Chapter 13
Later that evening, Nash leaned against the edge of the pool, watching as the impromptu water volleyball match reached new levels of competitive intensity. The Crosses versus the Stones—a rivalry that had somehow managed to encompass everything from gold hunting to pool games.
“Spike it, Porter!” Colt shouted as his older brother rose from the water, arm cocked back to send the beach ball hurtling toward the Stone side of the net.
Trey lunged. “Brooks! Set me up!”
The FBI agent obliged, sending the ball arcing toward Trent, who slammed it past Blaze’s outstretched hands.
“That’s game point!” Marshall crowed, high-fiving his brothers while the Crosses groaned in defeat.
Nash couldn’t help but smile.
Had anyone told him a week ago that he’d be watching his family play water volleyball with the Stones while hunting for long-lost gold, he’d have questioned their sanity. Yet here they were, two families united by adventure, danger, and an increasingly complicated treasure hunt.
His gaze drifted to Amy, who sat with the women at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water as she chatted animatedly with Cheyenne and Eden.
The green sundress she’d borrowed was replaced by swim shorts and a modest tank top—more borrowed clothes, this time from Kelly.
She looked relaxed, happier than he’d seen her since their reunion on the mountain trail.
“You’re staring,” came Porter’s voice as he hoisted himself out of the pool and settled beside Nash.
Water dripped from his hair and shoulders as he grabbed a towel, dark hair plastered to his forehead in a way that made him look younger, more like the brother Nash remembered from childhood rather than the sometimes stern ranch patriarch he’d become.
“Am not,” Nash countered automatically, though he didn’t look away from Amy.
Porter snorted. “Right.” He followed Nash’s gaze. “She seems to be settling in well.”
Nash nodded, feeling an unexpected swell of gratitude toward his brother. For all of Porter’s gruffness and insistence on doing things by the book, his fierce love for their family had never wavered. “Thanks for not making this weird for her. It’s a lot to take in.”
“She’s handling it better than most,” Porter observed, nodding toward Eden, who was demonstrating what appeared to be an extremely dramatized version of how she’d first encountered the Cross family gold hunt.
“But then, she’s been living with secrets and danger for eight years.
I suppose our brand of chaos isn’t quite as shocking. ”
Nash considered this. “I never thought about it that way.”
“Few of us did,” Porter admitted, running the towel over his face. “We’ve been so wrapped up in our own troubles, our own gold chase … it’s easy to forget that other people have their own battles.”
The unexpected moment of philosophizing from his usually stoic brother caught Nash off guard. “Profound words from the rancher.”
Porter flicked water at him, the gesture so boyish it made Nash grin. “Shut up.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching as Trey announced a rematch, this time with mixed teams. Nash noticed the way Sierra immediately moved toward Colt, their connection visible in the simple brush of hands as she took her place beside him in the water.
Porter’s gaze tracked Sadie as she declined to join the game, choosing instead to bounce Denver on her knee while keeping a watchful eye on Little Rock, who was building what appeared to be a moat around Chance’s feet at the shallow end.
“You know,” Porter said finally, wringing water from the hem of his shirt, “when Dad put that ridiculous marriage clause in the will, I thought he was punishing me. Turns out he was pushing me toward what I needed, not what I wanted.”
Nash raised an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me this because …?”
Porter stood, clapping a damp hand on Nash’s shoulder, leaving a wet handprint on his T-shirt. “Because sometimes what looks like the worst possible timing is actually perfect.” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward Amy. “Just something to think about.”
Before Nash could respond, Porter was already heading back toward the pool, answering Colt’s call for reinforcements.
Colt had that look in his eyes—the one that meant he’d decided losing wasn’t an option, no matter what it took.
The same look he’d had when facing down Dr. Martinez, Nash realized with both exasperation and affection.
“Mind if I join you?” Amy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She stood beside him, hair damp and curling around her face, a shy smile playing at her lips.
Nash felt his pulse quicken, as it did every time she looked at him since that first kiss over the grill. “Always,” he replied, scooting over to make room for her on the pool ledge.
Amy settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.
The scent of chlorine and something distinctly her—maybe her shampoo, or maybe just her—filled his senses.
“Your family is something else,” she said, watching as the newly formed teams engaged in increasingly theatrical displays of athletic prowess.
“They’re showing off,” Nash confided, leaning in as if sharing a state secret. “The Stones bring out everyone’s competitive streak.”
Amy laughed, her whole face lighting up in a way that made his heart stutter in his chest. “I can see that.” She nodded toward Colt, who was attempting to balance on Chance’s shoulders while reaching for the ball. “Is that a standard ranch skill?”
“Oh, absolutely. Essential for cattle herding.” Nash kept his expression solemn. “You’d be surprised how often Wyoming ranchers need to form human pyramids.”
She nudged him with her shoulder, still laughing. “Liar.”
The simple exchange, the easy comfort between them, felt miraculous, considering all they’d been through. Nash found himself staring again, memorizing the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the subtle constellation of freckles across her nose that had deepened in the sun.
“What?” she asked, catching his gaze.
“Just thinking that Amy suits you better than Sadie or Amanda.”
A blush crept up her cheeks. “It’s still strange hearing it after so long. Like putting on clothes I’d forgotten were mine.”
Nash understood. Names had power—the ability to connect people to their pasts, their families, their true selves. For too long, Amy had been denied that connection, forced to answer to names chosen for her by others.
“Amy,” he said again, just because he could. Just because it made her smile in that particular way that turned his insides to warm honey.
Before she could respond, a chorus of squeals erupted as the children who had been relatively contained in the shallow end suddenly ran past them.
Kade, Marshall’s son, led the charge, followed closely by Little Rock and a collection of Stone children whose names Nash couldn’t quite keep straight. Their laughter sparkled brighter than the water droplets flying through the air as they splashed and darted between the adults.
“Alright, alright,” Trey called, climbing out of the pool.
Water streamed from his powerful frame as he reached for a towel, his commanding presence somehow not diminished by the cartoon fish print on his swim trunks—clearly a gift from one of his children.
“I think that’s enough excitement for one night. Bedtime in ten for the little ones.”
A collective groan rose from the younger participants, but they dutifully began exiting the pool as parents handed out towels and shepherded wet children toward the house.
Nash glanced at Amy. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” she admitted. “But also …” She hesitated, then nodded toward the steaming hot tub at the far end of the patio. “That looks pretty inviting after all the excitement.”
Nash felt a flutter of anticipation. “Let’s get something to eat, then hit the hot tub.”
“Sounds good.”
Nash found himself seated between Amy and Trent, with Cheyenne and Micah across from them. Nash still found it difficult to reconcile his baby sister being married, but he couldn’t deny that Micah treated her with the devotion and respect she deserved.
The conversation ranged from the mundane details of ranch life to the complex web of connections they were slowly piecing together between the Ferrantes, the Rockwell gold, and the conquistador treasure.
“What I don’t understand,” Trent was saying as he reached for the bread basket, “is how Porter Rockwell fits into all this. The original conquistador gold was from the sixteenth century. Rockwell wasn’t around until the 1800s.”
“That’s what makes the connection so fascinating,” Amy replied. “My research suggests that Rockwell was part of a network that identified and secured valuable artifacts. The broken arrow symbol marked caches—safe deposit sites, essentially.”
“So Rockwell didn’t find the conquistador gold,” Nash clarified, impressed again by her quick mind and thorough research. “He just … repurposed its hiding system.”
Amy nodded eagerly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe. If I’m right, the Ferrantes somehow discovered the connection between the two treasure hunts.”
“Which would explain why they’ve been watching both families,” Brooks added from farther down the table. He sat between Kensi and his wife, Serenity. “They know we’re all pieces of the same puzzle.”
“Or they think we are,” Marshall cautioned. He had his arm draped casually around Kat’s shoulders, his expression thoughtful. “We still don’t know if these really are connected or if it’s just a wild coincidence.”
“Since when do you believe in coincidences, Marshall?” Ava asked with a knowing smile. “You’re usually the first to say everything is dumb luck most of the time.”
Marshall gave her a half smile, conceding the point.
The conversation continued, theories being proposed and debated while plates were cleared and dessert was served.