Ryder strolled through the barn in the quiet hour before anyone else arrived for rehearsal. His boots struck the polished floorboards with a soft, steady cadence, spurs giving off a faint metallic whisper with each step. He ran his hand along the cool glass of the new windows, tugged at the brass fixtures where the plumbing lines gleamed, tested the fresh electrical outlets set into timber walls. In the back corner, the new dressing room stood neat as a banker’s office—shiplap walls, its own tiled bath, a place fit for the bride he’d fought his way back from ruin to deserve.
The air was thick with stain and linseed oil, the sharp scent of new wood mingling with the sweet ghost of hay. From the rafters hung paper lanterns in every size, swaying faintly in the draft. A grand chandelier glow
