Isobel had been drinking in the scene so deeply—every thrum of boot heels on packed dirt, every brassy cry from the announcer, every glint of sunlight off silver conchos—that she didn’t register the subtle shift beside her until a warm whisper brushed her ear.

“So,” Bella Rose drawled, her voice the low hum of mischief, “you enjoying it?”

Isobel startled, breath catching in a little gasp before she turned. “Lord, Rose—you nearly stopped my heart.”

Bella Rose tipped her ...