Was he uncomfortable with the wheelchair? Turned off by her physical limitations? Or was he just naturally quiet, naturally serious, and she was reading too much into a simple introduction?
Despite her uncertainty, something about him drew her in. Something in the way he’d looked at her, not through her or past her or with pity, but at her. Like he was trying to figure her out the same way she was trying to figure him out.
Give him a chance, she thought. Don’t write him off yet.
She’d become too good at dismissing people who couldn’t see past her chair. The ones whose eyes slid away in discomfort, or who spoke to her in that patronizing tone people seemed to think was appropriate for anyone with a disability. The ones who saw limitations before they saw her.
But Bert Tomlinson hadn’t looked away. He’d just looked uncomfortable in a way that seemed more about himself than about her, and that was different.
Logan gestured toward the office entrance. “Let’s head inside, and we can talk about what we’re building here.”
Mary nodded and turned her chair toward the ramp, very aware of the eyes still on her. She’d navigated ramps thousands of times in the past two years, but this one felt different. This one mattered. The incline was perfect, the surface smooth, and she ascended it with the kind of easy grace that came from practice and determination in equal measure.
At the top, Logan held the door, and she rolled through into the interior of the building. Behind her, she heard footsteps retreating as the other men headed back to whatever work they’d been doing before her arrival. But in her mind, she kept seeing blue eyes, a solemn expression, and calloused hands that had been careful with hers. She glanced over her shoulder and watched as Bert turned to walk away. A hearing aid was barely visible, but enough that she noticed.
Before she had time to process that a hearing loss might be part of Bert’s quiet intensity, Logan moved into a room. Focus, she told herself firmly. I’m here for a job, not to get distracted by a man I just met.
As she followed Logan deeper into the office, preparing herself for the interview that would determine her future, Mary couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Bert Tomlinson might be part of that future, whether she planned for it or not.
And for the first time in two years, that possibility didn’t feel like a complication. It felt like hope.
5
The office was sparse, almost comically so. A desk, folding chairs, a laptop, and papers were scattered about. No filing cabinets, no decorations, no coffee maker in the corner. Just the bare essentials in a room that smelled faintly of warm wood and sawdust.
“I’m sorry for the rudimentary interviewing space,” Logan said. “This temporary setup allows me to interview potential employees while we finish the compound’s headquarters.”
Mary smiled despite her nerves. Something was refreshing about its simplicity and lack of pretension. Logan Bishop wasn’t trying to impress her with a fancy setup. This was just a man building something from the ground up, one piece at a time. She hesitated just long enough to wait for Logan to sit, then rolled her wheelchair to the opposite side of the desk.
Logan settled into his chair and glanced down at his tablet, then lifted his gaze to her. She had the feeling she was being studied.
She placed her hands in her lap and forced her shoulders to relax. The tightness between her shoulder blades had been there since she’d turned onto the property, and she consciously released it. She believed in directness and trustworthiness. It had served her well in the military, and it would serve her now.
“I admit that I’m a little nervous,” she said, meeting his eyes. “After the accident, I was medically retired from the Navy, but I was able to apply as a civilian for a DoD admin position. I’ve been working in that capacity for the past thirteen months. But this?” She gestured vaguely toward the window, encompassing the building and the compound beyond. “This feels different. More important, somehow.”
Logan’s expression softened fractionally. “You should know, Mary, that by the time someone gets an invitation to interview with me, they’ve been thoroughly vetted. Background checks, reference checks, skills assessment. I don’t waste time on candidates who can’t do the job.” He leaned forward slightly. “But what I’m building here relies on more than just ability. I need people who can align with the vision we’re creating. People who understand what it means to be a Keeper.”
The word hung in the air between them, weighted with meaning she didn’t fully understand yet, but could sense was significant.
He continued. “Mace Hanover built Lighthouse Security Investigations based on the old lighthouse keepers who guided others to safety. That’s why the LSI employees are known as Keepers.”
“I understand,” she said, and she did. The military could mold people into the service members they needed through training, discipline, and sheer force of will. However, in the private sector, especially in a field as specialized as Logan’s, he needed to select individuals who already fit. People who shared the vision and could work as a cohesive team without constant oversight. “You need to know that we’re going to work well together before you make the investment in hiring me.”
“Exactly.” Logan nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. “I know what I can see in your file, and I know what Admiral Brenner told me. But I’d like you to tell me about yourself. Your words, your perspective.”
Mary had learned to present her story honestly without dwelling on parts that made people uncomfortable. She straightened in her chair, gathering her thoughts.
“I grew up in Montana,” she said. “Small town, about an hour from here. My family had a ranch. Nothing huge, but enough that I learned to ride before I could tie my shoes, and I knew how to work before I knew how to complain about it.” A smile tugged at her lips at the memory. “Like many young people, I wanted to get away from small-town life and see the world. The Navy seemed like the best way to do that.”
Logan was listening intently, his focus absolute in a way that made her feel truly heard.
“My family supported the decision even though I know my mom cried when I left for basic training. Three tours in logistics. I was good at it.” She said it without arrogance, simply stating a fact. “I understood supply chains and procurement and how to keep things running smoothly even when everything was going wrong around me. I planned to finish my twenty years, make a career of it.”
She paused, her hands flexing slightly against the table. This was the hard part, but she’d learned not to shy away from it.
“A distracted driver ran a red light on base two years ago. Wasn’t my fault and wasn’t anything I could have prevented. But it happened anyway.” Her voice stayed steady, professional, even as the memory tried to claw its way up her throat. “T-boned my vehicle. They had to cut me out. Incomplete spinal cord injury at the T12-L1 junction. Multiple surgeries, a year of physical therapy, and a medical retirement I didn’t want but couldn’t fight.”
Logan’s expression didn’t change. His eyes didn’t fill with the pity she’d seen too many times. He just nodded, acknowledging the information as he would any other relevant fact.