Page 24 of Defending What's Mine

Her smile grows even wider, “Yes.”

I’m already coming up with rules and parameters to keep Charlotte safe, before the social director has even written our names down.

Twenty-three minutes later I’m tightening the cinch on a bay gelding named Titan while Charlotte sizes up her mount—Prancer, chestnut, placid eyes. She looks lethal in borrowed riding gear: fitted denim, tailored jacket, low-heeled boots. File under: distracting factors.

“Prancer?” she scoffs, reading the bridle tag. “What is this, a Christmas parade?”

“Could be worse,” I note, adjusting her stirrup length. “Comet’s busy, and Vixen’s wild.”

That earns a reluctant half-smile.

Trail guide signals we’re ready. I position Charlotte behind the lead wrangler, Melanie ahead, myself rear-guard—best sweep for threats. Unlikely out here, but habits don’t die.

We set off. Sunlight knifes through the pines, and the air carries grass and distant salt from the inlet. Birds provide acoustic cover; hooves rhythm steady. For ten minutes it’s textbook serenity. Charlotte relaxes into the gait, shoulders losing tension, voice drifting forward to Melanie in quiet laughter.

I run perimeter assessments… terrain rolling, low visibility dips, two switchbacks that could funnel us. Nothing triggers alarms. Still, I keep one hand loose on the reins, the other near the saddle horn where a compact med kit sits strapped.

My gaze returns to Charlotte, her hair lifting in the breeze, posture balanced and fearless. Charlotte Lane doesn’t surrender to staging or circumstance. It’s… dangerously compelling. Iredirect my focus to the trail, but the admiration file remains open.

And then it happens.

Prancer’s ears twitch, and he snorts, his whole body tensing. I see it before Charlotte does—the snake on the trail. It’s enough to spook the horse, and suddenly, Prancer rears back, letting out a loud whinny.

“Whoa!” Charlotte yelps, grabbing at the reins, but Prancer’s already bolting down the trail.

“Charlotte!” I shout, spurring my horse into action. “Hold on!”

The group scatters, voices shouting in alarm as I take off after her. My horse surges forward, hooves pounding against the dirt, but Prancer is fast, his panic driving him forward at a breakneck pace.

Charlotte clings to the saddle, her knuckles white, her face a mix of fear and determination. “Asher!”

“Just hang on!” I call back, urging my horse to close the gap. The trail narrows, and branches whip past my face, but I keep my focus on her. Every instinct I’ve honed in the military and on the job kicks in, calculating angles, timing, and the fastest way to stop this before she gets hurt.

Finally, I get close enough to reach her. “Charlotte, loosen the reins a little! Don’t pull too tight!”

“I’m trying!” she cries, her voice shaky but steady enough to show she’s listening.

“Good,” I say, positioning my horse beside hers. “Now, on my count, I’m going to grab the bridle and slow him down. Just keep holding on.”

She nods, her jaw set with determination.

“All right,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Three... two... one!”

I reach out, grabbing Prancer’s bridle and pulling gently but firmly. The horse resists at first, his eyes wide and wild, but I keep my grip steady, murmuring soothing words to calm him. Slowly, he begins to slow, his frantic gallop easing into a trot, and finally, a stop.

Charlotte lets out a shaky breath, her hands still gripping the reins. I slide off my horse and move to her side, placing a steadying hand on her arm.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice low and calm.

She nods, but her eyes are wide, and I can see her hands trembling. “I... I think so.”

“Here,” I say, lifting her gently out of the saddle. Her legs wobble as they hit the ground, and I catch her, one arm around her waist to keep her steady. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She leans against me for a moment, her breathing uneven, and I can feel the rapid beat of her heart against my chest. “That was terrifying,” she whispers.

I hold her closer, and everything clicks into place. This is where she’s meant to be. With me. Safe in my arms.

“You handled it like a champ,” I say, giving her a small smile. “I’ve seen seasoned riders lose it in situations like that.”

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