The idea of being someone’s mommy horrified me. I shook my head emphatically, then looked down at Carlo’s tear-streaked face. Carlo had wheat-colored hair that frankly needed a good washing, a chubby little face that was streaked with several layers of dirt, and the most adorable deep brown eyes that were pleading earnestly with me. He was frankly as cute as a baby bunny.
“Please,” seconded his older brother, who was pretty much a mirror copy, except he had eyes that held more desperation than pleading. He was hopeful, but doubtful. I could read from his eyes that he’d lost faith in miracles long ago. More than anything the heartbreak of that premature experience of disillusionment knocked me right in the stomach. Before I knew what I was doing, I agreed to ride into town with them. (No mommy stuff, though, but I decided to save a lecture about that for later.)
“I won’t leave my stuff here. I’ll need my saddle, bridle, and, of course, my horse,” I told Officer Krugle.
He nodded. “I’ll get the tack if you get your horse.”
A head nod later, I whistled for Frey. He came at a gallop that sent the boys to their feet. They had some confidence now in Frey, but it takes a lot of fortitude to remain seated on the ground when a stallion comes charging at you.
Carlo and Frances were still clinging to me, only in stand-up mode. Neither backed any further away from Frey’s approach, but thankfully, Frey was always cautious not to do any high step prancing near people. He was good about recognizing the danger of his hooves. He’d stepped on me once, and I’d reacted with a lot of screaming. Since then, he made sure not to trample people.
I gave my horse another handful of berries and told him what a good boy he was.
“No halter?” the officer said.
I shrugged then shook my head. “Frey doesn’t need one. He follows me wherever I go. Once the boys and I get into the vehicle, he’ll practically glue himself to the buggy’s box window.”