Wren’s voice carried across the arena, riding the echo of hooves pounding barrel patterns.

“Heard anything from Ryder today?” he called, hopping down from his pickup.

Isobel, perched on the tailgate of Rose’s truck, shook her head. Her eyes stayed fixed on Bella Rose, who was coaxing her gelding into tighter turns around the barrels.

“It’s the anniversary,” Wren said after a beat, his drawl softened by worry. “Day he lost his dad. He’s never been worth a damn at gettin’ ...