The day unfurled like a worn quilt spread across the Tennessee hills—chores stitched one against the next. Saddles creaked, leather worn supple with years of sweat and sun, as Ryder swung up onto Harley. Isobel settled astride Annie, her seat still learning but steady, the mare patient beneath her. The late-afternoon air shimmered with heat as they rode out to Celeste’s pasture, checking the cattle that dotted the slopes like russet shadows against green.
Ryder and Harley eased a bawling cluster of calves through a gate into a lower field, his rope coiled at his hip though he never needed to throw it. The man rode with a kind of quiet authority that spoke of years in the arena—of gates slamming, chutes rattling, crowds roaring. From her saddle, Isobel admired the unforced poetry of his mo
