27. Tess
Tess
I brush Oliver's gleaming coat, releasing tiny particles of dust that dance in the afternoon sunlight.
My hands work with practiced precision, finding all his sweet spots—that place behind his ears where he leans into the brush, the spot along his withers that makes him stretch his neck in appreciation.
The familiar rhythm soothes me as much as it does him.
Here, in this moment of mindless ritual, I can almost forget that everything in my life is about to change.
Oliver shifts his weight, bumping his muscular shoulder against me. It's gentle, just enough to let me know he's getting impatient.
"I know, I know," I murmur, moving the brush faster. "You want to get to the fun part." His ears flick as he hears my voice.
The stable smells like sweet hay, leather, the sharp tang of horse sweat, and that indefinable earthy scent that I love so much.
"You're going to be clean enough for the Queen herself," I tell Oliver, swapping the harder brush for a softer one as I clean his face. He sighs dramatically, shifting his weight again.
My body feels different today, a slight heaviness in my breasts, an unfamiliar tightness across my lower abdomen. At eleven weeks pregnant, there's no visible bump yet, but I know my body is changing. I feel it in the way my breeches sit slightly snugger at the waist.
I run my hand down Oliver's sleek neck, remembering our last jumping session several weeks ago, before I knew about the twins. The memory of soaring over fences, that moment of suspension where we were perfectly in sync, brings a lump to my throat.
As soon as I found out I was pregnant I decided I wouldn’t jump him anymore. The risk of falling off is too high now that I'm pregnant.
"What am I going to do with you, hmm?" I ask, moving to brush his belly. Oliver sucks in air, playing his usual game. I poke him gently in the ribs. "Stop that, silly boy."
He exhales and gives me the side-eye that always makes me laugh. It's easy to forget he's an animal when he shows so much personality, so much awareness.
In a few months, I won't be able to ride at all—too awkward, too risky. I'll be benched until well after the twins are born. And Oliver—young, energetic, and in need of consistent work—will be left without a rider.
The thought forms a knot in my chest. He's just hitting his stride, starting to understand what I'm asking of him in the ring. Our partnership is finally clicking after months of patience and training. And now I have to step back just when we're making real progress.
I pick up a hoof pick and begin cleaning his feet, one by one.
"You need someone to keep you fit," I tell him, setting down his last hoof. "Someone who won't let you forget all your training while I'm on maternity leave."
Oliver snorts, as if understanding my predicament.
A teenager might be the answer—someone young enough to be excited about the opportunity, experienced enough to handle his occasional testing.
There's Emily, the trainer's niece, who rides with beautiful soft hands. Or Zack, who has a perfect position and is always asking questions about training methods. Either of them would benefit from regular rides on a horse of Oliver's quality, and he would stay in work.
But it's not just about keeping him exercised. It's about continuing his education, advancing him in his training.
I gently wipe around his eyes with a soft cloth. His lashes are ridiculously long, his gaze intelligent as he watches me work.
"You'd like Emily," I tell him, scratching under his forelock. "She always has mints in her pocket."
He pushes his nose against my hand, searching for treats.
"Not today, buddy. Sorry."
"It's just temporary," I whisper, pressing my forehead against his. His breath is warm and sweet-smelling. "Just until I'm back on my feet."
But I know it's more than that. Everything is changing, shifting beneath my feet like sand. The symphony position, the pregnancy, Charlie becoming more involved in my life than I ever expected—it's all happening so fast.
Oliver nickers softly, nudging my shoulder with his nose. It's as if he's reassuring me that we'll figure it out together.
"You're right," I say, scratching his favorite spot between his ears. "Everything is going to work out just fine."
I'm just about to grab Oliver's saddle pad when I spot a handsome man striding down the barn aisle.
"Charlie?" I call out. "Oh my gosh! What are you doing here?"
He navigates around a wheelbarrow parked in the aisle and sidesteps a pile of dirty shavings with careful precision.
"Surprise," he says, reaching me and dropping a quick kiss on my lips. "I thought I'd come see what you and Oliver are up to."
I stare at him, genuinely confused. "But your investors' meeting?—"
"I rescheduled it." He shrugs like it's nothing, though we both know it isn't. Charlie doesn't reschedule business meetings, especially not with investors. "Turns out they were all free tomorrow morning instead."
"You rescheduled a meeting to come watch me ride?" The skepticism in my voice makes his smile widen.
"I missed you," he says simply, giving me a tight hug and another kiss. He peers over my shoulder at Oliver who is watching us with pricked ears. "Hey there, big guy."
Oliver stretches his neck, nostrils flaring as he investigates Charlie’s sleeve. Charlie reaches out and gives him a pat on the neck. He then digs into his pocket and pulls out a sugar cube.
“Ooh, he’s going to love you for that. I forgot his treats today.”
Charlie laughs while he gives Oliver the sugar. “Bringing treats is Horse Visiting 101. Learned that I long time ago. Jane had a horse when she was younger that always tried to bite me unless I brought treats.”
"I’d say you’re his favorite person right now," I say. "I'm just getting ready to tack up."
"Can I help?" he asks, rolling up his sleeves with determined purpose. The sight of those forearms—tan against the crisp white of his shirt—momentarily distracts me.
"I’d love that," I say when I regain my composure.
I throw the saddle pad over his wide back. "And now the saddle," I say, turning toward the tack room.
"Let me get that. You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things." His expression turns serious.
"It's fine, I can?—"
"Tess." His voice has a certain firmness to it, a tone that probably makes his employees snap to attention. On me, it just makes me raise an eyebrow. He softens immediately. "Please. Let me do this for you."
I relent, mainly because the genuine concern in his eyes is hard to resist. "It's the Stubben right next to the door."
Charlie returns a minute later, holding my saddle as if he’s handling a newborn. "This thing is heavier than it looks," he admits.
"And that's why women in this sport have great arms," I quip.
He places the saddle on Oliver’s back and then begins to tighten the girth.
"Not too tight yet," I say. "We'll tighten it more before I get on. Otherwise, Mr. Opinionated here gets pissed off."
After I've put on Oliver's bridle, Charlie helps me tighten the girth properly and holds Oliver while I mount. The leather creaks as I settle into the saddle, finding my balance.
I gather up my reins. "We're just going to do some basic flatwork today. Nothing fancy. Hopefully you won’t be bored."
"Don't mind me," he says, leaning against the arena fence. "Pretend I'm not even here."
That's easier said than done. As I put Oliver through his paces—walking, trotting, cantering in careful circles and patterns—I'm very aware of Charlie's gaze following us.
But there's something motivating about his presence too.
I find myself sitting taller, asking for a bit more expression in Oliver's movement, taking extra care with my transitions.
Oliver seems to feel it too, arching his neck and lifting his feet with added flair. Show-off.
"He's trying to impress you," I call to Charlie during a walk break, patting Oliver's neck. "He loves an audience."
Charlie's laugh carries across the arena. "The feeling's mutual. He's incredible, Tess. I mean, I don't know a ton about this stuff, but even I can tell he's special."
The genuine admiration in his voice makes my chest tighten with pride.
Thirty minutes later, I cool Oliver out with a final walk around the arena before halting in front of Charlie. His expression is one of unabashed wonder as he watches me dismount.
"That was amazing," he says as I lead Oliver back to the cross-ties. "The way you two communicate with almost nothing visible—it's like watching some kind of silent conversation."
I loosen the girth. "It's all about subtle cues and communication. When it works, it feels like magic."
"It looked like magic," Charlie agrees, removing the saddle. "And he's really coming along, isn't he? He isn’t nearly as rambunctious as when I saw him at the show.”
I laugh. "That's a polite way of putting it. He still has his moments, but yes, he's growing up."
Once Oliver is untacked and I've sponged off the sweat marks, Charlie produces the rest of the sugar cubes. "May I?" he asks.
I nod. Oliver's lips tickle his palm as he takes the offered treat, his ears pricked forward.
"Good boy," Charlie murmurs, patting Oliver's neck. Oliver leans into his hand, recognizing a potential new treat source when he sees one.
"You've made a friend for life," I say, watching them. "He never forgets who brings the sugar."
After Oliver is fully cooled off and cleaned up, I pour a scoop of grain into his feed bucket, adding the supplements that keep his coat gleaming and his joints healthy. Charlie leans against the stall door, watching him eat.
"I’ve been thinking about what to do with Oliver when I can't ride anymore," I say, clicking the latch into place.
Charlie straightens, brushing a bit of hay from his sleeve. "You mean when you're further along?"