A traveling rodeo.
A horse trader who had disappeared.
The records were incomplete.
Daniel had bought him anyway.
It had been a mistake.
At least, that's what everyone told him.
But Daniel couldn't explain why he had felt something when he first saw the stallion.
The horse had stood at the far end of a holding pen, surrounded by noise and strangers.
Every other animal had been restless.
Midnight had been perfectly still.
He had looked directly at Daniel.
Not frightened.
Not angry.
Just tired.
Daniel had signed the papers that afternoon.
Two years later, he was still trying to earn the horse's trust.
And failing.
That evening, Daniel sat alone on the porch.
The ranch was quiet.
The cattle had settled.
The wind had dropped.
Far away, lightning flashed behind the western hills.
Sam Houston came out carrying two cups of coffee.
Sam had worked for the Cole family for more than forty years.
He was seventy-one, thin as a fence post, and possessed the irritating ability to know what Daniel was thinking before Daniel knew it himself.
He handed him a cup.
“You planning to try again tomorrow?”
Daniel stared toward the corral.
“No.”
Sam sat beside him.
“Good.”
Daniel looked at him.
“You sound surprised.”
“I'm relieved.”
Daniel took a drink.
“I'll try something different.”
Sam laughed.
“You say that every time.”
“This time I mean it.”
“What does different mean?”
Daniel didn't answer.
Sam followed his gaze.
Midnight stood alone in the far pasture.
The horse was almost invisible against the darkness.
“You know what your problem is?” Sam asked.
“I have several.”
“You keep trying to make Midnight into the horse you want.”
Daniel frowned.
“And what should I make him into?”
“Nothing.”
Daniel turned.
Sam shrugged.
“Maybe he ain't supposed to become anything.”
Daniel looked back toward the pasture.
“He can't stay like this.”
“Maybe.”
“He could hurt someone.”
“Maybe.”
“He can't trust anybody.”
Sam nodded.
“Maybe that's because everyone keeps giving him reasons not to.”
Daniel didn't answer.
Sam stood.
“You're going to hate what I'm about to say.”
“Probably.”
“You should stop trying to win.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Then what?”
“Try listening.”
Sam walked inside.
Daniel remained on the porch.
Listening.
He looked toward Midnight.
The horse stood beneath the moon.
And for the first time in two years, Daniel wondered whether he had been approaching the problem from the wrong direction.
The next morning, Daniel didn't enter the corral.
He didn't bring a saddle.
He didn't bring a rope.
He didn't bring a whip.
He didn't even bring a halter.
He simply sat on an overturned bucket outside the fence.
Midnight watched him.
Ten minutes passed.
Twenty.
An hour.
Daniel remained still.
Eventually, Midnight lowered his head.
Daniel said nothing.
The stallion took one step.
Stopped.
Another.
Stopped.
Daniel resisted the urge to move.
Then Midnight walked toward the fence.
He stopped several feet away.
Daniel could see the scars beneath his coat.
Old ones.
Some thin.
Some deep.
One ran across the left side of his neck.
Daniel's stomach tightened.
“Who did that to you?”
Midnight stared at him.
Daniel sighed.
“Probably nobody worth remembering.”
He sat there another hour.
Nothing happened.
But for the first time, Midnight didn't turn away.
Daniel considered that progress.
He was wrong.
The real progress would begin the next afternoon.
And it would arrive in the form of a twelve-year-old girl carrying a red backpack.
Her name was Lily Harper.
Daniel first saw her walking along the dirt road outside the ranch.
She was small.
Too small, he thought, to be walking alone.
Her boots were muddy.
Her jeans were faded.
A yellow rain jacket hung around her shoulders even though the afternoon was warm.
She stopped at the fence.
Midnight was in the pasture.
The moment the horse saw her, he raised his head.
Daniel noticed.
So did Lily.
She smiled.
“Hello.”
Daniel stood.
“Can I help you?”
The girl looked at him.
“I'm looking for Mrs. Bell.”
“That's three miles back toward town.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
She pointed toward Midnight.
“I wanted to see him.”
Daniel frowned.
“You shouldn't be near that horse.”
“Why?”
“Because he's dangerous.”