Isobel’s heart hammered like a spooked bronc in a chute. Her stomach twisted, rebellion against the words that had just left Ryder’s mouth.

“I can’t ask you to do that, Ryder. You love bull riding. It’s your whole life.”

His eyes—dark, steady, full of the kind of certainty a man only finds when he’s already fought the fight in his soul—didn’t waver.

“You’re not asking me. And it’s not my whole life—you are.”

She gasped softly, voice trembling as though her body ...