Ryder pulled the coffee pot from its cradle, filled it from the farmhouse sink, and set it back with the steady precision of a man who’d done this a thousand hungover mornings. He spooned in the grounds, the scent of fresh roast unfurling like a promise, slid the filter into place, and flipped the switch. The soft drip and hiss filled the quiet as he braced both palms against the cool granite, his eyes fixed on the view beyond the wide kitchen window—rolling pastureland edged with oak and ...