Free An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide by Josh Lanyon

demographic.”
    She bit her lip, still clearly amused at my woes. “Shall we drop by the house and reassure her that you're still alive?”
    “Home, Jane,” I ordered languidly.

    * * * * *
“I like him best,” Emma confided, handing me a photo of a five-year-old black gelding.
    “Adagio.”
    We were sitting on the wide sofa in the Dautens' family room, which opened into the large kitchen, where Natalie stood quietly arguing on the phone with her boyfriend and Lisa pretended not to listen as she dished out lunch.
    “He's a beauty,” I agreed, studying the graceful tail, arched neck, wide eyes, and classic dish face of an Arabian horse.
    “We've been through this, Emma. A pony is much more suitable.” Lisa set a plate of eggplant cannelloni on the coffee table in front of me.

    An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide

    37

    Emma's face took on a mutinous expression. She was the youngest of my stepsisters, and if I were going to be honest, she was my favorite. I'd never been remotely interested in children, but Emma—somehow she was different. She even sort of looked like me. Well, she had dark hair and blue eyes. At fourteen, she still had to grow into her lanky height, and she seemed to be all knees and elbows.
    I said, “A pony isn't necessarily the best choice for a child.” Emma opened her mouth, and I amended, “ Or a teenybopper.”
    Torn between indignation and gratification, she volunteered, “Adagio is fourteen and a half hands.”
    I picked up the plate, saying, “That's relatively small. Cutoff for a pony is fourteen point two.”
    “Tall enough for someone to break her little neck falling off.”
    “I won't,” Emma protested.
    “She could break her little neck falling off a Shetland pony,” I said. “Or tripping over her little feet.” I added to Emma, “Try to avoid that.”
    She smothered a giggle. I actually liked her giggle. Sue me. I sampled the cannelloni. It was good: olives, shallots, goat cheese. But it was hard to make myself eat now. I surreptitiously set the plate aside.
    Lisa wore the expression I recognized only too well from many thwarted attempts to coerce her into letting me have something besides tropical fish during my formative years. “I think it would be better to start with a pony. I'm not wild about that idea, let alone buying a horse.”
    “Ponies can be stubborn and spoiled. A lot of it's going to depend on the previous owner.
    Arabians are smart, alert, gentle. So much so that they're about the only breed of which the United States Equestrian Federation will permit kids younger than eighteen to show stallions.”
    My grandmother had raised Arabians. In fact, my childhood ambition had been to raise Arabians. I'd probably have outgrown that even if I hadn't gotten sick in my teens. I still enjoyed riding—and hopefully would be well enough to start again soon.
    “She's not going to have a stallion ,” Lisa exclaimed.
    “Adagio's not a stallion,” Emma said. “He's a gelding.”
    At that unconsciously possessive tone, Lisa gave me a long look. I intervened before she could.
    “Don't set your heart on Adagio, kiddo. You're going by a photo. We haven't seen him in the flesh, let alone ridden him. And you'd want to ride him a couple of times, not make a decision based on seeing him once.”
    “But I know . If I ride him once and I think he's the right one, why can't I have him?”
    “Arabians aren't much good as jumpers,” I reminded her. “They jump flat. You still want to show jump, right? Show me the other ponies.”
    It was clear that I had let her down big-time. She fought to keep her mouth from quivering as she handed me the next photos. I tried not to notice, though it was hard to ignore, when she was shaking with the effort not to cry. It reminded me of something I hadn't thought of in a very long time: a cardboard box with an old pillow and a cheap dog collar for an unknown dog to be 38
    Josh Lanyon

    named Scout that I had confidently believed