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“Put her down,” Asher says. “I’ll hoist you up there, Jaxon.”
I carefully lower myself to sitting on Jaxon’s shoulders and he crouches down until we’re low enough for me to step onto solid ground again. I want to kiss it.
Jaxon stares at Asher. “How do I get onto your shoulders?”
Asher shrugs. “I’m not an acrobat, man. I guess you just climb me.”
Jaxon looks Asher over, head to toe, and shakes his head. “Just do what I did for Honey. Crouch down and I’ll sit on your shoulders, then climb to my feet.”
Asher hunches right down and Jaxon climbs onto his shoulders. Everything’s going as planned until Jaxon tries to stand on Asher’s shoulders.
“Fuck man.” Asher winces and sways. “Are there spikes on your boots?”
“They’re hiking boots. They’re hard-soled.” Jaxon tips sideways as he’s trying to get to his feet and grabs a hank of Asher’s long-ish hair. Asher lets out a banshee-like scream and leans forward as he swipes at Jaxon.
“Let go of my hair, you monster.”
Jaxon, who’s somehow made it to his feet, catches himself on the rock face, his boots sliding off Asher’s shoulders as the big man leans forward and rubs at his scalp.
“It was an accident. If you’d just cut your damn hair, I wouldn’t have had anything to grab onto.”
“He lost a bet,” Clover says. “You can’t blame him for his long hair.”
Jaxon pulls himself up into the eye socket. He’s so high up and the socket is so deep, we can’t see him at all.
We all wait, silent, Asher still rubbing at his head while Clover looks at his bruised shoulders.
“There’s nothing here,” Jaxon calls down. “Just a name and a date carved into the rock. It looks like Chet Vester and the date is 1936.”
“Chet Vester?” Grant narrows his eyes. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”
“Ho-ly shit.” Asher slaps the boulder. “Remember? They took us to the history museum in town for a field trip in fourth and eighth grade. All anyone cared about was the outlaw’s treasure.”
Grant’s eyes go wide. “Yes. We played cops and outlaws for years, and everyone always wanted to be Chet Vester.”
“Either he didn’t know how to spell or weather and time must have changed the carving from Chet Weston to Chet Vester,” Goldy says.
“It’s at the museum?” My blood zings through my veins with excitement. As much as I’d hoped to find the treasure, the odds of it still being out here after however many decades seemed unlikely. “It’s really real?”
“And it’s been there since we were kids,” Goldy says slowly. “Which means while Dad was spending his days tromping through the woods looking for the treasure…”
The smile overtakes me slowly and warms me all the way down to my toes. “It was in the museum in plain sight the whole time.”
I meet the gazes of my sisters and we all laugh together at what can only be described as a fitting punishment for my father.
***
I stare into the glass display case at my grandfather’s loot. There are fancy rings, including a gorgeous emerald one that would still be considered fashionable today, necklaces with sparkling jewels, and gold coins. According to the sign next to the case, some of the stolen goods have been returned to the families Chet Weston stole them from.
What most catches my attention, though, is a miniature portrait of a woman in a blue dress, an elaborate, jeweled necklace around her delicate neck.
“Wow.” Jaxon puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “She looks exactly like you.”
“That’s Grandma Weston.” Sebastian Sullivan joins us in front of the case. We called the cousins to meet us at the museum as soon as we figured out where to find the treasure. “Mom has a picture of the family from back in the day and she’s in it. I hadn’t realized how much she looks like Honey until now.”
“It’s the eyes.” Jaxon rubs my arm. “And the nose.”
He’s not wrong, but it’s more than that. A feeling I can’t describe that draws me to her, connects me to someone from the past who shares my genes.
