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And then, a tall figure steps calmly into Oliver's path.

Charlie Astor—Jane's older brother and Seattle coffee mogul—stands in the middle of the gravel path with one hand raised confidently, as if catching runaway horses is something he does between board meetings. Oliver miraculously slows to a trot, then stops completely, lowering his head to sniff Charlie's outstretched palm.

"Whoa there, big guy," Charlie murmurs, his deep voice carrying an authoritative warmth. He catches the trailing lunge line with practiced ease, loops it securely, and gives Oliver a firm pat on the neck. Oliver actually leans into his touch like a puppy.

Jane reaches them first. "Oh my God! Charlie? What are you doing here?"

I hang back a few steps, suddenly and acutely aware of my appearance. I’m covered in dirt. My hair has escaped its neat bun to hang in sweaty tendrils around my face. There's a tear in my left jodhpur leg, and I can feel a warm trickle that might be blood on my knee. Perfect. Just how I wanted Charlie Astor tosee me after all this time—like I've been dragged through a field. Which, technically, I have.

"Surprise." Charlie flashes that grin that melts hearts. At six-foot-five, he towers over Jane, his dirty blonde hair catching the morning sun. He's wearing dark jeans and a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, looking effortlessly put-together in a way that makes me feel like even more of a mess. "I had a meeting in Portland yesterday and thought I'd swing by to see my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister," Jane points out, giving him a hug.

"Details." His eyes find mine over Jane's shoulder, and my stomach performs the equivalent of Oliver's earlier bucking routine. "Hey, Tess. Making dramatic entrances, as usual, I see."

I force my feet to move, approaching them slowly. "Not intentionally. Thanks for catching my naughty escape artist." I reach for Oliver's lead, and our fingers brush as Charlie passes it to me. A small electric shock runs through me.

"My pleasure." His smile shifts, softening at the edges. "You're bleeding."

I touch my cheek self-consciously, fingertips coming away with a small smear of red. "It's nothing. Just a scratch."

"And your knee," he adds, his gaze dropping briefly to the torn fabric at my leg.

"Battle wounds," I say with forced lightness. "All part of the glamorous life of an equestrian."

Jane circles Oliver, checking him for injuries with the efficient movements of someone who's done this a thousand times. "Not a scratch on him, the little monster."

Charlie steps closer to me, and I catch the scent of his cologne—something expensive and subtle that makes me painfully aware of how I must smell: horse sweat and arena dirt. "That cut might need attention,” he says, his voice lower.

"I'm fine," I insist, though my knee is throbbing and my shoulder feels like it's been wrenched from its socket.

Oliver nuzzles Charlie's chest, leaving a streak of horse slobber on his shirt. I wince, but Charlie just laughs, a deep sound that vibrates.

"He likes you," I say, tugging gently on the lunge line.

"I've always had a way with difficult cases." Charlie winks and reaches up to stroke Oliver's face, his long fingers tracing the white marking with surprising gentleness. "He’s a handsome devil."

There's something surreal about watching Charlie Astor—CEO of Emerald City Coffee and son of Seattle royalty—standing in the morning sun handling my horse with unexpected expertise. I've known Charlie since Jane and I became best friends in middle school. My parents were going through a messy divorce, and I spent a lot of time at the Astors’ trying to escape the chaos.

"Well, thank you," I say, meaning it despite my mortification. "You saved me from having to explain to the show committee why my horse was rearranging the VIP parking area."

We begin walking back toward the stables, Oliver now docile between us. Jane leads the way, on her phone, presumably messaging her husband, Trey, about the morning’s events. Charlie falls into step beside me, shortening his stride to match mine as I limp slightly.

"So," he says, "Are you still going to be able to show today?"

I nod. "If this one decides to cooperate. First show with him. Obviously going great so far."

"You'll be fine." His confidence seems absolute. "I've watched you ride since you were a kid, Tess. You've never met a horse you couldn't master eventually."

The compliment warms me unexpectedly. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Not sure it's warranted given what you just witnessed."

"One bad moment doesn't define the day." He sounds like he's quoting from a motivational business seminar, but somehow it doesn't come across as patronizing.

We reach the stable area, and I return Oliver to his stall after thoroughly looking him over one more time.

"I should go get cleaned up," I say. "I have to be in the ring in two hours."

Charlie nods. "I'll be in the stands cheering you on."