Small
world, Peter thought. No, he corrected himself, I'm from the
small world, and he's from the big world. But, as he'd just
learned, it didn't seem to matter how big or small your baby.
When it's yours, it's yours. And this man understood that.
* * *
The horses walked side by side, each carrying a rider through the
secluded wooded path.
"I don't believe you, that the only love you have ever felt has
been for horses. Nonsense," Greta said.
"It is true," said Jean-Pierre, crossing his heart with his
finger.
"Ridiculous."
"Greta, I tell no lie when I say that I have been in love only
with horses. Nothing has ever come between us," he said, patting
his beast's neck affectionately.
"Frenchmen," she said with a dismissing wave of her gloved hand.
"Such talkers." Had he noticed? She took a breath, reminding
herself to keep her left hand on the saddle.
And, she wondered, had he noticed her color when he'd crossed his
heart? Unless he was psychic, she knew that he could not see what
was going on inside her when he spoke of things such as his
country and horses.
"Your husband, he is doing something very important today, no?"
"Yes. It's important. To him. Some new computer."
"Indeed. I read about it in the paper. You must be very proud,
Greta. Yes?"
"Yes, of course. He's done very well since he's been in control.
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