Isobel and her family rose to their feet, voices lifting in thunder as Ryder strode across the dirt. He wore his black Wrangler shirt stitched heavy with sponsor patches, jeans broken in just right, and black leather chaps that gleamed under the lights. A man could spend a lifetime trying to strike that balance between grit and polish, but Ryder wore it like second skin. He doffed his black felt hat, sweeping it toward the crowd with a billionaire’s composure and a cowboy’s ease, his gaze cutting through the noise until it landed squarely on Isobel.
She pressed her hands to her heart, blowing him a kiss. Ryder, eyes dark and burning, mirrored her gesture with a tilt of his mouth before settling the hat back onto his head.
The roll call of names marched on, rider after rider, until forty
