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𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐀, Makayl, and Nicki strolled down the lively street of Austin, the bustle of the city swirling around them. Even among the crowds, Montana carried herself with a quiet elegance that turned heads. Her delicately gloved hand rested lightly on the strap of her blush-pink purse, and her soft beret—pale rose and perfectly perched—framed the fall of her golden hair. There was something in her presence, that gentle dignity, that reminded everyone who passed of grace itself.

"The dinner was interesting last night, huh?" Makayl said, adjusting her raspberry beret with a knowing smile. "I think you handled it quite well, considering wicked Christie and her bratty friends."

Montana turned toward her, her voice soft, her words touched with that disarming composure. "Maybe they'll join her in Miami," she said, "and they'll grow to love it like she will."

Makayl laughed, shaking her head. "Hopefully so. I just don't understand why she has to be so cruel to everyone around here."

Nicki chimed in, smirking. "She and Cal Blackwell are a match made in Heaven."

A quiet laugh slipped from Montana, light but knowing, her violet-blue eyes glimmering as she glanced at her friends. "Yeah... So, what did y'all think about Mrs. Lydia Walsh?"

"I loved her," Makayl said warmly. "I think she'll be a great addition to our friend group."

"Me too," Nicki agreed. "I can't wait for her to meet Aunt Stella and Aunt Sam."

Montana's laughter bubbled again, her hand brushing the strap of her purse in that unhurried, graceful way of hers. "Me too. Something tells me the three of them will get along well."

As the trio reached the steps of the library, Makayl stopped and turned, smiling. "Well, this is us. See you later."

Montana embraced them both, her presence warm, her voice gentle but sure. "Bye. I love y'all too. Have the best day."

"You too!" Makayl and Nicki called back as they slipped inside the library, leaving Montana on the street bathed in sunlight—radiant, composed, her very silhouette touched with that rare kind of grace that could not be taught.

Montana continued her brisk walk down the busy streets of Austin, her steps light yet purposeful. The pale pink beret sat perfectly upon her golden hair, its soft shade echoing the tailored elegance of her outfit. She carried herself with an unassuming grace, a kind of quiet radiance that turned heads without her ever trying.

"Young miss! Hello, young miss!" a masculine voice called.

Montana turned, her hair catching the warm Austin breeze, her expression instantly softening into a warm, compassionate smile. "Yes? Can I help you?" she asked, her tone both gentle and assured.

An older man, dressed in the formal precision of a butler, stepped forward. His cheeks were withered, his voice touched with a Bostonian dialect. "Is there a doctor in town?"

Her posture straightened with attentive grace as she moved toward the sleek Mercedes-Benz idling nearby. "Yes, are you two gentlemen hurt?" she asked, her tone calm, soothing.

"No, not me. My employer, Mrs. Stafford-Smythe, has grown gravely ill," the man explained. "We were passing through, when she became ill."

Montana lowered herself into the car beside the elderly woman, her movements careful, dignified, almost regal. Taking the woman's pulse, she looked up at the butler with clear, steady eyes. "How long has she been like this?"

"An hour or so, miss."

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The Mercedes-Benz rolled to a stop in front of the clinic, where Doctor Jackson and Stella stood outside. Stella, radiant even in her simplicity, held herself with that same natural grace as her daughter — poised, compassionate, her presence grounding.

Montana emerged from the car, her smile small but reassuring. "Mom, doc, I've got a patient for y'all."

Together, Windsor and Montana lifted Mrs. Stafford-Smythe with delicate care, while Stella opened the door, her touch light but commanding.

"All right, put her on the table," Dr. Jackson instructed.

Montana never let go of Mrs. Stafford-Smythe's hand, her violet-blue eyes filled with quiet concern. "Her breathing is fine, pulse is steady," she said softly, yet with certainty. "Her skin's clammy to the touch, doc."

"She began slurring her words, and her sentences didn't make sense, then she collapsed," Windsor added, worry clouding his face.

"Had she been drinking?" Dr. Jackson asked.

"Seriously? Are you kidding me?" Stella's brows arched with indignation, though her voice carried her unshakable poise. "She doesn't look like an alcoholic, Doc."

"Of course not!" Windsor protested. "Mrs. Stafford-Smythe has an occasional glass of Sherry, but she is a lady."

Montana's concern deepened, but her voice remained steady, her tone thoughtful. "Y'all think she had a stroke?"

"It's possible," Stella admitted, slipping an arm around her daughter's shoulders, her grace infused with maternal strength. "There's not much we can do until she comes to. We'll have to move her to the back room, and keep her comfortable. We'll have Montana sit with her until then, all right?"

"Thank you, madam," Windsor said, bowing his head.

"Of course." Stella's smile was gentle, her presence reassuring. She turned to her daughter with quiet confidence. "Montana, you want to help me?"

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Later that afternoon, Mrs. Stafford-Smythe stirred. Montana was already at her side, her posture attentive, her hand softly resting over the woman's. "Mom, Dr. Jackson, she's awake," she called, her voice carrying hope threaded with concern.

"Heaven's sake," Mrs. Stafford-Smythe murmured, her words slurred as she tried to sit up.

Dr. Jackson and Stella entered, Stella immediately stepping beside her daughter, her presence regal yet maternal, like a pillar of calm.

"Mrs. Stafford-Smythe, my name is Dr. Jackson, and I believe you've had a stroke," Dr. Jackson said.

"My photos. Bags."

"All right, Mrs. Stafford-Smythe, I need you to stay calm for me, all right? This is not good for you, ma'am."

Windsor set her belongings beside her. "I have your bag, madam, right here. All your things are inside."

"Her speech has been impaired," Montana observed, her hand steadying the frail woman's shoulder, her concern evident but her voice soft, encouraging.

"Well, I don't think it's as bad as it could have been," Dr. Jackson said.

Stella's brow arched in quiet skepticism, though she remained graceful in her silence.

"Hopefully the slurring will diminish pretty quickly, and she'll regain coherent speech," he continued.

"Dr. Jackson, there's some paralysis on her right side, but her left side seems unaffected," Montana said carefully, her tone calm yet incisive. "As soon as she's well enough, I could help her do some physical therapy."

"She will need someone with her constantly, doc," Stella added, her arm still lightly encircling her daughter in solidarity.

"Until we get a better grasp of her physical limitations," Dr. Jackson agreed.

"I won't leave her side, doctor," Windsor promised.

"It should be someone with at least rudimentary medical knowledge." Dr. Jackson turned to Montana. "Montana, you'll help Mrs. Stafford-Smythe with her physical therapy."

Montana's chin lifted slightly, regal in her quiet acceptance, her compassion shining through her poised smile. "I accept, Dr. Jackson."

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"I still don't understand Dr. Jackson's whole attitude," Kellie said as she stirred the pot and kept dinner warm on the stove.

"Mama said it best when she said he's just set in his ways," Montana replied softly as she set the table, her every movement deliberate, graceful, her violet-blue eyes thoughtful.

"He didn't have to be so harsh about it," Sam muttered, tossing silverware down with a sharp clink. Her Cobra Kai bite was all there, but the frustration carried loyalty too—anger on Montana's behalf.

"It took everything I had to bite my tongue," Stella admitted gently, her voice calm but firm, her presence steady like a queen holding court. She smoothed a napkin onto the table with elegance. "I'll be glad when he retires."

"Little Blue, you are going to prove yourself so indispensable, he will realize he's wrong," Hailey said warmly as she pulled butter from the fridge and set it on the table.

"That's the idea," Montana said with a small, regal smile, though her composure revealed her deeper concern. She walked toward the sideboard to fetch plates—only to pause, brow arching delicately. "Auntie Kellie, there's one too many plates for the table."

"We have a guest joining us for dinner," Kellie explained, setting the fried chicken down.

"Ugh, finally," Lori chimed in as she breezed into the room. "I was dying to meet this mysterious guest. If it's some cranky old doctor, though, I'm out." She tossed her hair back and winked at Montana. "Sweetie, you deserve better company than that."

"Lori," Kara chided gently, slipping in behind her sister with far calmer grace. "Let the poor guest sit down before you pass judgment."

Amy leaned against the counter, arms folded, her gaze sharp and intuitive as always. "Whoever the guest is, they'll learn pretty quickly this isn't just dinner. This is family." Her voice was low, steady, carrying weight that went beyond the words. She glanced at Montana knowingly. "And they'll see just how much light you carry, sweetheart. Anyone with eyes will."

Montana's cheeks warmed, though her poise remained intact. She looked around at the circle of women she loved—her mother, her godmothers, her aunt Sam, and great aunt Kellie—and let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a prayer. "Then I suppose we should make sure the guest feels welcome."

Johnny, Robby, Nathan, August, Maverick, Carter, Clay, JB, Derek, and Jack stepped through the front door, boots thudding softly against the hardwood.

"Sorry I'm late," Clay rumbled, taking off his cowboy hat and hanging it on the coat rack.

"Hey, Mom. Hey, Aunties. Hey, Cousin." Maverick grinned, his easy charm filling the kitchen as he embraced his aunts and cousin in turn.

"Hey, Cousin. Hey, big bro." Montana's voice carried that gentle, regal grace as she hugged both her brother and her cousin.

"Hey, sis." Robby pulled his baby sister into a tight hug. "Mom told me about Mrs. Stafford-Smythe. That doc says you're in charge of her therapy. She's in good hands."

"Thanks." Montana's smile softened as she leaned into her father next, her voice tender. "Hey, Daddy."

"Hey, sweetheart." Johnny's hard edges melted instantly as he kissed her temple, holding her with a softness he saved only for her and Stella.

"Jack, c'mon in. I want you to meet everyone," Nathan said, steady and commanding with that Texas Ranger weight of authority. He gestured toward the kitchen. "This is my sister-in-law, Kellie."

"Hello, welcome to our home," Kellie greeted warmly, pulling Jack into a motherly hug before turning back to stir at the stove.

"My daughter, Stella Lawrence," Nathan continued.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Austin," Stella said, regal yet gentle, standing close to Johnny and Montana.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lawrence." Jack smiled, polite and a touch nervous.

"This is my granddaughter-in-law, Hailey," Nathan introduced.

"How do you do?" Hailey asked sweetly, shaking Jack's hand with grace.

Nathan gestured toward the others. "Lori, Kara, and Amy."

"Hi, Jack. Welcome," Lori smiled. "Austin's been waiting for some fresh energy."

"Nice to meet you," Kara added, cool and poised. "You'll find the Lawrence family keeps life... interesting."

Amy gave him a thoughtful smile. "Don't let them scare you. We're not that intimidating once you get to know us."

"And this," Nathan said at last, "is my granddaughter, Montana."

Montana's smile bloomed—radiant, gentle, and poised. She extended her delicate hand. "It's wonderful to see you again, Jack."

Jack took her hand carefully, his grip respectful. "It's wonderful to see you again as well."

Johnny's head snapped between them, his protective edge surfacing sharp. "Wait a minute— You two know each other?"

"We've been acquainted, yes." Montana's reply was calm, regal. "We bumped into each other on the way home."

Johnny narrowed his eyes, shifting his stance like he was ready for a fight. "Acquainted? What the hell does that mean? You just 'bump into' my daughter and suddenly you're here at Clay and Kellie's dinner table?" His voice had that hard edge, but underneath it was the raw pulse of a father who loved too deeply.

"Easy, Johnny," Stella murmured beside him, her hand brushing his arm with gentle grace.

August crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. "She said bumped into, man. You're making it sound like a crime scene."

Derek chuckled, easygoing. "Don't take it personal, Jack. That's Dad mode. It's all bark."

"Yeah," Lori smirked, "except when Johnny does it, it feels like bite."

"Protective's the right word," JB drawled, slow and serious, his eyes fixing on Jack. "Man's a wall when it comes to his girls. Best you understand that up front."

"Don't scare him too bad," Amy said softly, nudging Derek's arm.

Kara tilted her head, voice cool and precise. "Scaring him's half the point, isn't it? Actions speak louder than words."

Carter finally spoke, calm but pointed. "Jack, don't sweat it. Everyone gets put under the Johnny microscope eventually. It's like a family tradition at this point."

Johnny's glare sharpened on Jack, heat radiating like a brand. "You're gonna earn my trust, kid. And until then? You don't so much as look sideways at my daughter."

Clay set down his hat on the counter, gravel in his tone. "He's not jokin'. You want a place here? You show it. Otherwise, stay outta the way."

Nathan's voice came low and commanding, cutting through the charge in the room. "Johnny."

Johnny exhaled hard through his nose, but his eyes never left Jack.

Kellie turned from the stove, her voice the only one light enough to break through. "Well, you two can tell us all about it over dinner. It's ready—something simple tonight. Fried chicken."

After plates were loaded, wine was poured, and the food was blessed, the group began eating.

Maverick went to reach for a biscuit, until—

"Maverick, honey, guests first," Kellie chided gently.

Montana, seated between her father and her brother, picked up the basket and turned with her calm, regal grace. "Would you like a biscuit, Jack?"

"Thank you." Jack smiled as he took one. His eyes flicked toward Montana with polite gratitude, though his look lingered a fraction too long.

Johnny saw it. His jaw tightened, and he shot Jack a hard glare across the table—a silent knock it off—before stabbing at his fried chicken like it had personally offended him.

Jack, either nervous or just nervous said, "Montana, August told me you took care of my uncle in his last few weeks. That was very kind of you."

Montana gave him a warm, compassionate smile that made his chest flutter. "He was a very kind man. I just wish there was more we could have done for him."

Johnny slammed his glass down just hard enough to rattle the silverware. "So tell me, you bumped into my daughter the other day. Don't you watch where you're going?" His voice was sharp, protective.

"Oh boy," Clay muttered around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, his tone low and gravelly. "Here we go..."

"Daddy, it's alright." Montana laid a calming hand on her father's arm. "It was an accident."

Johnny scoffed, leaning back in his chair but never taking his eyes off Jack. "Mm-hm. My nephew tells me you wanted to hire someone to fix up your uncle's place instead of doing it yourself. What's the reason for that?"

August, sitting beside Sam, let out a sigh. "Seriously, Johnny?"

"John." Stella's gentle but firm tone carried a warning. "Don't start."

Jack cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure under Johnny's stare. "Actually, sir, I just graduated from law school. I know all about writs and torts, and the right of habeas corpus—but nothing about working a ranch."

Montana chuckled softly, patting her father's shoulder as she picked at her chicken. Johnny didn't laugh—he was too busy shooting another hard look at Jack, making it crystal clear: quit looking at my daughter like that.

Lori leaned forward trying to break the tension. "A lawyer, huh? Love that. But Texas isn't all courtrooms and case law, honey."

Kara smirked, smooth and polished. "What she means is—you'll have to prove you belong here. And that takes more than books."

Amy, softer, gave Jack a reassuring nod. "Don't let them rattle you. Just be yourself. That's all that matters."

Carter, seated next to Lori, lifted his glass. "Jack, you'll be fine. Everyone goes through the Johnny Lawrence interrogation at some point."

"Speak for yourself," Derek laughed, leaning back with cowboy ease. "I'm still in it."

JB set his glass down, his drawl steady. "Nothin' wrong with a man protectin' what's his. You wanna be around Montana—even just as a friend—you'd better respect that."

Clay finally looked up from his plate, voice gravelly and final. "Words don't mean much at this table, boy. You want trust, you earn it." He went right back to eating like nothing had happened.

Montana glanced at Jack, offering a small, composed smile, as if to assure him she wasn't rattled by her father's intensity. Jack managed a polite nod back, though Johnny's glare burned hot, making it clear: acquaintance or not, he was watching.

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After dinner, the men stepped out onto the front porch, their boots thudding softly against the old wood as low conversation drifted through the air. Inside, the kitchen buzzed with the quiet rhythm of cleanup.

Montana moved with her usual grace, stacking plates neatly, but her mind was elsewhere—on Mrs. Stafford-Smythe, on the responsibility she'd been given... and on Jack.

"The front porch look dreamy to you, or is that just me?" Sam smirked, handing her a plate with a sharp little smirk

Montana blinked, caught off guard, and turned. "I'm sorry, Aunt Sam—did you say something?"

"Oh, don't play that." Sam arched a brow. "We all saw you and Jack doing the whole eye-contact thing."

"Exactly." Hailey chimed in from the table as she wiped it down. "It wasn't subtle."

Montana lifted her chin, regal even in defense. "Hailey, we weren't looking at each other any kind of way."

"Mhm." Stella hummed knowingly, her movements elegant as she slipped condiments back into the fridge.

"We weren't," Montana repeated, stacking the plate with meticulous precision.

"Yeah, okay," Kellie chuckled, drying her hands on a towel. "We were your age once too, honey."

Lori leaned against the counter, tossing her blonde hair back. "Babe, come on. There's nothing wrong with noticing a cute guy. You're gorgeous. Of course he'd look at you."

Montana sighed, exasperated but unable to hide a flicker of a smile. "That's not the point. Why does he have to be so good looking?" She groaned, then quickly shook her head. "No. That's the last thing I should be thinking about right now. I just got the job of my dreams. Tending to Mrs. Stafford-Smythe—that's one step closer to medical school."

"Ambition first. Men second." Kara said

Amy leaned against the counter, calm and thoughtful. "Sometimes the right people appear exactly when they're meant to—even if you don't know why yet."

Montana glanced at her mother, who gave her a composed, reassuring smile. "You're right to focus, darling. But don't be so hard on yourself for noticing someone. It doesn't make you less committed—it just makes you human."

Sam, drying another plate with sharp movements, glanced up at Montana. "And just so you know... if you ever did get involved with someone, you already know how your father—or anyone protective like him—handles things. I've seen him chase off plenty of good guys before. He's like a hawk. You get the idea."

Montana let out a small, rueful laugh. "Trust me, Aunt Sam, I'm not planning on giving anyone new reason to worry. Least of all him."

Lori smirked. "Wise girl. Keep your head, play the long game. That's how you survive family dinners like this."

Kara added, cool and polished. "And observe quietly. Sometimes that's more useful than jumping in headfirst."

Amy nodded slightly. "And if you ever feel the tension creeping in, just remember—you have a lot more control over your world than anyone else realizes."

Montana absorbed the advice, her regal composure intact even as her mind wandered. The kitchen hummed with the rhythm of family, the warmth of conversation, and the subtle weight of lessons learned from the women around her.

Meanwhile, on the front porch, the men were leaning against the railing, beers in hand, listening to the old radio crackle softly in the background. Robby and Jack were standing slightly apart, deep in conversation.

"You know, I'd be happy to help you, August, and Nathan fix up Drew's place," Clay said, voice low and gravelly

"I'll do it as well," Robby added, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Would you?" Jack asked, his tone cautious but polite. Robby just nodded.

"Thank you. I'll pay you both, of course."

"That's very kind of you, but there's no need," Clay said, voice firm but calm.

"I can't let you both work for nothing, Clay," Jack replied, persistent.

"You'd be allowing us to repay a debt to a good friend," Clay said, his eyes steady on Jack, measuring him.

"Thank you all," Jack said, sincerity in his tone.

"Of course," Robby said. "We'll see you first thing in the morning. By the way..." He paused, smirking slightly, "I saw the way you looked at my sister."

"What?" Jack asked, caught off guard.

Robby chuckled. "Yeah. My dad's protective, for sure. Montana's got that regal, calm side, but don't let that fool you. She's got fire. Rodeo fire. You'd better be ready for all of that."

Jack's gaze flicked toward the house, catching Montana's violet eyes for a brief second. Her composure was flawless—graceful, serene... but there was a spark of strength in her look that made his chest tighten.

JB, leaning on the railing chuckled. "Kid, let me tell you—she's the real deal. Gentle, graceful, polite... but push her wrong, and she'll run you over in the arena or on the street. Just keep your head straight, and don't get in her way."

Derek raised his beer. "She doesn't need saving; she's the one saving herself."

Robby smirked, taking a sip of his beer. "Still... don't get too cocky. My dad—or any of us—won't let anyone cross the line."

Clay's voice rumbled again, low and serious. "Jack, she's kind. She's regal. But she's also smart and doesn't take shortcuts. Step out of line, and you'll feel it. Got it?"

Jack swallowed, nodding. "Understood. I won't forget it."

JB laughed softly. "Don't worry, kid. You'll survive if you remember one thing: she's a lot of things... but she'll always respect a man who respects her."

Derek added with a grin, easygoing as ever, "And if you screw it up? You'll know—fast. Rodeo lessons translate to life lessons."

Robby chuckled again. "Yeah. Just remember: her grace is the first thing you notice. Her fire is the second. And that second one? It'll catch you if you're not careful."

The men shared a quiet laugh, the night stretching around them, beers in hand, radio humming softly, and Jack realized that helping fix Drew's place wasn't just a job—it was a test of character in a family that didn't hand trust lightly.