The boys came running outside when they heard us in the backyard. Both flung themselves at me.
“Where did you go?” Carlo asked.
“She has a right to ride if she wants to. She doesn’t have to . . .” Frances stopped and peeked up at me.
I could read his face quite clearly. Both boys were upset that they hadn’t gotten to ride Frey or go with me wherever I’d gone.
“I’ll tell you what. I’m kind of hungry right now, but after I get a drink and something to eat, if you help me groom Frey, I’ll let you ride him. Okay?”
The cheering was so loud it brought out Mrs. Penn. “Oh, good, you’re back. Both of you, I see,” she said, giving Frank an inquiring look.
He nodded, but he didn’t add anything to the look they were exchanging. Something secretive there, I could tell. If Mrs. Penn were a younger woman, I’d might have felt a touch of jealousy, but . . . Of course, I had no right to feel any such thing. What was I thinking?
I tossed out some hay for Frey and gave him a sprinkling of oats, as well. He lipped those up readily. I’d been placing his food on an old tarp I’d found. I wandered if that was sufficient to keep him from getting worms.
I used to get a herbal dewormer from the vet, which was a mixture of sage, chaparral, wormwood, and kelp. I guess I’d have to see if the feedstore had any.
Meanwhile, as Frey was happily munching his treat, I got to work grooming some of the sand and dirt off his body. I only worked for a moment before my hunger pains attacked.
I’d come back with the boys. Besides, Frey would probably do a nice roll in the dirt, coating himself with the very dirt I’d just removed. That was the nature of horses.