Ryder had been up before the sun, the kind of restless that comes when the stakes are high and the blood’s already humming with the promise of the day. Second day of the PBR series—today would seal his standing for the weekend, maybe even shift his season if he played it just right. The air was cool and clean, carrying the faint scent of horses and arena dust, and he let it fill his lungs as he settled onto the top step of his gleaming new trailer.
The gravel crunched soft under a lighter tread, and when he looked up, there she was—Isobel—rounding the corner of Rose’s trailer, sunlight catching the curve of her cheek.
“Mornin’, Isobel,” he said, and his voice had that easy drawl with just enough steel beneath it to remind you he’d been sharpened in the boardrooms of Manhattan. “Seein’ yo
