The sun had dropped behind the ridge, leaving the ranch bathed in a bruised, lavender light. Ryder’s shoulder ached like a bad memory as he eased his truck into the long gravel drive. Dust rolled behind him in lazy plumes, catching the glow of his taillights.

He saw her before he killed the engine—Victoria. Perched on the hood of a low, sleek import that didn’t belong anywhere near red dirt or hay bales. She had one ankle crossed over the other, silk blouse cut on the bias, lipstick a ...