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20 years later

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 as Montana Lawrence and her best friends, Makayl and Nicki Kolbaba, strolled briskly down the busy streets of Austin.

Montana's delicately gloved hand rested on the strap of her purse, her posture elegant yet approachable. Makayl, walking beside her, adjusted her own strap with a sigh. "You know the ladies from the New York art society are coming to the socialite club tonight. Are you going?"

Montana glanced at her best friends with a graceful smile, her voice gentle, melodic.
"Unfortunately. Are you two?"

"With Mother and Aunties Lori and Kara, as always," Nicki muttered. "Though I don't see the fuss. Everyone's always in your business."

The blonde laughed, as she adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. "Not to mention, they're narrow minded people having narrow minded conversations. It's always the same story."

"You've got that right," Makayl chuckled as they reached the library. "So—we'll see you later?"

Montana embraced her friends warmly, radiating affection. "Of course. Have a lovely day."

"You too!"

Montana continued on, her pace unhurried but poised. As she passed through town, residents paused to greet her, their faces lighting up as if her presence brightened the street.

"Morning, Miss Montana!" called Mr. Ellison, tipping his hat.

"Looking like sunshine as always!" another voice teased fondly.

Montana returned each greeting with a wave or kind word, never rushed, always gracious.

"Good morning, Ms. Mary!" she called warmly when the mercantile owner opened her doors.

"Good morning, Montana!" Mary beamed, watching her pass with a quiet admiration that mirrored the town's collective affection.

A spring breeze caught in her golden hair, so like her grandmother Ava's, as the bell from the one-room schoolhouse rang out. She turned to see her Aunt Sam LaRusso–Walker gathering children back inside.

"Recess is over, everyone come back inside. Darren, Deacon, Wyatt, come on."

Montana smiled as she walked to greet her aunt, but that smile fell, when she heard a little girl crying. As the blonde sat down beside her, Sam sat down in front of her. "Lilly, what happened?" Sam asked in concern.

"I fell off the swing and broke my arm." Lilly cried as she wiped her tears

"Those silly swings. I fell off the swings a lot when I was little." Montana said

Looking at the beautiful blonde, Lilly asked, "Did you hurt your arm?"

"My arm, my leg my finger..." Montana said

"Twice." Sam interjected with a chuckle

"Touching the little girl on the nose, Montana chuckled. "Even my nose. That's why I was never skilled in karate, even though my daddy, brother, and uncle were all champions. Even Mrs. Walker here was a karate champion."

Lilly laughed as she wiped her tears. "You fell a lot."

"She sure did." Sam chuckled

"Can you wiggle your fingers, little one?" Montana asked as she gently held the little girl's arm in her hand, and she was able to wiggle her fingers. "You know something beautiful, you didn't break your arm, you just bruised it a little."

"So, I can go back to school?" Lilly asked

"Of course you can. Just wash your wound okay?" Montana smiled

As Lilly ran back inside, Montana and Sam stood up. "You are a natural born caretaker Montana Blue." Sam smiled as she embraced her niece. "You can make people feel better when they're hurt and scared."

"Thanks aunt Sam. I'll see you later." Montana smiled, then kissed her cheek. "Love you."

"Love you too, darling." Sam smiled. "Have a great day."

Continuing her brisk walk in town, she saw her father unlocking the doors to his dojo, Eagle Fang Karate. Her smile brightened. "Morning, Daddy!"

Johnny turned, his trademark swagger in the tilt of his stance, but his grin softened instantly at the sight of her. "Morning, sweetheart. Thought you'd be stuck at that clinic already."

"I figured mom wouldn't mind if I stopped to say hello to the world's best dad." She slipped inside the dojo with him. "Sorry I missed breakfast—the girls wanted me at Auntie Amy's and Uncle Derek's."

Johnny shrugged into his gi, grabbing the black headband Stella had given him when he opened the dojo. "That's alright, kiddo. Your mom and I get it."

Montana leaned against the doorway, eyes fond. "You know, you still look cool in that gi, Daddy."

Johnny smirked, tugging the headband into place. "Still? C'mon, princess, I've always looked cool. You just finally noticed."

Montana laughed softly, shaking her head. "Maybe so. But I think Mom gets most of the credit for you keeping it together."

"Hey," Johnny shot back, swagger intact, "your old man does just fine. Don't let the headband fool you—I've still got the moves." He struck a playful karate stance that made Montana giggle.

"You'll always be the coolest, Daddy," she said, stepping forward to hug him. She kissed his cheek, her warmth breaking through every layer of his bravado. "Good luck today. Love you."

His tough exterior melted completely. He hugged her tight, his voice quieter now. "Love you too, honey. Always."

With a final smile, Montana left the dojo, her presence drawing admiring glances from townsfolk as she continued to her mother's clinic.

Pushing open the door, she found Stella at the desk, reviewing the patient schedule.

"Morning, Mama." Montana hung her shawl and purse, her every movement graceful.

Stella looked up, beauty glowing in quiet elegance. "Morning, sweetheart. I was about ready to call your uncle August for a search party."

Montana chuckled softly, slipping off her gloves. "Sorry I'm late. I stopped by to see Auntie Sam—and Daddy."

"That's quite alright, darling. I understand," Stella replied warmly. "Now, if Doc Jackson had been waiting, that would be another story."

Montana tilted her head knowingly. "I don't think he likes women working for him."

"I don't think it's that. He's just set in his ways. Besides, it's about time he retires. Maybe this trip to New York will convince him."

"One can only dream, Mother dear," Montana said with a radiant smile, moving toward the supply cabinet.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

At the Mercantile, Mary and her sister Wilma were busy stocking shelves for the day's customers. Mary, petite with dark hair tucked neatly under her bonnet, worked quickly behind the counter, while Wilma—taller, with fiery red hair that made her the opposite in looks to her sister—balanced the last jar of strawberry and peach jam on the shelf.

The bell above the door jingled.

"Morning, Mary. Morning, Wilma." Nathan greeted warmly as he stepped in with August and August's teenage son, Maverick, at his side.

Mary's face lit up. She hurried from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her gingham apron, and pulled both men into an embrace. "Well, good morning to you three. What brings you in today?"

"Samantha's after another jar of that strawberry jam," August said, voice steady, his tone carrying that quiet patience that seemed carved into him.

"And I," Nathan added with a faint grin, "am after another box of those pastries you keep tempting me with."

Mary chuckled. "Coming right up. Wilma, get Nathan his pastries, will you?" She turned back to the shelf and plucked down a jar of jam. "Here you are, August. Want me to put it on your tab?"

"Of course. I'll be back in next week to settle it."

"Maverick, sweetheart," Mary said with fondness, "is there anything you'd like?"

The boy shook his head politely. "No thank you, Ms. Mary. I appreciate it though."

Just as Mary turned back toward the counter and Wilma disappeared into the back to fetch Nathan's pastries, the bell over the door rang again. A young man in his twenties walked in—tall, muscular, with striking green eyes and blonde hair. He looked about Montana's age.

"Hi there! Welcome to Drummond's Mercantile," Mary said with her practiced warmth. "How can I help you?"

"Hello," the man replied. "I'm Jack Lockhart. I was wondering if the boarding house has a vacancy?"

Mary's brown eyes brightened like she'd just spotted a turquoise necklace on sale. No one had asked about the boarding house in months. "Of course! I can get you registered right away. Now, would you prefer a square view or a forest view?"

"Square is fine," Jack said.

"You've got it." Mary flipped open her ledger, scribbled down his name, and handed him a brass key. "First room on the left at the top of the stairs."

"Thank you kindly," Jack said with a smile.

As he turned away, August spoke up, his tone welcoming but measured. "Welcome to Austin. I'm August Walker, Texas Ranger. This here is my son, Maverick, and my father, Nathan."

Jack extended his hand. "Pleasure. I'm Jack Lockhart. My uncle was Drew Lockhart."

August's expression softened. "He was a fine man. My place sits right next to Drew's. He was a good neighbor."

Jack's eyes carried a hint of regret. "Unfortunately, I didn't have the chance to say a proper goodbye. I was finishing law school. But from what I do remember, he was always kind."

Nathan gave a slow nod, his voice steady with that quiet authority of a man who'd seen much. "He was. A man of his word. Folks here respected him."

"Where are you from?" Maverick asked curiously.

"New York City," Jack said with a faint grin.

Nathan raised his brows. "New York City, huh? I imagine Texas feels like a whole different world."

"Yes, sir. It surely does."

Jack turned back to Mary. "The post office told me I should ask you for directions to my uncle's place."

Nathan stepped forward, his tone practical but kind. "I can do you one better. My truck's parked right outside—we'll take you there ourselves."

Jack blinked at the offer, visibly touched. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Walker."

Nathan gave a small shrug. "Neighbor's neighbor. That's how we do things around here."

"No problem," August added, his voice firm but encouraging. "Go ahead, get your bags upstairs, settle in. We'll be waiting."

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

"All right, George, you're all set." Stella's voice carried calm reassurance as she and Montana helped the older man to his feet. She crossed to the medicine cabinet, her movements graceful. "Doc will be back in a week, but if you get a fever, or if the pain gets considerably worse, come back and see us—even if it's the middle of the night."

"Thanks, Stella," George said gratefully.

"No problem," she replied, handing him a small bottle. "Take a teaspoon of this three times a day until the pain eases. But in the meantime, stay out of that candy jar."

"Yes ma'am. Much obliged." George tipped his hat to Stella and Montana, then left

"Some men never learn," Stella chuckled, shaking her head.

"Yeah," Montana laughed softly, her smile as bright as morning sunlight.

By five o'clock, the mother and daughter had closed the clinic. Montana slipped on her gloves, buttoned her shawl, and perched her beret more firmly atop her blonde hair before gathering her purse. Outside, she embraced her mother warmly. They locked the clinic doors, Stella heading toward the dojo to meet Johnny, and Montana setting off briskly toward the library.

Montana's gloved hand clutched her purse strap, her other hand steadying her beret against the April breeze. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and apples, and she carried herself with the quiet grace of a young woman raised on gentleness and dignity.

She had just turned the corner when someone bumped into her with enough force to stumble backward and land on the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?" Montana bent immediately, her voice soft but urgent, her violet-blue eyes shining with concern.

"No, I'm all right," came a masculine voice. He took her outstretched hand, and in that moment something strange and electric passed between them. Her hand fit his perfectly—as though it had been made for him to hold.

When Jack looked up and saw her face clearly for the first time, it was as if the world tilted on its axis. His breath caught, his heart lurched. She wasn't just beautiful—she was ethereal. Untouchable. Almost otherworldly, like some divine figure walking the earth. Her presence reminded him of old portraits of Princess Diana, of women whose beauty was both luminous and unreachable. There was something in her eyes—violet and blue at once, deep as twilight—that made him feel both unworthy and completely undone. She reminded him of a dream you wake from too soon, a memory that clings to your chest.

"Hi. I'm Jack. Jack Lockhart," he managed, extending his hand again, though his thoughts were spinning.

"I'm Montana Lawrence," she said, her voice like velvet, her smile warm but modest. "I haven't seen you around here before—are you new?"

"Oh. My uncle was Drew Lockhart. I'm just in town to settle some of his affairs."

Montana's expression softened instantly with sympathy. Though she barely knew him, she leaned forward and drew him into a gentle embrace, the kind of kindness that left him stunned. A jolt of heat raced through him at her touch, but he ignored it, overwhelmed by the sheer grace of her gesture.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "My condolences, Jack. Your uncle was a good man. He was neighbors with my grandpa for as long as I can remember."

"Thank you, Montana," Jack said, his voice quiet, his chest still reeling.

When she smiled at him again, it was radiant—so bright, so filled with compassion, he thought he might go blind from it. He knew, absurdly, in that instant: she was the one. His heart had been captured, forever.

"Well, welcome to our small town," Montana said gently.

"Thank you," Jack replied, though what he wanted to say was you've changed my whole life in five minutes.

"There you are!" Makayl called as she and Nicki finished locking up the library. "You ready to walk home?—oh, who's this?" Nicki added with a kind smile.

"Makayl, Nicki, this is Jack Lockhart. Jack, these are my best friends, Makayl and Nicki Kolbaba. Our families have been close forever."

"Pleasure," Makayl said warmly.

"We'll wait for you up here," Nicki added with a knowing grin, tugging her sister toward the Merchantile steps to give Montana space.

Montana turned back to Jack, her lips curved into a soft, apologetic smile. "I really am sorry about bumping into you."

"Don't worry about it," Jack said quickly. "If anything, I should've been watching where I was going."

Montana's laugh was like music. "Well, are you staying at the boarding house?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"You should eat at the Merchantile. Mary makes the best food in town—her strawberry and cherry pies are to die for. But I'd better get going. I'll see you around. Bye, Jack."

"See you around, Montana," Jack said, though his gaze lingered long after she turned. Every step she took seemed to shimmer.

Montana gave him one last smile—vibrant, reminiscent of her grandmother Ava—before joining her friends on the steps.

"You two ready?" she asked softly.

"Of course," Makayl said, hopping up.

As the three started home, Nicki nudged her. "So, tell us about Prince Charming."

Montana blushed, clutching her purse strap with her gloved hand. "We accidentally bumped into each other. He's Mr. Lockhart's nephew. What are the odds?"

"He's cute. And did you not see the way he looked at you?" Makayl teased as they continued their brisk walk home.

Montana said nothing, her smile lingering as her thoughts strayed back to Jack's eyes—and the way, for just a moment, it had felt like the entire world stopped.

"I wasn't really paying attention, Kayl." Montana laughed, adjusting her shawl.

"Well, this is us." Nicki said as the sisters stopped at their house. "We'll see you tonight."

"Bye." Montana gave them a sweet smile, then turned down the street toward the ranch.

Twenty minutes later, she walked up the porch steps of the Lawrence ranch house, slipping her key into the lock. "Mom, Dad—are you two home yet?" she called.

"In here, sweetheart," Stella answered.

Montana smiled as she hung her shawl, beret, and purse on the coat rack, then walked into the kitchen. Stella was opening a strawberry pie from the Merchantile, while Johnny leaned at the table with his coffee and a half-eaten slice already in front of him.

"Hey, you two." Montana beamed. "Daddy, how was the dojo?"

Johnny smirked, that cocky edge still sharp even after all these years. "It was good. The students actually listened for once. Didn't screw up too bad either." He shoveled another bite of pie, washing it down with a sip of coffee.

Montana slid into the chair beside him as Stella cut her a piece of pie. "Did you guys know Mr. Lockhart's nephew is in town?"

"Your grandfather mentioned something," Stella said, setting the plate in front of her daughter before sitting down with them. "But he didn't go into details."

"He said he was here to settle Mr. Lockhart's affairs," Montana explained between bites.

Johnny gave a scoff and leaned back in his chair. "Maverick came into the dojo earlier, said the kid wants to hire people to fix up the old place 'cause he doesn't want to do the work himself. Nathan and August already offered to help him."

Stella arched a brow. "John, that tone means you've got an opinion. What is it?"

Johnny jabbed his fork in the air. "Maverick said he just graduated law school. Doesn't know the first thing about work that gets your hands dirty. Kid's probably some privileged, entitled punk."

"Johnny—" Stella began, her voice soft with patience.

But Johnny cut her off with a shrug. "Hey, I know the type. I used to be the type." His smirk twisted with disgust as he took another bite of pie.

Montana shook her head, her violet-blue eyes shining with amusement. "Daddy, you can't judge someone on secondhand gossip. Give him a chance."

Johnny narrowed his eyes at her, but his mouth twitched into a reluctant grin. "Only you, Princess, could get away with telling me off like that." He ruffled her hair before she swatted at his hand.

Stella hid a chuckle behind her coffee cup.

"Anyway," Montana went on, "are you two going to the dinner at the socialite club?"

"No," Stella said immediately. "Are you and the girls going?"

Montana nodded. "Even if I said no, they'd beg me until I did. So yes."

Stella tilted her head. "What do you plan on wearing?"

"I was thinking Grandma Laura's pink velvet dress." Montana's smile was soft as she sipped her coffee.

"Oh, that dress looks so beautiful on you, sweetheart." Stella reached over, squeezing her daughter's hand.

"Thanks, Mama."

Johnny cut in, pointing his fork at Montana. "Yeah—just make sure no boys are looking at you while you're in it."

"Johnny," Stella scolded lightly, though her eyes danced with humor.

"What? I'm just saying." He leaned back in his chair, puffing up his chest a little. "Not a single guy in this town's good enough for her anyway."

Montana rolled her eyes, but her laugh was gentle. "You're impossible, Daddy."

"Damn right." Johnny smirked, but his hand rested briefly over hers on the table—a small, unspoken reminder of how inseparable they were. She was his girl, through and through.

After polishing off her pie, Montana kissed both her parents on the cheek and headed upstairs. The radio hummed with Frankie Valli's Dawn (Go Away) as she sat at her vanity, brushing on blush with a light hand.

Her phone rang, and she answered, "Lawrence residence, Montana speaking."

"Please tell me you have a backup plan in case those snobby girls from uptown show," Makayl's voice groaned through the receiver.

Montana laughed softly, applying her mascara. "Of course. We'll tell the aunties we have a stomachache and sneak to the diner for cherry malts and fries."

"You and your cherry malts," Nicki chimed in. "What if Christie French comes? You know that snake lives to make everyone miserable—especially since all the boys look at you and not her."

Montana sighed, patient as always. "Nicki, Christie's miserable because she doesn't know how to be kind. That doesn't mean we shouldn't be."

"Why do you always have to be right?" Makayl groaned. "Fine. But we're sitting in the back."

Montana smiled as she applied her favorite L'Oréal lipstick. "See you there."

After hanging up, she stood, slipped Ava's black clutch wallet under her arm, and walked downstairs. While her friends were busy with talk of dresses and club dinners, Montana's thoughts lingered elsewhere—on the Lockhart boy with the warm smile and the way he'd looked at her like she was untouchable.