The day unfurled like a worn quilt spread across the Tennessee hills—chores stitched one against the next. Saddles creaked, leather worn supple with years of sweat and sun, as Ryder swung up onto Harley. Isobel settled astride Annie, her seat still learning but steady, the mare patient beneath her. The late-afternoon air shimmered with heat as they rode out to Celeste’s pasture, checking the cattle that dotted the slopes like russet shadows against green.

Ryder and Harley eased a bawling ...