Morning came slow, a soft haze lifting over the pastures, dew clinging to every blade of grass like the land had been holding its breath all night. In the round pen, Delilah moved in steady circles under Ryder’s watch, her sorrel coat damp where the early sun caught it. He worked her light, voice low, hat brim tipped forward. Every now and then she’d test him—ears flicking, shoulder drifting in—and he’d bring her back with the ease of a man who knew the difference between a fight and ...