Chapter 12
Amy hadn’t seen a house this lavish since a museum tour of the Vanderbilt mansion her mother had dragged her to as a teenager.
The Park City rental property sprawled across a hillside, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic mountain views that stole her breath.
Gleaming wood and stone surfaces spoke of wealth without ostentation, while the contemporary furnishings managed to make the enormous space feel almost cozy.
Almost.
As Nash helped her from the truck, she whispered, “Are you sure we’re at the right place?”
He grinned. “The Stones don’t exactly do things halfway.”
Colt grabbed Amy’s box of research from the truck bed while Nash shouldered their hastily packed overnight bags. The three of them made their way to the front entrance, where the massive double doors swung open before they could knock.
“Welcome to the chaos,” said a tall man with an easy smile and watchful eyes. “I’m Trey Stone.”
Amy recognized him immediately from the newspaper photos she’d studied during her initial research.
Everything about him screamed military—the way he carried himself, the alert eyes that missed nothing, the confident set of his shoulders.
But there was warmth in his gaze too, an accessibility that put her at ease.
“Hello, Mr. Stone,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m—”
“Sadie Blair,” he finished for her, his handshake firm but not overbearing. “Or perhaps not. We’ll get to that.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Come in. Everyone’s waiting.”
The foyer opened into a great room that seemed to contain half the population of Wyoming and South Carolina.
Children darted between adults, their excited voices rising above the steady hum of conversation.
Through the back windows, Amy could see a sprawling patio area with a pool where several more children splashed under the watchful eye of adults.
Nash’s hand found the small of her back, a gentle pressure that anchored her amid the overwhelming scene. “Let me introduce you to everyone,” he murmured.
“Good luck with that,” Trey said with a laugh. “There are about thirty of us here at last count.”
Nash shot him a look. “We’ll start with the essentials, then.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, Amy found herself being introduced to what felt like an endless parade of Stones.
First was Trey’s wife, Ava. Then Brooks, the FBI agent, who studied Amy with analytical intensity, though his handshake was kind.
He had the look of a man who could dismantle your life story with a single glance but would only use that power to protect his family. His wife’s name was Serenity.
Marshall, the Nighthawk pilot, gave her a brief nod that somehow conveyed more welcome than some people’s enthusiastic hugs.
There was something about him—a quietness that didn’t feel unfriendly but rather like the calm at the center of a storm.
His eyes were the same deep blue as Trey’s, a Stone family trait she’d noticed immediately. His wife was Kat.
Trent, another ex-SEAL, assessed her with a quickness that made her suspect he’d cataloged at least three ways to incapacitate her before Nash had finished saying her name.
But then he smiled, and the transformation was remarkable—from warrior to welcoming family man in the space of a heartbeat.
His wife, Liberty, stood beside him, their fingers intertwined in what seemed like an unconscious gesture of connection.
Hunter, another ex-SEAL turned pastor, greeted her with genuine warmth that instantly made her feel accepted.
Unlike his brothers’ intensity, Hunter had a gentleness about him that didn’t diminish his quiet strength.
She noticed his hand naturally finding that of his wife, Cheryse, as they spoke, a subtle connection that felt as natural as breathing to them.
“And that’s Kensi,” Nash said, pointing to a woman who was arranging flowers in a vase. “Trey’s twin and resident author. She is an attorney who now writes romance novels.”
“Inspirational romance,” Trey corrected, appearing at their side with two glasses of lemonade.
He handed one to Amy. “A very important distinction, according to Kensi.” He turned to Amy with a conspiratorial smile.
“She once threatened to put me in a book as the villain if I kept calling them ‘trashy novels.’”
“And she would, too.” A man held his hand out. “I’m Tim, Kensi’s husband.”
“He’s the sheriff in South Port,” Trey said.
Amy couldn’t help but smile back as she shook hands. There was something disarmingly direct about Trey, a candor that felt refreshing. “Thank you for the lemonade. And for …” She gestured around. “All of this.”
“My pleasure,” Trey replied. “Though I should warn you—my family can be overwhelming when they’re all together like this. If it gets to be too much, there’s a library on the second floor. Good hideout.”
Nash nudged him playfully. “Stop trying to scare her off. She’s handled my family just fine.”
“Ah, but the Crosses are amateurs compared to the Stones when it comes to chaos,” Trey countered.
Before Nash could reply, a small child came barreling through the room, soaking wet and shrieking with laughter.
Amy watched as a collection of toys seemed to materialize in his wake, scattered across the pristine floor like breadcrumbs.
A harried-looking man with a towel followed, calling, “Kade! Clothes first, then running!”
“That’s Kat and Marshall’s son,” Nash explained as the dripping child disappeared down a hallway. “One of many cousins who are probably destroying the house as we speak.”
Trey sighed dramatically. “We put the valuable items in storage before we arrived. We’ve learned from past … incidents.”
Amy laughed, finding herself relaxing despite the overwhelming surroundings. There was something about the easy banter between Nash and Trey that made the grand house feel warmer, more welcoming.
“Nash!” a woman’s voice called from what must be the kitchen area. “Bring Sadie in here!”
Nash grimaced. “The Cross female contingent awaits.”
“Better not keep them waiting,” Trey advised.
Ava, Trey’s wife, stopped her for a hug. “Good luck. It’s the Cross women’s turn to cook.” She and the Stone wives headed to the pool.
Nash guided Amy toward the vast kitchen, where a group of women were assembled, working together with the synchronized precision of people who had cooked alongside each other many times before. Savory aromas filled the air, making Amy’s stomach growl in appreciation.
“Here she is,” Nash announced, giving Amy a gentle push forward. “Try not to interrogate her all at once.”
“Hush, you,” said a woman Amy recognized as Porter’s wife, Sadie, brandishing a wooden spoon at Nash.
She was petite but radiated such confident energy that her small stature seemed irrelevant.
Golden-brown hair framed a face that seemed perpetually ready to smile, laugh lines crinkling around eyes that sparkled with humor.
“Go help Porter set up the outdoor tables. Men’s work. ”
Nash raised his hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.” He squeezed Amy’s shoulder once, then disappeared back toward the great room.
Left alone with the women, Amy felt suddenly self-conscious. These people had been through so much together, had fought for and alongside each other during their respective gold hunts. She was the outsider, the unknown variable.
“So,” said a petite blonde—Kelly, Chance’s wife, if Amy remembered correctly. Her artist’s hands were stained with traces of clay, and everything about her from her simple sundress to her easy smile spoke of a grounded, earthy practicality. “How are you holding up? Really?”
The direct question caught Amy off guard. “I’m … managing,” she replied carefully.
“Managing,” the actual Sadie repeated with a knowing smile. “That’s code for ‘barely keeping it together but too stubborn to admit it.’”
Amy felt a surprised laugh escape her. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to those of us who’ve been there,” Sierra, Colt’s wife, assured her.
She handed Amy a glass of water, her movements precise and efficient—the mark of a medical professional.
Everything about her spoke of competence and compassion in equal measure, from her practical ponytail to the way her eyes assessed Amy with a doctor’s trained observation.
“The first time I got caught up in the Cross family gold hunt, I nearly had a nervous breakdown.”
“I cried for three days straight,” Eden added, chopping vegetables with impressive speed.
Her artistic flair was evident even in this simple task, the vegetables arranged in a rainbow of colors.
A paint smudge on her wrist suggested she’d been working on a project before being pulled into kitchen duty.
“Of course, that might have been partly because Blaze is … well, Blaze.”
The women laughed, and Amy felt some of her tension dissolve. They were welcoming her into their circle, these women who had married into the strange world of treasure hunting and family legacy.
“Here,” Sadie said, putting an arm around Amy’s shoulders and guiding her to the kitchen island. “Chop these peppers? It’s therapeutic.”
Amy accepted the knife, grateful for something to do with her hands.
The kitchen was filled with light and laughter, a beachy pop song playing softly from hidden speakers.
Through the windows, she could see children splashing in the pool while Trent and Blaze monitored from deck chairs, deep in conversation.
“I like your fake name,” Sadie said suddenly, her arm still around Amy’s shoulders. “Solid choice.”
Amy froze mid-chop, then relaxed when she saw the genuine warmth in Sadie’s eyes. She couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. “Thanks. It’s served me well.”
“Nash mentioned your situation,” Sierra explained, lowering her voice slightly.
“And that your department chair is a duplicitous weasel who deserved everything Colt gave him,” Eden added with evident satisfaction.