Without any further discussions with Officer Krugle about propositions, the four of us headed in the direction of Mrs. Smith’s house.
The moment we stepped outside the Police Station, Frey gave us his full attention. He bugled at the sight of me and let out a couple of gravelly low-pitched neighs, letting me know that he hadn’t liked it when I’d stayed away so long. Then he rolled his head about as he did when he was demonstrating his prowess, did a quick mini rear which he repeated several times for full effect while continuing to vocalize his stallion challenges, pawed at the ground rather like a raging bull, then followed after us meekly.
The officer started frowning again. “He’s too much horse for a young girl like you,” which made me glare at the man for insulting my ability to deal with the stallion. I mean, honestly, I’d raised Frey since he was a baby. Of course, I could handle him.
“He’s really pretty,” Carlo said, sighing, I think because he was hoping for another ride.
“Can you call a boy horse pretty?” Frances wanted to know.
I smiled down at them and nodded. “He liked it when you call him pretty. He’s vain.”
Frances halted and stared up at me. “What does that mean?” he asked.
Mrs. Penn had gone up ahead. The woman was a speedy walker when she wanted to be. She bustled down the walkway and was already twisting the key in the door’s lock. She glanced back as if entreating us to hurry up, although she said nothing.
“Well, it usually means someone likes to look in the mirror a lot, but horses don’t do that. Frey just knows he looks good when he’s showing off. He’s pretending to be wild to make you think he’s a super horse.”
Frances nodded but stopped again. This time he was staring at the house.
The cottage sat on a side street, not far from the police station. It was painted in a pale bluish gray. The white window frames made it look charming. Pink roses lined the walkway up to the front porch, with a healthy lawn on each side. On the side of the porch sat a small table with three chairs and to its left, a hanging swing for sitting.
Carlo skipped ahead and then stood staring at the swing. Can I sit on it?” he wanted to know.
“Later,” Mrs. Penn told him, as she opened the door and held it for us.
I guess she didn’t see the look on Carlo’s face. It was like someone had just taken his ice cream cone away.
“Wait here, Frey,” I ordered my horse. He dropped his head instantly to nibble at the short grass of the lawn. Thank goodness he was easy to please.
I patted Carlo and whispered in his ear. “We’ll be back in a moment to sit on the swing. OK?”