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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐍 began to set as Montana, Makayl, and Nicki stepped into the socialite club. Inside, the dining room hummed with chatter, filled with what Montana considered the most unlikeable—and frankly boring—group of wealthy socialites in Austin.

In the back of the room, however, sat a woman who immediately stood out. Montana and her best friends drifted toward her, joined by Lori, Kara, and Amy, who always seemed to bring a natural warmth wherever they went.

The club's resident doctors' and lawyers' wives wasted no time whispering. They informed the girls that her name was Lydia Walsh, their words dripping with disdain as they sneered that she was "new money." The judgment was palpable; they regarded her as undeserving of the wealth her husband had earned.

Montana ignored them and walked straight over. She extended her hand with a bright smile. "Hi. My name is Montana Lawrence, and these are my best friends, Makayl and Nicki Kolbaba."

Lydia stood gracefully, returning Montana's smile as if greeting old friends. Instead of a handshake, she pulled all three girls into a warm embrace. "Hi there. It's a pleasure meeting you. I'm Lydia Walsh." She turned next to Lori, Kara, and Amy.

"Hi, I'm Amy Kolbaba. I'm Makayl and Nicki's mother." Amy gave her a gentle hug before sitting down beside her daughters.

"Hello, Lydia. I certainly hope we can be friends," Kara said as everyone began to settle into their seats.

"Yes, you can be a part of our friend group. Our other best friend Stella—Montana's mother—will be so happy to meet you. She's the nurse practitioner in town," Lori added, sliding into the chair beside her.

Lydia's face lit up like someone who had just found a diamond bracelet at Tiffany's. "I would like that very much, girls."

Montana gave her a reassuring smile. "Ms. Lydia, please don't pay any mind to the people here. They're very narrow-minded, unable to see people for who they truly are."

Lydia chuckled softly as she stirred the lemon in her iced tea. "Honey, I've always been the type to let things roll off my shoulder. Sometimes it's best. But that's something that comes with age."

"That's what we've tried to tell these girls, but maybe coming from someone else, they'll finally listen," Lori teased, swirling her glass.

The conversation unfolded naturally over dinner. Their table buzzed with warmth in contrast to the stiff formality around them.

"So, Montana, you work at the clinic with your mother as a nurse? And Makayl and Nicki—you're librarians? How do you three like your jobs?" Lydia asked while cutting into her chicken.

Montana smiled, lifting her glass of cherry coke before answering. "Well, I've always loved helping people, but my true goal and ambition in life is to be a physician."

Makayl and Nicki exchanged proud smiles at their best friend's response. " I love my job too. I love supplying our Aunt Sam with endless books for the school." Makayl said

"Sometimes, we'll stop by and the kids will give us hugs," Nicki added.

Amy dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, smiling softly. "That's the fun part about elementary students. They're still at the age where they'll give you hugs."

Across the room, Mrs. Mobley lifted her champagne glass and called out. "Congratulations on your engagement to Cal Blackwell, Christie. You'll be the most beautiful bride in all of Austin."

Heads turned toward the center table, where Christie French—infamous for her cruelty, especially toward Montana, Makayl, and Nicki—sat basking in the attention.

Christie flashed her 7-carat diamond ring with satisfaction. "Why thank you, Mrs. Mobley. After the wedding and a six-week honeymoon in Barbados, Cal and I will be moving to Miami. He'll take over his father's business, and I'll be a housewife in our penthouse."

Makayl rolled her eyes. "I wish she would go now," she muttered.

"Why can't Uncle Johnny just roundhouse kick her in the face?" Nicki whispered, earning a quiet laugh from Montana.

"Well," Montana said gently, "perhaps she'll love it in Miami. I hope it treats her well." She never spoke ill of anyone, no matter how cruel they were to her.

"Well, if you ladies will excuse me, I need to use the powder room." Kara said as she stood up, placing her napkin on the table.

"Oh, I'll join you." Amy said, as she stood up as well. "Well, when you get to be my age, your bladder isn't as strong as it used to be." Lori remarked with a laugh as she stood up and placed her napkin on the table, and the three ladies walked to the powder room.

"So, Ms. Montana, you have a certain look on your—"

Before Lydia could finish, Christie strutted over to their table, her heels clicking like a warning. Flanking her were her three shadows—Liza Ann, Millie Mae, and SueEllen—each one as smug and polished as the next.

Christie looked every bit the conniving snake she was, her nose tilted high, drowning in jewelry, her perfume hanging thick in the air.

With a condescending tone, Christie spoke.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Florence Nightingale and her little bookworms. I see you managed to make friends with the new money too. Disgusting." Her socialite friends folded their arms, giggling on cue.

Montana rose to her feet, calm and poised. "Christie, I know you're expecting me to come back with a snarky remark, but I wouldn't give you the time of day, nor the satisfaction. So, congratulations on your engagement. I'm happy for you. Truly."

Liza Ann wrinkled her nose like she'd smelled something sour, her voice dripping with cattiness. "Well, little miss karate goddess slash flower child, I see you actually managed to wear shoes. Not Christian Louboutins or Jimmy Choos, but you did wear shoes."

Millie Mae tossed her glossy black hair with practiced flair, her smile sharp as glass. "Yeah, didn't they tell you? Hippies aren't welcome in this social club."

SueEllen, the perpetual echo, leaned in with a giggle. "Bless your heart, Montana. You really do try, don't you?"

Montana rolled her eyes, unfazed. "Are you four done? Because we would like to finish our dinner in peace now. By the way, if you don't like the way someone is dressed, you don't have to look at them."

Christie flicked her bright red hair back and lifted her hand, deliberately flashing her massive diamond ring. It was a performance meant to sting, but Montana wasn't impressed. She'd always valued love over riches—a simple gold wedding band would mean more to her than a seven-carat rock ever could.

"Fair enough, Lawrence," Christie sneered.

Makayl stood suddenly, fire in her eyes. "I think it's time you took your broom and flew away before someone drops a house on you."

Nicki joined her, crossing her arms. "Jealousy is a very ugly thing. So are you in that dress and in those heels."

Christie smirked, clearly rattled but unwilling to admit it. She glanced at Montana one last time. "I do hope you find someone who treats you as well as my Cal treats me, and who will buy you expensive jewelry and such. But then again, what can you expect when you come from ranching stock and pathetic karate losers?"

Her three shadows burst into laughter, following her as she spun on her Christian Louboutin heels and sashayed back to her table.

"Don't let her get to you, sweet darlin'," Lydia said kindly as the girls sat back down. "People like her are miserable, putting up a front. You'll see that the older you get."

Montana chuckled, twirling her straw.
"Please. Mountains would have to turn into valleys before I let that old witch get to me."

By the time Amy, Lori, and Kara returned from the powder room, Lydia was preparing to leave. She thanked them all warmly and promised to meet Stella soon. The girls embraced her before she left.

Not long after, Montana rose as well. She slipped her gloves onto her hands, waved goodbye to her friends and aunts, and made her way out.

The valet opened the door of her father's old '93 Dodge Caravan. Montana thanked him with her signature bright smile before sliding inside. She pressed play on her favorite mixtape—her grandfather Nathan's old country collection—and let the voices of George Jones, Tammy Wynette, Loretta Lynn, and Dolly Parton guide her home.

The drive ended at the familiar ranch gates. She parked, switched off the ignition, and walked up the path toward the house.

"Mom? Daddy? I'm back!" Montana called, hanging her gloves and purse on the coat rack before heading upstairs.

Up in the bedroom, Johnny and Stella were propped against the headboard, talking quietly. Stella, draped in her soft Miss Elaine nightgown, looked every bit the picture of gentle elegance, while Johnny lounged beside her with his usual cocky ease. The moment their daughter appeared in the doorway, though, his swagger softened.

"Hope I'm not interruping anything."

Since she was little, Montana had made it a ritual to come in before bed, settle between her parents, and talk about her day. Tonight was no different. She climbed onto the bed, nestled in, and rested her head against her mother's shoulder. "Where do I even begin? Christie French... or meeting Mrs. Lydia Walsh, whom you are both going to absolutely adore?"

"You mean, that mean spirited Christie was there?" Stella asked

"Yes, Mom. And she's engaged to Cal Blackwell, who's just as equally nasty as her," Montana said with a laugh.

Johnny smirked, shaking his head. "Figures. Match made in heaven, those two."

"John," Stella chuckled, nudging him. Then, to Montana: "Don't tell me she was cruel to you?"

"Typical Christie French," Montana said breezily. "She made it very clear to everyone that she and Cal are moving to Miami after the wedding. Hopefully it treats her well."

"Tell me about Mrs. Lydia Walsh," Stella urged gently.

Montana's tone grew thoughtful as she described the kind-hearted newcomer. "She didn't notice—or maybe she just didn't care—but they looked at her like she was undeserving of her fortune. Why would they treat her that way?"

Johnny's eyes narrowed, protective instinct flickering in him. He slung an arm around his daughter, pulling her close. "Montana, you remember me telling you about all those times your grandma Laura and Sid dragged me to benefit dinners at the country clubs in Encino?"

Montana nodded, already knowing where this was going.

"Those people only cared about one thing: money. Who had it, who was born into it, and who didn't belong. I never fit in with them—hell, I hated those nights. Your grandma married a rich prick and thought that life mattered, but it never meant a damn thing to me."

"Daddy—"

"Your father's right," Stella murmured, brushing her fingers gently through her daughter's blonde hair, her every movement regal, soft, unhurried. "There's so much more to life than riches and luxury. Some people just... never understand that."

Montana lifted her head, a smile touching her lips. There was something luminous about her—her beauty carried itself the way her mother's did, quiet but impossible to ignore. "I'm just glad I have you both to keep me grounded. My moral compasses."

Johnny kissed her temple, his voice dropping to something only his girls ever heard. "It's mostly your mom. But we try. Truth is, you've always been a good kid, Montana."

Montana looked at him with those clear, steady eyes. "Daddy, you don't realize what a good man you are."

"She's right, John," Stella said softly, her hand resting over his.

Johnny rolled his eyes in mock protest, but the pride in his face betrayed him.

"Anyway," Montana said, stifling a yawn, "I'm gonna head to bed. I love you both so much."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Stella said, wrapping her arms around her daughter and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Love you too, honey," Johnny said, his embrace firm, protective, unshakable. He kissed her temple the same way he had since she was a little girl. "You know where to find us if you need anything."

Montana slipped from their bed gracefully, pausing in the doorway. The sight of them—her father's arm wrapped firmly around her mother, Stella radiant even in her nightgown, Johnny's edges softened only for them—was everything she carried with her. A reminder that this bond, this love, was more than family. It was home.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Montana lay against her pillows, the lamplight catching the soft lines of her face as she read The Principles and Practice of Nursing, Sam's thoughtful gift. The radio on her nightstand played one of Ava's old stations, faint and nostalgic, filling the room with a gentle hum. There was something quietly regal about her—like a young princess at study, composed, poised, and luminous in her solitude.

A gentle knock interrupted the stillness.

"Come in," she called softly, her voice carrying that graceful ease she always seemed to possess.

The door opened, and Stella entered, her Miss Elaine nightgown flowing around her with effortless elegance. Even in the quiet hour, she carried herself like a queen in repose, calm, radiant, unhurried. She smiled as she stepped in, a small box cradled carefully in her hands. "Hi, honey. I couldn't sleep. I hope I didn't wake you."

"Hey, Mom." Montana closed her book with care, setting it on the nightstand before sitting up. Even the simple motion was laced with dignity. "You didn't wake me—I was just reading and listening to the radio. I hope it wasn't too loud."

"Not at all, sweetheart," Stella assured her, settling gracefully onto the edge of the bed. She held out the box, her eyes shining. "I wanted to give you something."

Montana, always gentle in her manner, patted the spot beside her. When Stella sat down, Montana's gaze softened in curiosity. "What is it?"

"Open it," Stella urged tenderly.

Montana lifted the lid. Her breath caught when she saw the familiar cottage inside—the very music box her grandfather Nathan had given Stella when Montana was still a baby. "You're giving me the cottage?" she whispered, her voice laced with reverence.

Stella's smile was tender. "You knew your father and I would pass it to you one day."

"I know," Montana said, her lips curving into that poised, Diana-like smile, her eyes glistening. "But still... you and Daddy never let me touch it."

"Well, you can touch it all you like now," Stella teased softly. "It's yours. Just... be careful with it. It's delicate."

Montana turned the key and lifted the box. The delicate strains of Marie Osmond's Meet Me in Montana floated through the room. Inside, three figurines appeared—Stella holding an infant Montana, her smile serene; Robby standing proudly at her side; and Johnny behind them, tall, protective, beaming down at the baby with fierce devotion etched even into porcelain.

Montana traced his little figure with one fingertip, her lips parting in a tender smile. "Even in miniature, he's guarding us," she said softly, almost to herself.

Stella's hand rested gently on her daughter's. "That's exactly who he is."

Montana looked up, her poise never faltering, though her voice carried a quiet awe. "Thank you, Mama. I know this cottage means the world to you." She leaned into Stella's embrace, her grace melting into the soft vulnerability she saved only for her parents.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Stella kissed her temple, regal and warm all at once. "Now, get some rest, honey. And don't dwell on what happened at the socialite club."

"I won't, Mama." Montana smiled, luminous even in weariness. "I love you."

"I love you too, honey," Stella said, her voice velvet-soft, her arms tightening around her daughter just long enough to remind her that no matter how graceful, how regal she became—she would always be their little girl.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Back at the boarding house, Jack lay sprawled across the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sleep was impossible. His mind was full of her—the beautiful blonde who had knocked the air from his lungs the moment she appeared. He could still see the way her golden hair caught the wind, the way her smile lit up the world like it had been waiting just for her. But it was her eyes—those hypnotic violet-blue eyes—that undid him. Eyes that looked right through him, like they'd known him forever.

A quiet knock stirred him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened, and August stepped in, carrying a plate of spaghetti carbonara and a small box. His presence was steady, grounded—always the kind of calm that filled a room without trying. "Hey," he said with a small smile. "My wife insisted you eat. Her grandmother's recipe—best carbonara you'll ever have. And Wilma's strawberry-banana pastries. She says you can't skip dessert."

Jack pushed up, taking the plate with a nod. "Thanks."

August set the pastries down and gave him a long, assessing look. "You okay?"

Jack let out a low sigh, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. "I... met a girl today." He paused, then shook his head. "No. Not just a girl. The girl."

August's brows lifted slightly, but his expression stayed calm. He remembered those exact words coming out of his own mouth once, about Sam. "The girl?" he asked, voice quiet, steady.

Jack got to his feet, restless. He walked to the window, staring out like the night might hand him her face again. "You don't get it. She didn't even seem real at first. That smile—God, it's so bright I thought I might go blind. And her eyes..." His voice softened, reverent. "Those violet-blue eyes cut straight through me. For the first time in a long time, I forgot every damn worry I had."

August studied him, his arms folded loosely. He didn't need to ask more. The description alone told him everything. He knew who Jack had seen—Montana. His niece. His sister's daughter. And though a flash of protectiveness stirred in him, it wasn't judgment. It was recognition. Jack wasn't just smitten; he was already gone for her.

"If she's the one," August said evenly, his voice laced with quiet gravity, "don't let her get away. Did you get her name?"

Jack's lips curved into a stunned, almost boyish smile. Saying it out loud felt like an anchor. "Montana. Montana Lawrence."

August nodded, the faintest knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Rest up, Jack. Dad and I'll swing by in the morning, start on your uncle's place." His tone was calm, but his mind was already turning over what he'd seen in Jack's eyes.

"Yeah," Jack murmured, but he was already gone again, lost in thoughts of her.

When August stepped out and closed the door behind him, he lingered in the hallway a moment, thoughtful. He knew what he'd just witnessed—the beginning of something neither of them would be able to undo.

Inside, Jack leaned against the window frame, staring into the night. Thirty miles outside of Austin, Montana Lawrence—radiant even in restlessness—tossed and turned in her bed, her thoughts circling back to him. Two souls, sleepless, caught in the same pull neither could escape.