He held hers for more time than she
should have permitted. She quickly diverted her gaze to the
jumping ring. Could she do that? Wait - why was she even
considering it? She told herself to get going. Besides, she had
not showered, and her hair was all mussed. Hadn't she come here
to ride her horse?
"I don't think I could do that," she said. "I think I prefer
simply riding alone."
He lowered his sunglasses again and bowed, as if to say that was
fine. For now.
"Well, then. See you," she said. She was satisfied with the way
that had come out, a practiced social indifference to her tone.
Pressing her heels into the horse's ribs, she trotted off past
the buildings and toward the hills across the low, golden, grassy
field. She let herself look back. He was still standing there,
watching her ride off. She hastily returned her attention to the
path.
After Mighty Boy warmed up she pushed him hard, leaning into his
powerful gallop. As if testing her will, yesterday's clear, hard
thoughts of Matthew's secret plan and of her celebration bowl
melted away, and were supplanted by fantasy. Her heart raced, and
her mind ran free with raw and fiery images of the provocative
Jean-Pierre.
* * *
"Thank you, Martin," Matthew Locke said.
Peter turned to Hank Towers for an explanation for this break in
custom; it was he, Peter, who always started the meeting with
opening remarks.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119