I patted his shoulder, then watched as he took off, first at a trot and then a surge forward into a gallop as the grass beckoned him.
“Pretty horse,” the man said. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll run off?”
“He comes when she whistles,” Frances gushed, his eyes glued to the stallion’s departure, which was suddenly quite a show because Frey had decided to give a couple of stretchy rear kicks and bucks that were truly spectacular. Only a horse like Frey could go from placid plug to wild stallion in seconds.
“You let the boys ride him?” the man said, observing Frey’s mischievousness as much as the boys were. But on his face was not the same look of admiration. His eyes were dark with displeasure, and his face looked all puckered up like he’d tasted something unpleasant.
I shrugged. If he wasn’t a horse person, he’d never understand, but I tried. “Frey would never hurt the boys. He was a perfect gentleman with them.”
“We didn’t fall off,” Carlo said proudly.
I wasn’t sure that helped, but I gave him a smile. “Yes, Carlo. You were very brave. Frey liked having you ride him.”
Disbelief had spread across the policeman’s face as his eyes raked me with skepticism. I doubted he was through dealing with me, but for the moment he turned his attention back to the boys.
“Children, we need to take you into town. I’m afraid you can’t stay here anymore,” the man said. “And, young woman, I’d like to know just exactly where you came from and what your business with these boys and the town is.”