Ryder's gaze drifted to a stiff-bristled brush resting on a hay bale a few feet away. He nodded toward it. "If you want to curry her down proper, darlin', that brush'll do the trick."
Isobel took it in hand, the wood warm from the sun streaming through the loft windows. She began slow strokes along Annie's sleek neck, the mare shifting her weight in quiet appreciation.
Then—without warning—Ryder was there. Close enough that his chest met the line of her back, solid and warm, smelling faintly of leather and cedar soap. His hand came over hers, large fingers curling around to guide her grip.
"Like this," he murmured, voice low, his drawl softened by a Manhattan polish, the kind that could turn boardroom steel into bedroom velvet. Together, their hands moved in steady arcs down Annie's neck, across her shoulder, and along the strong curve of her flank.
Isobel's heartbeat quickened. She tilted her head just enough to catch the breadth of his shoulder, then higher—until she met his eyes. That was all the invitation he seemed to need.
His lips found hers, warm and insistent, and before she knew it, his arm had swept around her waist, pivoting her to face him without breaking the kiss. His palms cradled her face like she was something rare, while his mouth deepened over hers with an unhurried hunger. She yielded, the tip of his tongue brushing hers in a slow, searching stroke.
When they finally broke for air, they lingered close, breathing each other in, their lips curving into the same startled, breathless laugh. Ryder gave her one last look before turning back to Harley, stripping off the last of the tack like he'd done it a thousand times in a thousand barns.
The rhythm of work returned—stalls mucked, feed scooped, horses settled for the afternoon. Then Ryder was beside her again, his hand closing around hers in a way that felt more like claiming than leading, drawing her toward the sunlight spilling just beyond the barn doors.
"I'll get you home," he said once they stepped inside the house, his voice casual but his eyes lingering on her like he was memorizing her shape. In the kitchen, he rinsed out the coffee pot, setting it back on the counter with a soft clink before turning toward her, one forearm braced on the island. "What do you say to dinner out tonight? Maybe rope Rose and Wren into joining us?"
Isobel's smile came easy. "I'd love that."
His answering grin was the kind that carved deep into his cheeks, dimples flashing like an unguarded secret. "Then grab your things. I've got a couple horses to work before tonight."
Upstairs, Isobel found her dress and slipped back into it, scanning for her purse. It wasn't on the nightstand. It wasn't on the dresser. She took the stairs two at a time, but the living room turned up nothing.
"What're you hunting for?" Ryder's voice drifted from the kitchen.
"My purse," she said, pausing as the memory came back. "I must've left it in your truck."
Something flickered in his gaze—quick, unreadable—but she laid a hand over his chest, steady over the thump of his heart. "It's fine, Ryder."
His hand came over hers, pressing it gently against him. His eyes softened, catching hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "You really are somethin' else, Bel."
Then he bent, brushing a kiss to her lips—sweet, lingering, almost reverent—before pulling back just enough to murmur, "You ready to go?"
The leather of Ryder's truck seat was warm beneath Isobel's palms as she tugged her purse into her lap. Fishing out her phone, she froze at the screen—twelve missed calls from Bella Rose and a hailstorm of twenty-one texts blinking like a warning flare.
"Oh, dear Lord…"
Ryder flicked a glance her way, one hand loose on the wheel. "What's wrong, darlin'?"
"Rose has been trying to reach me." Isobel's thumb swept over the messages—Wren home safe, Rose back too—but the rest unraveled in panicked bursts only Bella Rose could compose.
"I'd better call her before she sends a posse."
She tapped the call icon, lifting the phone to her ear. Her pulse ticked high, anticipation running in her veins like a fast horse out of the gate.
"ISOBEL! Where on earth are you?" Bella Rose's voice cracked through the speaker with such force Ryder's mouth tipped into a lazy, amused grin.
"Oh, I'm hitching a ride with Ryder," Isobel answered lightly. "He's dropping me at home now."
"Really? Well, we need to talk. I'm headed to your place—see you in five."
Before Isobel could shape a protest, the line went dead. She exhaled, slipping the phone back into her bag.
"Trouble?" Ryder asked, his voice a drawl wrapped in that Manhattan edge, like bourbon poured over ice.
"No… just Rose in full panic mode because I didn't come home. She's barreling to mine now."
Ryder's chuckle was warm enough to curl the corners of her lips. "When you tell her the story, go easy on makin' me the villain, will ya?"
"She already knows some of it," Isobel shot back with a sly glint. "She was there, remember?"
That gave him pause, a crease of confusion between his brows. "So… what exactly went down last night? I remember the first dance clear as day. After that—"
"Fades out?" she teased.
He gave a rueful nod. "Pretty much."
The miles unwound beneath them as Isobel pieced together the night for him—threading in laughter, small corrections to his memory, and the occasional, "Turn here." By the time his truck eased into her driveway, the edges of last night had taken a clearer shape.
Ryder cut the engine and turned toward her, his expression stripped of charm, replaced by something bare and steady. "Isobel… for whatever I said or did that crossed a line—last night or this mornin'—I'm sorry. I didn't ask you out to make it end like that. I've got my share of devils in the corral, and old habits don't go down easy. But I'm workin' on it."
Her eyes softened. "I'm willing to put my faith in you, Ryder. But if history repeats itself…"
He didn't let her finish. "It won't. You have my word." A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "Let's call today a new beginning."
"A new beginning," she echoed, smiling back.
Ryder slid from the cab, circled to her side, and opened the door, his hand extended like he had all the time in the world. She placed her palm in his, and the warmth of it lingered as they walked together to her front door.
"I've gotta run—got work waitin' on me—but tonight, I'll see you." He bent, pressing his lips to the back of her hand in a gesture that felt both old-world gallant and wholly Ryder.
She stood in her doorway, watching his truck roll away, when Bella Rose's car swung into the drive, all urgency and bright-eyed determination, her steps quick as a skip toward Isobel.