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.
CHAPTER 11
Nash knew his family meant well, but having them descend on his quiet Salt Lake life felt like a tornado touching down. After the initial shock wore off, he spent the next hour coordinating logistics while Amy helped pack a small bag for their impromptu trip to Park City. The family agreed to head to the property in Park City to get settled while Nash and Amy kept their appointment with Dr. Martinez.
“I’m coming with you,” Colt announced, arms crossed in that immovable stance Nash had recognized since childhood. It wasn’t a suggestion.
“We don’t need a babysitter,” Nash protested, though part of him was relieved to have backup for the meeting.
Colt simply raised an eyebrow. “Consider me security, then. You said yourself this Martinez guy is sketchy.”
Before long, the three of them pulled into the university parking lot, and Nash couldn’t help but feel grateful for his brother’s presence. Colt had that cowboy swagger that intimidated most people without him having to say a word—six feet and two inches of pure ranch-raised muscle, with a jawline that looked like it had been chiseled from stone and a perpetualintensity in his eyes that made even the toughest guys think twice about crossing him.
“So, what do we know about this guy?” Colt asked from the back seat of Nash’s truck, leaning forward between the front seats.
“Department chair of Utah History,” Amy supplied. “Highly respected academic, published extensively on Mormon settlement patterns. Been at the university for about fifteen years.”
“And he just happens to show up at the same mountain trail we’re hiking,” Nash added dryly. “And the same church we attend this morning.”
“Coincidence?” Colt’s tone made it clear what he thought of that possibility.
“About as coincidental as a rattlesnake in your bedroom,” Nash muttered.
Colt let out a low chuckle. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Amy glanced at her watch. “It’s two-fifty-five. We should head in.”
As they walked across campus, Nash noticed Amy still limping.
“How’s your ankle?”
“Feeling better.”
The history department was housed in an older building, its hallways quiet on a Sunday afternoon. Amy led them confidently through the maze of corridors until they reached Dr. Martinez’s office.
“Ready?” Nash asked, his hand hovering over the door handle.
Amy nodded, her expression resolute.
Colt positioned himself slightly behind them, his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.
Nash knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for a response.
Dr. Martinez was seated behind a large mahogany desk, his office well lit and welcoming. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with scholarly tomes and historical artifacts. A collection of antique maps hung in expensive frames, and Nash noticed at least one that featured Utah Territory in its early days.
“Ah, Professor Blair,” Martinez said, rising from his chair with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right on time, as always.” His gaze shifted to Nash, then widened slightly when he noticed Colt looming in the doorway. “I know Nash, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said, a faint note of disapproval in his voice.
“Colt Cross,” Colt replied, making no move to step forward or offer his hand. “Nash’s brother.”
Martinez’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I wasn’t aware this was to be a family meeting.”
“Is that a problem?” Nash asked, his tone pleasant but his eyes hard.
Martinez forced a thin smile. “Not at all. Please, sit.” He gestured to two chairs in front of his desk, clearly intended for Amy and Nash.
