Ellie headed toward the break room. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the wooden floorboards as she made her way straight to her locker.

She glanced at the cheap, plastic sports watch on her wrist—the tan strap nearly scrubbed white.

07:05. She was supposed to be halfway through her chores.

Dammit, she swore silently. I shouldn't have been up so late. Dad warned me to go to bed early.

She yanked open the metal door and dumped her study material on the shelf.

The empty rail inside caught her eye and her heart sank.

Panic prickled the hair on the back of her neck.

No. No. No.

This can't be happening.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She distinctly remembered thinking she should wash her coveralls, but after last night's argument with her father... she must have forgotten.

As head groom, he'd already issued her a written demerit for being late twice the week before—and he hadn't been quiet about how furious he was.

Her gaze darted to her stepsister's locker.

Jaden always has spare coveralls.

Grabbing a pair of grubby boots, Ellie hesitated only briefly before opening the locker and pulling out a dark blue coverall.

She avoided her own blue-gray eyes in the locker mirror but caught a glimpse of her pale complexion and the dark circles beneath them.

A few dark blond hairs had already escaped her hastily made bun, held together with a plain black elastic band, but she didn't bother to fix it.

Not wearing a pair of coveralls is an automatic demerit, she justified. Wearing the wrong pair is less serious—even if they're the wrong color. Jaden's a junior trainer after all, not a groom.

She tugged the one-piece over her shorts and crop top, jamming her feet into her wellies.

As she stepped outside, her gaze automatically wandered to the paddock—and her brow furrowed.

It was empty, and the gate wasn't closed.

It's Tuesday, she realized, her stomach sinking. I'm late, and Rollo got impatient. The damned critter loves being groomed, and he probably found a way to open the gate.

This is bad.

She lengthened her stride, stopping only briefly outside the enclosed wash bay to tuck the overlong pant legs into her boots.

I don't want to get them dirty. Jaden already be furious enough.

She went into the building, grabbed a lead, and entered the well-lit room.

The massive black horse stood in the corner with his nose in a bucket, happily munching on whatever the dietician deemed a fitting morning snack.

Her gaze, however, drifted past him to the large opening at the rear.

The smell hit her even before she noticed the steaming pile at the wash bay exit.

It was the one spot on the floor with spaced boards where the water could filter down into the drainage system below.

She couldn't sluice it away. To pick it up would be a nightmare—with half of it likely seeping through the cracks and stinking up the place.

If I had been on time, I would have led him out into the second pasture.

Frustration boiled up inside her.

He would've messed around a bit and done his business there. But no, I overslept, and this is his way of showing his displeasure.

Rollo was the one horse who refused to relieve himself in his stall or paddock.

"I'll clean it up later," she muttered. "Right now, we need to get you ready for Mr. Tanner. The MacPhersons are at the big house, and Milly or Jessie will probably ride you today. I can't afford to be late—even a legacy hire can be fired."

Her eyes narrowed as she noticed a burr snagged in the silky, wavy mass of Rollo's mane.

A closer inspection revealed bits of grass and mud clinging to his glossy coat.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she sighed, exasperated.

Where could he have gotten into the tall grass?

Grumbling, Ellie retrieved the grooming kit from the locker by the door.

"There's no way I'll have you ready in twenty minutes," she said, unrolling the brushes. "I hope they're hiring at the local grocery store."

Rollo knickered softly as she approached him. For once, he didn't back away to make a game of getting his lead on.

She led him to the wash bay, and he pushed against her pockets, searching for a treat.

"Oh no, mister. From the looks of that," she said, glancing at the still-steaming message he left for her, "you've been getting way too many treats."

Rollo huffed through his nose, his ears swiveling to catch the sound of her voice. She tied him in place and set the water to the right temperature.

Ellie sprayed it over his side, and the horse shivered but didn't back away. Usually, she'd adjust it until he was content, but today he would have to deal with a little discomfort.

"Let's get this done," she said, starting their routine.

The process went faster than expected, since her charge behaved himself for once. As she scrubbed his coat and rinsed him off—careful not to soak his mane—her mind began to wander.

I can't afford to lose this job, she admitted to herself. Father will never forgive me.

Rollo sighed contentedly as she rubbed him dry and brushed him until there was no ignoring his tangled mane.

Resigned, she pulled her phone from her pocket and stopped avoiding the inevitable.

Having an issue with Rollo. He's fine, but we'll need another 30 minutes.

She hit send, guilt gnawing at her.

The final burr proved stubborn, refusing to come loose. She didn't want to cut it out, but it was putting up a fight. As she worked, the brush snagged, flipped out of her hand, and fell on the grid beneath her feet.

Ellie closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself not to yell in frustration. She sighed heavily and bent down to retrieve it.

Movement near her shoulder caught her eye, and her brain registered too late that she had done something careless.

Rollo casually swayed in her direction, bumped her shoulder, and sent her tumbling backward.

Even as she fell, she braced herself for the wet squelch.

The scent of poop registered even as she impacted the ground. For a moment, she just sat there, stunned.

The woman was too stunned to speak, her mind unhelpfully supplied, playing the viral YouTube reel as anger seared through her veins.

"Rollo, you ass!" she yelled, even as her father's voice echoed through her mind.

If you cleaned it up in the first place, you wouldn't be sitting in it.

The horse rolled his eyes at her and knickered as if laughing.

She nearly threw the brush at him but instead she hurled it into the corner, where it bounced off the wall with a satisfying thud.

A sound near the door drew her attention, and it took a moment to realize it was laughter. Her gaze snapped in that direction—and her mind went blank.

The bluest eyes she had ever encountered contrasted with long black lashes, dark brows, and hair so deeply brown it looked almost black.

She hadn't seen much of him since he went to boarding school. He'd been fourteen and she was ten, but Ellie recognized the boy she used to watch from a distance in the man standing before her.

Her stomach flipped.

Heck, he's even more gorgeous in person than on television, she thought distractedly.

She'd only seen him in passing a few times over the years—holidays, charity events the family hosted, or a glimpse from the stables when he visited the big house.

But never like this.

Not up close.

And it was not something she had wanted to do while elbow-deep in horse crap.

Those entrancing sapphire eyes sparkled with mirth, and for a second, she feared she had said that out loud. Then the situation hit her, and her face heated.

Heavens fall on me, and hills cover me, she recalled her grandfather's favorite saying. Fruitlessly waiting for the ground to swallow her whole.

"Are you alright?" Ranger MacPherson's voice was warm but tinged with amusement.

The slightly gruff, chocolatey tone sent shivers down her spine—until the cold, wet liquid seeping through the bottom of her coverall brought her back to reality.

"Yes," she blurted out, her voice embarrassingly high-pitched. "Thank you."

I could star in my own YouTube reel, she thought miserably. When they ask if you're fine, but you really aren't.

She almost sprang to her feet to stop the unpleasant wetness from spreading, but it would only reveal the true extent of her predicament.

She moved with care, brushing herself off, while trying to ignore the mortifying squelch every time she shifted her weight.

Ellie could tell he realized she wasn't being truthful. Thankfully, he was enough of a gentleman to let it slide.

"If you're sure," he said with a knowing look, nodding at her before disappearing from sight.

Ellie struggled to her feet, turned to face Rollo, and the full extent of the mess on the floor registered.

"Jaden will kill me," she muttered darkly.

A frown crinkled her brow.

"And as for you, mister Rollo," she hissed, pointing at the horse. "I'll never forgive you for this. You're an ass!"

Rollo flicked his ear in her direction, unbothered, and nudged his empty feed bag.

Male laughter drifted from the tack room again, and Ellie froze.

Her cheeks regained their molten red cast as she realized Ranger had not left the stables.

Will this humiliation never end?

"Please don't tell me those are my coveralls?" a familiar voice asked sharply.

Ellie stiffened, then slowly turned to face her stepsister—Jaden—with her movie star face, flowing black hair, and perfect body.

The look on her face needed no translation, and Ellie's insides clenched.