Page 52 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

The night wind carried the scent of pine, mingled now with fresh paint and Marie’s cinnamon rolls. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called—nature’s watchman keeping vigil as we prepared for whatever dawn might bring.

Above it all, Pine Haven stood proud, its windows beginning to glow with Tom’s stained glass art, telling its story in jeweled light against the darkness.

Tomorrow would change everything.

I just prayed we were ready.

Chapter Thirteen

Amelia

Dawn found me standing before a packed town hall. The familiar creak of wooden chairs and murmur of concerned voices filled the space where I’d attended countless community meetings as a child. Now, FBI agents tried their best to blend with locals, though their too-stiff posture gave them away. Hunter stood at the back, his presence steady as a mountain. When our eyes met, his slight nod gave me the courage to face the crowd.

“Last night’s vandalism wasn’t just an attack on Pine Haven,” I began. “It was an attack on all of us. On everything we’ve built together.”

“Then let us help,” Marie called out. Flour still dusted her apron—she’d been up since four, stress-baking for the community. “We’ve already got volunteers ready.”

Agent Blake stepped forward, her casual sweater a careful choice for blending in. “While we appreciate the community’s support, safety has to be our priority. We believe—”

“That the people who did this might try again,” I finished diplomatically, catching her eye. The morning light through the town hall’s stained glass windows cast colored shadows across worried faces. “We need to be smart about how we proceed.”

Tom Parker stood, his weathered hands bearing decades of working Evergreen’s security. “Smart doesn’t mean alone, Amelia. My boys have been running security in this town since before you were born. Let us work with the authorities.”

The room filled with murmurs of agreement, the sound like an embrace. I watched Agent Blake’s subtle nod—we’d vetted Tom’s security team overnight, finding them as solid as the mountains.

“Alright,” I smiled, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. “Let’s talk logistics.”

The next hour transformed into something I never expected—a master class in community organization. Marie directed volunteers from behind a table laden with still-warm cinnamon rolls, their sweet scent mingling with coffee and early morning mountain air. The local hardware store’s pickup trucks, loaded with supplies, formed a convoy in the parking lot. Every few minutes, another familiar face arrived, each bringing something to contribute.

Through it all, Hunter worked the room with quiet efficiency, helping Agent Blake’s team vet volunteers while making it seem like a casual conversation. His deep voice carried occasionally across the chamber, reminding me of Dad’s at similar meetings years ago. Occasionally, his eyes would find mine across thecrowd, sending silent support that warmed me more than my cooling coffee.

The brass wall clock chimed nine as Claire pulled me aside, her expression unusually serious.

“We need to talk,” she whispered, gesturing to a quiet corner of the chamber. “About Crystal Ridge’s offer.”

I noticed Hunter positioned himself nearby—close enough to watch for threats, but far enough to give us privacy. The morning sun through the tall windows caught his profile, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

“Agent Blake thinks I should take it,” Claire said without preamble, her fingers nervously tapping her ever-present tablet.

“What? No—”

“As an informant.” Her smile held none of its usual mischief. “They’re getting desperate, making mistakes. Having someone on the inside...”

“It’s too dangerous.” My voice caught, remembering Mom’s letters about operating from the inside.

Before I could argue further, the heavy wooden doors crashed open. The sound echoed off pine-paneled walls like a gunshot, making several FBI agents reach instinctively for weapons. My heart stopped.

Michael stood in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun, looking thunderous. His suit was rumpled from travel, his tie askew. He must have driven straight through from DC.

“Would someone,” he said too quietly, reminding me painfully of Dad’s rare moments of anger, “like to explain why I had to hear about death threats against my sister from a DC news report?”

Hunter moved toward us, automatically angling to shield me, but I shook my head slightly. This was my battle.

“Because,” I said clearly, drawing strength from the familiar scent of pine and paper that permeated the old town hall,“I’ve been a little busy coordinating with the FBI’s investigation into Crystal Ridge Development’s history of criminal property acquisition.”

That stopped him short, his briefcase hitting the hardwood with a thud. “The FBI?”

“Perhaps we should talk privately, Mr. Horton,” Agent Blake suggested. “The town hall has a conference room we can use.”

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