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By late afternoon, the sun has settled lower in the sky, bathing the ranch in that soft golden light that makes everything look a little prettier than it really is. The mountains glow in the distance.

"You're smiling."

I look over and notice Gidge is watching me.

"So are you.”

She bumps her shoulder against mine, and follows my gaze across the yard. Clint is standing beside the smoker explaining something with entirely too much enthusiasm, Tripp is laughing at something Acid just said, while Briggs is pretending he isn't watching me from across the yard.

Gidge's expression softens slightly.

"You happy, Scrappy?"

My eyes drift back toward my alphas.

"Yeah." The answer comes easily. "I really am."

Gidge nods once, like that's all she needed to hear.

Across the yard, Hunter catches my eye. For a second, neither of us says anything, then he lifts his beer slightly.

A tiny gesture, but I understand it.

I smile and lift mine back.

This is my pack… my family. Both of them gathered together beneath a Montana sky. Watching them laugh together, argue together, tease each other like they've known each other forever, I realize something.

I don't have to choose.

Not between Virginia and Montana. Not between the family I was born into, and the family I found.

Somehow, I get both.

And sitting there, surrounded by the people I love most, listening to the sounds of a ranch settling in for the night, I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

Epilogue

8 MONTHS LATER

Autumn

The rodeo grounds are already buzzing by the time I make my way toward the arena. Trucks and trailers fill every available inch of space, horses hang their heads over stall doors, and somewhere nearby, somebody is arguing loudly about stall assignments. The familiar mix of dirt, livestock, leather, diesel fuel, and concession stand grease hangs in the air. Almost a year ago, I would've felt overwhelmed by the noise and movement. Today, it feels like just another weekend with my pack.

That feeling still sneaks up and surprises me sometimes.

Not because Montana doesn't feel like mine, yet. It does.

It's more that for so long, I never really belonged anywhere. I belonged to Hunter, and to the club. But now that’s changed, and as I weave through the crowd, carrying waters and enough snacks to feed three full-grown alphas, people call my name from every direction.

A woman selling tack waves as I pass. One of the pickup men tips his hat. Somebody asks how River is doing. Another wants to know if I'm entering the ranch horse competition next month.

I answer automatically, smiling as I go, because these aren't strangers anymore. They're neighbors, friends, people I see every weekend.

People who know me.

The thought warms something deep in my chest as I step through the gate leading behind the chutes.

My alphas are exactly where I left them.