Chapter 10 #2
Dr. Martinez stood near the church entrance, dressed in an impeccable suit, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Nash’s posture shifted subtly, moving closer to Amy’s side in a protective stance that wasn’t lost on Dr. Martinez.
“Dr. Martinez,” Amy greeted, trying to keep her voice neutral. “I didn’t know you attended this church.”
“Oh, I don’t,” he replied smoothly. “I was just meeting with Pastor Evans about a university fundraiser. But what a fortunate coincidence to run into you.” His gaze shifted to Nash, then back to Amy.
“I’ve been trying to reach you. There’s some new information about your thesis research that I think you’ll find … illuminating.”
Every instinct in Amy’s body screamed danger. The university was closed on Sundays. Dr. Martinez had never shown any interest in fundraisers before. And most tellingly, Pastor Evans had been standing at the door saying goodbye to parishioners—he couldn’t have been meeting with Dr. Martinez.
“That sounds interesting,” she managed, feeling Nash’s grip tighten on her hand. “What kind of information?”
Dr. Martinez’s smile thinned. “Perhaps we could discuss it at my office later? Say, three this afternoon?”
Nash stepped forward slightly. “I’d be happy to drive Sadie to campus,” he offered, his tone friendly but firm. “Her ankle’s still bothering her from our hike yesterday.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Dr. Martinez’s face before his bland smile returned. “Of course. The more, the merrier.” He checked his watch with exaggerated precision. “I really must be going. Three, Professor Blair. Don’t be late—this information is quite … time sensitive.”
With a curt nod to Nash, he strode away, his posture rigid.
“That was weird,” Nash muttered once Dr. Martinez was out of earshot.
“Very weird. And why would he be meeting with Pastor Evans about a fundraiser on a Sunday?”
“He wouldn’t,” Nash said grimly. “He’s following us.”
Amy’s stomach clenched. “Do you think he knows something about the gold? About the Ferrantes?”
“I don’t know,” Nash admitted, guiding her toward his truck. “But I don’t like the coincidence. First the trail, now the church? And what ‘time-sensitive’ information could he possibly have about your thesis?”
As they climbed into the truck, Amy voiced the fear that had been growing since they’d spotted Dr. Martinez on the mountain. “What if he knows who I really am?”
Nash started the engine but didn’t put the truck in gear, turning to face her instead. “Even if he does, he doesn’t know that we know about the Ferrantes’ connection to the Olympus Foundation, or about our search for the gold. Let’s keep it that way.”
“So we’re going to meet him at three?”
Nash nodded, his expression determined. “Absolutely. But first, we’re going to prepare.”
They drove back to Nash’s house in thoughtful silence, Nash still occasionally checking his phone when they stopped at red lights. Whatever his family wanted, it seemed urgent.
“You can call them back, you know,” Amy offered. “Your family. It seems important.”
Nash smiled, reaching over to take her hand. “It can wait a little longer.”
As they pulled onto Nash’s street, Amy was startled to see a large, dark van parked in front of his house. Several vehicles were behind it—a truck she recognized as similar to Nash’s, another larger truck, and what looked like a police cruiser.
“What the—” Nash muttered, his brow furrowing. “That’s Porter’s truck. And Chance’s cruiser.”
Amy felt a surge of anxiety. “Is something wrong?”
Nash shook his head, confusion etched across his features. “I don’t know.”
They pulled into the driveway, and before Nash could turn off the engine, the front door of his house burst open.
People—so many people—began pouring out onto the porch and lawn.
“My family.”
Amy recognized them, at least she thought she did: Porter, tall and commanding; Colt, broad-shouldered and grinning; Blaze, slightly shorter but just as imposing; Chance, with the confident bearing of a lawman; and Cheyenne, graceful and pretty.
With them were women and children—a veritable parade of Cross family members.
“What on earth?” Amy whispered, suddenly very conscious of her borrowed dress and the state of her hair.
Nash looked equally stunned. “I have no idea.”
They climbed out of the truck, and Porter strode forward, his hand extended to Nash.
“You think you get to figure this out all by yourself?” he demanded, though the hint of a smile softened his stern expression.
“You don’t. In fact, let’s pack up. The Stones are meeting us in Park City at a house they rented. ”
Nash shook his head, clearly caught off guard. “Porter, what are you—”
“Cheyenne decided we needed to have a family summit,” Colt interrupted, stepping forward with a grin. “And when the princess speaks, we all listen.”
“I am not a princess,” Cheyenne protested, though she was smiling. Her gaze settled on Amy, curious but kind. “And you must be Amanda—or wait, Sadie?”
Amy felt herself freeze, her breath catching in her throat. How much had Nash told them? How much did they know?
Nash moved to her side immediately, his hand resting protectively at the small of her back. “Everyone, this is Sadie Blair,” he said firmly, the subtle emphasis on her witness protection name not lost on Amy. “Sadie, this is my family. All of them. Apparently.”
The women approached first, forming a kind of welcoming committee. Sadie—Porter’s wife—stepped forward with a warm smile. “Don’t let them overwhelm you,” she said, shooting a pointed look at her husband. “They mean well, but subtlety isn’t exactly a Cross family trait.”
Another woman stepped forward. “I’m Sierra, Colt’s wife. The doctor who’s constantly patching up these reckless cowboys.”
“And I’m Eden,” another woman said, moving to stand beside Blaze. “The newest addition.”
“And I’m Kelly,” said a petite woman with a warm smile. “Chance’s wife. Don’t worry, we’re not as intimidating as we look.”
Cheyenne stepped forward, her expression apologetic. “Sorry about the ambush. It was my idea to show up unannounced.” She leaned in. “Plus, with the Ferrantes and everything, there was no stopping them.”
Amy felt a surge of panic, looking to Nash for guidance. How much did they know?
Nash seemed to read her thoughts, his arm slipping around her waist in a gesture that was both comforting and protective. “Brooks called them,” he explained quietly. “After I told him about the connection to your father’s case. I’m sorry—I should have warned you.”
“We’re a package deal,” Porter said, his voice firm but not unkind. “When one Cross is in trouble, we all are.”
“And when one Cross is hunting for gold,” Colt added with a grin, “the rest of us want in on the action.”
Amy looked around at all these faces—these people who had dropped everything to come help Nash, to protect him, to join in his quest. Something tightened in her chest, a mixture of longing and fear and something else she couldn’t quite name.
“I …” she began, not sure what to say.
Nash squeezed her waist gently. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “This is a lot, I know.”
She looked up at him, saw the genuine concern in his eyes, and made a decision. These people were Nash’s family. They had faced down gold hunters before. They had resources, connections, experience. And most importantly, they loved Nash. “Don’t be sorry. Now this is a real gold hunt.”
“There we go,” Porter said, grinning.
The others laughed.
The tension in Nash’s shoulders seemed to ease. “Are you sure? We can tell them to go back home …”
Amy laughed, surprising herself with how genuine it felt. “I’ve been hunting this gold alone for too long,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s time I had some backup.”
Nash turned to his family, who had been watching their exchange with poorly disguised curiosity.
“Alright, everyone,” he announced. “Park City it is. But first—” He checked his watch.
“—Sadie and I have an appointment with her department chair at three. And I think you’re all going to be very interested in what we learn. ”
As the family dispersed to start packing and planning, Nash kept Amy close, his arm still around her waist. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For understanding. They’re a lot, but they’re the best people I know.”
Amy watched as the Cross family moved in and out of Nash’s house with the familiar chaos of people who belonged together, who knew each other’s rhythms and habits, who shared not just a name but a history.
For the first time in eight years, she allowed herself to imagine being part of something like that again—a family, a community, a place where she could be known.
“They’re exactly what we need,” she said softly, and she realized she meant it.