After a week that wrung him out like a wet saddle blanket—contracts to sign, investors calling from glass towers in New York, and the roar of another rodeo crowd—Ryder Hayes sat in the narrow hush of an airplane cabin, his forehead leaned against the cool oval of glass. Below him stretched the patchwork quilt of Tennessee and Kentucky—green valleys stitched with brown ridges, the land rising and falling like a worn-out bronc finally given its rest.
Rose had been his right hand all week, sharp as a spur and steady as a seasoned roper. Between the two of them, every last detail had been ironed out. And now Bella Rose, sweet and sly, was running interference—keeping Isobel busy so Ryder could work his plan in secret.
Now, above the clouds, Ryder’s mind turned inward. Luther’s voice echoed i
