Ryder stepped out from the dim mouth of the barn, the scent of oiled leather and sweet hay still clinging to him. The late-afternoon light hit the dust motes like gold dust in a prospector’s pan. Somewhere down the gravel lane, the low rumble of a truck grew louder until it rolled into view, paint sun-faded but engine still stubborn as its driver.

Wren swung out from behind the wheel, his lanky frame unfolding slow, one hand lifting to shield his eyes from the glare. A bruised bloom of ...