Isobel’s breath hung suspended in the gilded air between her ribs and throat, caught like morning mist over a Tennessee meadow. The revelation settled heavy as humidity before a summer storm.

“You’ve been hiding this from me?” Her voice carried the weight of betrayal, soft as velvet but sharp as a spur’s edge.

Ryder lowered himself into the butter-soft leather chair beside her—a chair that probably cost more than most folks’ trucks—his knee brushing hers with the same casual ...