Free Horse Love by Bonnie Bryant Page A

on those fish!” her mother said.
    “And you wouldn’t believe the coral,” added her father. “It’s made entirely of very tiny animals who’ve colonized over many centuries. These creatures work together …”
    Lisa was amused in spite of herself. Her mother, a natural stylist, whether it was decorating a room or planning a wardrobe, had tuned right in to the colors of the fish. Her father, an engineer, was all keen to study the construction of a coral reef. Actually, it was quite wonderful that they’d found something that had interesting aspects for each of them, no matter how different those aspects were.
    Before Lisa knew it, her mother had switched subjects to talking about how good the fresh seafood salad had been at their picnic, while her father talked about watching the way the schools of fish (no matter what color) worked so that each member of the school was a lookout for one part, thus protecting the entire group from predators.
    “And this afternoon, after the picnic, we went into the town. It’s so charming!” her mother said.
    “But your mother didn’t buy a thing!” Mr. Atwood said.
    “I did, too, Richard,” she said.
    “I don’t consider that little wooden salad bowl a serious purchase by your standards, Eleanor,” he teased. Instead of cringing when her father talked about her spending habits, Lisa’s mother laughed. She didn’t mind being teased the way she minded being nagged.
    “Well, your father ignored three phone calls fromthe office!” Mrs. Atwood said, smiling proudly at her husband.
    “I didn’t exactly
ignore
them,” said Mr. Atwood. “I just called back and told them to solve the problem themselves.”
    “Which means you didn’t climb on a plane to go take care of it personally,” said Mrs. Atwood.
    “No, dear. I’m on vacation.”
    Mrs. Atwood leaned over and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. It wasn’t much, but Lisa knew the whole performance had been for her benefit. This was her parents’ way of telling her that they knew things had been difficult all around over the last few months and that they were better now and would stay that way.
    Lisa took a bite of the seafood salad she’d put on her plate. If it was the same as what her parents had had on their picnic, her mother was right: It was delicious.
    “So what did you do today?” her father asked.
    “Oh, I’ve had a busy day,” Lisa said.
    “Well, you were going riding when we saw you at breakfast,” said her mother.
    Lisa smiled. Breakfast seemed so long ago.
    “We had a trail ride. We went along the beach. It was wonderful!”
    “Did you have a good horse?” her mother asked. It was quite typical of her mother to ask something likethat, though by “good” her mother didn’t mean obedient, well-mannered, and with smooth gaits. What her mother meant was “valuable” or “good-looking.” Lisa had yet to find a way to convince her how unimportant those things were in a pleasure-riding horse.
    “Very good,” said Lisa.
    “I’m surprised in a public stable at a resort,” said Mrs. Atwood.
    “His name is Oatmeal,” Lisa said.
    “Soft and warm,” said her father.
    Lisa laughed. “Exactly,” she said. “And quite sweet, too.”
    “Wholesome?” he asked.
    “A little too wholesome,” she said. “Tomorrow, I’m going for something with a little more spirit.”
    “Sounds like you were being a bit conservative,” said her father.
    “It’s always been my downfall,” said Lisa.
    “And is that how you met all those nice young people?” her mother asked.
    “On the ride? Oh, no,” said Lisa. “I just met them tonight,” she said.
    “Well, wasn’t that the boy—”
    She really didn’t want to talk about him now, especially when she knew he was waiting for her in the lounge. Any discussion that centered around a boy Lisahad met was going to include a barrage of questions about what his father did for a living and what he was going to be when he grew up, and Lisa