Steam still clung to Ryder’s skin as he stepped out of the shower, dragging a towel across his shoulders. He wrapped it low around his hips, the muscles in his back catching the morning light through the blinds. Sliding open the pocket door, he stepped into the small living space of the trailer.

Isobel was by the stove, barefoot, her hair tumbling down her back, wearing nothing but one of his crisp dress shirts — the kind he usually reserved for Manhattan boardrooms, not stockyard ...