“Actually, Mr. Gentry,” Pendergast said, his voice smooth and dangerous, “I can’t do that. As of ten minutes ago, when the condition of the verbal contract was met, the legal status of this property became disputed.”
“Disputed?” Harlan spat. “I have the deed in my safe!”
“And I have fifty-two witnesses and a video recording on my phone,” Pendergast said, holding up his device. “You were very clear: ‘Touch the horse, I give you the ranch.’ In the state of Montana, a verbal contract regarding property, when made in the presence of witnesses and with clear consideration, is binding. If you kick the boy out now, you’re interfering with the transfer of assets. I’ll have a judge issue an injunction before you can pour your next drink.”
Harlan turned purple. “You’re fired, Pendergast!”
“I resigned five minutes ago,” the lawyer replied coldly. “I don’t represent attempted murderers. I’m representing the boy now. Pro bono.”
The crowd actually cheered. It was a ragged, hesitant sound, but it grew louder.
Toby finally moved. He turned to the Sheriff. “I’m not leaving Midnight. If I leave, Harlan will kill him.”
Sheriff Colton nodded. “Nobody is killing anyone tonight. Here’s how this is going to work. The boy stays in the barn with the horse. Harlan, you stay in the main house. I’m posting a deputy at the barn door. Until the judge rules on this tomorrow morning, nobody makes a move. You understand?”
Harlan glared at Toby with pure venom. “Enjoy your night, stable boy. It gets cold in the barn. Accidents happen in the dark.” He spun on his heel and stormed toward the mansion on the hill, his boots stomping heavily on the ground. He was terrified of losing.
Night fell over the Gentry estate, but it brought no peace. The air was thick with tension. The usual sounds of the ranch—the lowing of cattle, the rustle of wind—seemed muted, as if the land itself was holding its breath.
Toby didn’t sleep. He sat in the stall with Midnight, his back against the wooden slats, a lantern burning low beside him. The stallion, the so-called Widowmaker, was lying down—a sign of ultimate trust. Toby ran his hand over the horse’s flank, feeling the old scars hidden under the glossy coat.
“I told you I’d find you,” Toby whispered to the horse. “I didn’t know how, but I knew.”
Around two AM, the temperature dropped. The deputy outside had fallen asleep in his patrol car. Toby could hear the faint snoring through the thin walls.
Suddenly, Midnight’s head snapped up. The horse’s ears swiveled toward the back of the barn. He let out a low, warning rumble in his chest. Toby extinguished the lantern, immediately plunging the stall into darkness. He held his breath.
Footsteps. Soft, deliberate footsteps were crunching on the straw in the aisle. It wasn’t the heavy stomp of a cowboy. It was the stealthy creep of someone who didn’t want to be heard. Toby peered through the slats. A shadow was moving near the feed storage. He saw the glint of moonlight on metal. A gas can.
Harlan wasn’t going to wait for the judge. He was going to burn the barn down, claim it was an electrical fire, and kill both the boy and the horse in the process. With them dead, the contract would be void…
