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.
“Nash told you all that?” Amy asked, surprised.
“No, but Colt texted Blaze, who told Eden, who told the rest of us,” Kelly explained. “The Cross family gossip telegraph is terrifyingly efficient.”
Amy shook her head, bemused. “I’m starting to realize that.”
“So, witness protection,” Cheryse said as she stirred something that smelled divine. “That must have been so difficult.”
There was no pity in her voice, just simple acknowledgment, and Amy found herself relaxing further. “It was. Is. Especially after my mother died. She was my only connection to … before.”
The women nodded, understanding in their eyes. Amy wondered how many of them had their own stories of loss and reinvention, of finding themselves caught up in something bigger and more dangerous than they’d ever imagined.
“I guess I could go by Amy to everyone,” she said suddenly, the words spilling out before she could reconsider. “That’s my real name.”
The kitchen went still. Sadie’s arm tightened around her shoulders, a gesture of support.
“Amy,” Sierra repeated, testing the name. “It suits you.”
From the doorway came Brooks’s voice. “Is that your real name?”
Amy turned to find him standing there, his expression not accusatory but keenly interested. Behind him were Nash, Porter, and Colt, clearly having been drawn by the sudden silence in the kitchen.
She nodded, suddenly feeling as though she was shedding a skin she’d worn for so long she’d forgotten it wasn’t her own. “Amy Emma Roberts.”
Nash moved to her side immediately, and the simple act of standing beside her rather than in front of her—supporting rather than shielding—made her heart swell with affection.“Amy,” he said quietly, her real name on his lips sending a shiver down her spine.
“Did I miss something?” Marshall asked, entering the kitchen with Trey and the other Stone brothers.
Colt, never one for subtlety, announced, “Her real name is Amy. She’s telling everyone.”
“And Colt punched her boss in the face,” Porter added with a stern look at his brother. He stood with the straight-backed posture of a man accustomed to responsibility, his weathered face showing the years of sun and wind that came with ranch work. Despite his imposing presence, there was a gentleness in the way he looked at his wife—a softness reserved only for family.
The kitchen erupted into exclamations and questions, everyone talking at once.
“Alright, everyone quiet,” Trey commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos with practiced authority. “Colt, explain. Briefly.”
Colt looked unrepentant as he recounted their meeting with Dr. Martinez—how they’d found him waiting, how he’d delivered the Ferrantes’ message, and how Colt had responded with his fist. He stood with the easy confidence of a man who knew his own strength, his ranch-honed muscles evident even beneath his casual shirt. “The weasel had it coming,” he concluded. “Talking about ‘professional courtesy’ while delivering a thinly veiled threat.”
Porter shook his head, though Amy thought she detected a hint of pride beneath his disapproval. “You couldn’t have tried talking first?”
“We did talk,” Colt retorted. “He didn’t listen.”
“Maybe he’ll listen better with a broken nose,” Hunter suggested, earning a sharp look from his wife.
“He clearly deserved worse,” Marshall said flatly.
