Sadie watched him go and figured maybe she should answer some questions, so she could get some answers of her own. Thetrick would be deciding which parts of her past she could share without putting them both in more danger.
She had survived for eight years by keeping secrets. But looking around Nash’s comfortable home, with country music playing softly and the scent of grilling chicken drifting in from the backyard, Sadie found herself wanting to let go of some of that burden. Just a little. Just with him.
She reached for her phone, checking it out of habit. No missed calls, no texts. No one looking for her, except perhaps whoever had threatened her on the phone yesterday. The thought sent a chill through her despite the warm air coming through the open windows.
The timer on Nash’s phone chimed from where he’d left it on the coffee table. A moment later, he came back inside carrying a plate of perfectly grilled chicken, the aroma making Sadie’s stomach growl.
“Perfect timing,” he said, setting the chicken on a cutting board. “Let me help you to the table.”
“I can hobble,” Sadie insisted, but Nash was already there, offering his arm for support.
She stood carefully, putting most of her weight on her good leg, and leaned into him as they made their slow way to the dining table. It was a beautiful piece—handcrafted from what looked like reclaimed wood, with subtle grain patterns.
“Did you make this?” she asked, running her fingers along the edge as Nash helped her into a chair.
He nodded. “Last summer. When we were growing up, my grandfather taught all of us Cross boys how to work with wood. Porter’s the best at it, but I hold my own.”
There was something both surprising and unsurprising about Nash being good with his hands. She’d known the Cross family were ranchers, of course, but seeing evidence of Nash’scraftsmanship added another dimension to the lawyer she’d reconnected with.
Nash served the food—sliced grilled chicken over the organic salad he’d prepared, with a side of fresh fruit. The presentation was as appealing as the aroma.
As Sadie reached for her fork, Nash put his hand out, palm up, in the center of the table. “Do you want to pray together over the food?”
The simple question caught her off guard. In that moment, looking at his outstretched hand, Sadie felt something go soft inside her. After her father’s death, her mother had clung to faith like a lifeline, but Sadie’s relationship with God had been more complicated. Yet here was Nash, offering this moment of connection—not just with him, but with something larger than both of them.
She placed her hand in his; it was warm and strong around her fingers. “I would like that.”
His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles as he bowed his head. “Dear Lord,” Nash began, his voice low and sincere, “we thank You for this food and for Your provision. We ask for Your guidance as we navigate these uncertain days. Protect us, lead us, and help us discern truth from deception. Thank You for bringing old friends back together, even in strange circumstances. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen,” Sadie echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.
When she opened her eyes, Nash was watching her, his gaze soft. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it, the brief moment of contact lingering on her skin.
“That was nice,” she said, meaning it. “I like praying with others.”
“My family always prays before meals,” Nash said, serving himself salad. “Even when my dad was at his most distant, that was one tradition he insisted on. I guess it stuck.” He shrugged.“Even though I don’t do it all the time and I will say that I was grateful you asked us to pray together earlier because I should be praying more for help with everyday things.”
She smiled. “I don’t know if a hunt for gold is an everyday thing.”
He grinned. “You know what I mean.”
She nodded. “My mother used to tell me we should ask to see God’s miracles every day, so I try to do that.”
“I like that. I need to ask for that.”
Sadie took a bite of the chicken, closing her eyes briefly at how good it tasted. “This is amazing.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Nash laughed. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“Clearly.” She took another bite. “So law school, huh? How did that happen? I would have thought you’d stay at the ranch, like your brothers.”
“Porter left, but came back when dad passed away. There was … extenuating circumstances.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, anyways, and Colt and Chance and Blaze were always going to stay in Cross Creek,” Nash said, his expression thoughtful. “Colt loved the ranch, Chance always wanted to be a sheriff. Blaze was determined to be a vet from the time he was six. He shrugged. “I was good at debate in high school, remember? Mrs. Henderson always said I could argue the spots off a leopard.”
Sadie smiled at the memory. “You were terrifying in debate. Poor Ryan Willis never knew what hit him when you demolished his argument about school uniforms.”
