The broke old farmer bought the dying mare for $200. Then the millionaire arrived with a sheriff-and the horse hid behind the old man like she knew exactly who had hurt her

on the fence and stayed there with her a long while, not because he had nothing to do, but because the work could wait a few minutes.

The farm was still wounded.

So was he.

But the morning was bright, the mare was breathing, and the house behind him was no longer just a place where someone had died. It was a place where something had come home.