trevor was still his first phone call?

“Tell me she’s okay.”

Trevor involuntarily gritted his teeth. If Chris were anywhere near him right now, he’d have knocked him out cold.

“Whit?”

“What did you do, Chris?”

“I can explain. Trust me. This whole case is bogus.”

“The FBI sure doesn’t seem to think so. Have you talked to your wife?” Trevor paced outside the truck, keeping an eye on the white bungalow just in case Evelyn got curious.

“No. They’re only giving me one call, and I wanted to talk to you. I need you to do something for me.”

Trevor sighed. He really wanted to punch something. Or someone.

“It’s not really for me, Whit. It’s for Evelyn. You’ve got a chance to spare her a lot of hurt.”

Lilian was right. Trevor shouldn’t have gotten involved.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to argue the other side of this mess
 
—my side. She’s going to hear a lot of stuff about me, and you’ve got to find a way to put her mind at ease.”

“What’s she going to hear?” Trevor wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Chris paused. Now Trevor was sure he didn’t want to know.

Trevor groaned. “I don’t want to get in the middle of this. It’s not like you don’t have hundreds of other people you could call.”

“No one I trust.” Chris sighed. “Whit, I promise. They’ve got no proof of anything. My name will be cleared.”

Trevor kicked the tire of his truck. “They’ve got no proof, but are you guilty? Did you do this?”

“Trevor, you know me,” Chris said.

Exactly.

With his free hand, Trevor took his baseball hat off and raked his fingers through his hair. “You knew this was coming, didn’t you? You knew and you didn’t warn your wife?”

“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then why me? Why get me involved?”

“I knew you’d watch out for Evelyn.” Chris paused. “Like old times.” Trevor imagined him standing in the hallway of a nondescript jail, tie loose, sleeves of his pressed white button-down rolled to his elbows. “Have you seen her?”

Trevor rubbed his free hand over his stubbled chin. “The whole town saw her, man. It was on the news.”

“How’d she look?”

Trevor shook his head. “How do you think, Chris?”

“Keep an eye on her for me, would you?”

“What makes you think I’ve got time?”

“I’m not asking you to become her best friend or anything. Just check on her. From a distance.”

“How much more of this do you think she can handle?”

Chris sighed. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Just give her a call. Make sure she’s okay.”

“They think she’s involved in whatever mess you’ve made.”

Silence on the other end.

“Chris?”

“I’ll fix it, Trevor. You know me. I always fix it.” He hung up then, leaving Trevor with conflicting feelings and a new sense of dread pooling in his gut. Why he didn’t tell Chris he’d extracted Evelyn from their mansion on Brighton Street, he didn’t know. Why Chris expected him to watch out for his wife, he also didn’t know. Or appreciate. Chris obviously had no idea what this was going to do to Trevor’s years of resolve. It had been forever since he and Chris had interacted at all
 
—wasn’t there someone else in his life to sweep up after him?

He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and picked up the box of food he’d brought for Evelyn. When he turned, he saw her standing on the porch staring at him. He let himself study her for a moment. She wore an outfit that likely cost more than his entire wardrobe, hair pulled up into a loose knot pinned to the back of her head. She looked like what she was
 
—a senator’s wife
 
—and nothing about her resembled the Evie he remembered.

Maybe he really had fallen in love with someone who had never existed in the first place.

“Who was that?” She stared at him with glassy eyes.

He couldn’t lie. Not to Evelyn.

“Unbelievable. He called you and not me.” She shook her head and went inside, leaving the door open behind her.

“You don’t have your phone, remember?” Trevor saw no point in telling her Chris had not, in fact, even tried to call her. Or warn her. Or do right by her.

No sense pouring salt on that wound.

He followed her inside and stood awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at her back as she gazed out the window that overlooked the pasture.

“My life will never be the same,” she said, her voice quiet.

He wanted to point out that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, but he swallowed the words. Instead he shifted the box from one arm to the other in silence.

She turned, fresh tears in her eyes. “Thanks, Whit.”

He held her gaze for too long, then looked away. “I’ll put this in the kitchen.”

She didn’t follow him. Thankfully.

Get a grip. She is not yours.

He knew that. Of course he knew that, and he would honor it no matter how difficult it was. But no number of words could convince his heart to stop caring what happened to Evelyn. He’d been trying for nearly fifteen years.

“I’m going to call Casey,” Evelyn said from the other room. “Have him tell the FBI where I am and how to reach me.”

Trevor pulled the food from the box and began putting it away in the familiar cupboards. Bread in the cabinet above the stove. Crackers and popcorn in the pantry. Coffee in the cupboard next to the sink and above the coffeemaker.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

He turned and found her standing in the kitchen, that hopeful, helpless look on her face. Was it possible he’d forgotten how beautiful she was? No, he hadn’t forgotten; he’d just stopped thinking about it. Which was what he needed to do right now. He’d walked away from her for a reason.

Remember that.

But he couldn’t leave her alone. Who else did she have?

He nodded. “Casey will know what to do. Here, you can call him on my phone.” He handed her his cell and went back to putting the groceries away.

“You don’t have to do that, Whit,” she said. “I can do it.”

“It’s fine. You’ve got enough on your mind. Go on, call Casey. I’ll finish here.”

She nodded and disappeared to the porch, leaving him alone with his thoughts, which, he discovered, drifted right onto the porch with her.