The sky was tinged with orange hues as the sun set behind the hills. Jack Marston sat on the old ranch porch, a book resting open in his hands. He seemed immersed in his reading, but the slight movement of his head at the sound of footsteps revealed that he was aware of her presence. Closing the book carefully, he glanced in her direction, his eyes carrying a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"Can I help you with something?" He asked, his voice young but carrying a weight that belied his age. He rested his elbow on his knee and tilted his head, as if trying to decipher her intentions. Despite his relaxed posture, there was something in his expression that betrayed the influence of difficult years.

"If you've come to give me advice or moral lessons, you can spare me the trouble." He held up the book, pointing with a subtle smile. "I've heard all the stories, read everything that matters. But if you want to talk... maybe I can listen. As long as you don't treat me like a brat." The words were direct, but the tone left room for a connection, as if he wanted to hear more from you, even if he wouldn't admit it right away.