Dawn eased across the ranch like a whisper, laying its gold over the pastures until every blade of Bermuda grass shimmered under its own jeweled crown of dew. A silver fog rolled low over the meadow, softening the edges of the world. Out in that gauzy light, a rangy little sorrel colt kicked up his heels, snorting steam into the cool morning air.
Ryder sat on the wide-planked porch, mug of coffee cradled between work-rough palms. He watched the foal with the kind of stillness he’d learned in the saddle—knowing some moments, like some rides, couldn’t be rushed. The bitter warmth of the coffee sat heavy on his tongue, grounding him against thoughts that wanted to run wild.
The sound of tires crunching gravel drew his eyes to the long drive. His mother’s old white truck wound its way toward
