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“Easy, boy. That’s it.”

I keep my voice low and even as I edge closer to Midnight, who’s standing in the middle of Farmer Murray’s south field looking like he owns the place. The stallion’s ears flick back and forth, alert but not pinned in aggression. His obsidian coat gleams in the early evening light.

“You’ve caused quite the commotion, you know that?” I slowly reach into my pocket where I’ve stashed a handful of oats. The lead rope is looped over my shoulder, the halter dangling from my other hand. “Everyone is out looking for you.”

When Janice called to say Midnight had kicked through a weak section of fencing and bolted, she was crystal clear: “If you spot him, call me immediately. Do not approach him yourself. He’s unpredictable.”

But where’s the fun in that?

Besides, I’ve always had a way with horses. Even the difficult ones. And from the moment I first saw him being trained in the arena, something about this magnificent beast spoke to me.

Midnight tosses his head, nostrils flaring. His powerful muscles tense, and for a moment I think he might bolt again.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” I take another careful step. I’m about fifteen feet away now, close enough to see the whites of his eyes. “I’ve got something tasty, though.”

I extend my hand, palm flat with the oats nestled in the centre. Midnight’s ears prick forwards with interest, but he doesn’t move. He’s too smart for such an obvious ploy.

“Playing hard to get, are we?” I return the oats to my pocket then pull out my secret weapon—a shiny red apple. “What about this, then?”

His attention sharpens. I take a slow breath, calculating my next move. This is the tricky part. I need to get close enough to slip the halter on without spooking him, but not so close that I can’t dodge if he decides to kick.

“You remind me of someone, you know,” I continue conversationally, inching forwards. “Bit of a rebel. Doesn’t like being told what to do.”

Midnight snorts, as if to say, Damn right.

I’m ten feet away now. Eight. Six. Close enough to see the powerful rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Close enough for danger.

Suddenly a bird takes flight nearby, startling him, and he rears up, front hooves pawing at the air. My heart leaps into my throat, but instead of retreating, I stand my ground, keeping my posture relaxed even as my pulse races.

“It’s all right,” I say firmly when his hooves return to earth. “You’re fine.”

The moment stretches between us like a taut thread. Then, slowly, his posture softens. I take a careful step closer, then another, the apple extended like a peace offering.

Finally, temptation wins over caution. Midnight stretches his neck, his velvety muzzle reaching for the treat.

“That’s it,” I murmur, daring to stroke his neck while he’s distracted with his prize. His coat feels like warm silk beneath my fingertips. “You’re a handsome devil, aren’t you? Even if you are naughty.”

While he munches, I ease the halter over his nose then up behind his ears, securing it with practised movements. He twitches but doesn’t pull away, too focused on the last bits of apple.

“Gotcha,” I whisper, clipping the lead rope to the halter. “See? That wasn’t so terrible.”

The thrill of success bubbles up inside me, that little rush I’ve always loved when I take a risk and it pays off.

“Come on, then.” I give the lead a gentle tug. “Let’s get you home before Janice has a heart attack.”

* * *

“Good boy.” I reach over the door to give Midnight’s neck a pat. A faint scent of hay and leather fills the stable, mingling with the comforting rustle of horses shifting in their stalls. “You’ll behave now, won’t you?”

He snorts. I choose to interpret this response as agreement rather than mockery.

“Catriona McIntyre!” Janice’s voice cuts through the stable like a whip. I turn to find her marching towards me, her face a storm cloud of worry and exasperation. “What part of ‘do not approach him yourself’ was unclear to you?”

I offer my most winning smile. “He’s fine! Look, not a scratch on him.”

“That’s not the point.” She folds her arms across her chest. “If he’d reared or kicked while you were alone with him⁠—”

“But he didn’t,” I say, a white lie. “We had a moment, me and him. Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts.”