She obeyed, dropping beside him. He leaned from his saddle and
handed her a single calla lily. She felt touched and overwhelmed,
and closed her eyes for a moment, forgetting he was there riding
right beside her. Then, suddenly aware of her obvious pleasure,
she felt embarrassed. Carefully she tucked the flower between her
leg and the saddle, then raced off for the final stretch, hoping
the distance would allow her a moment to regain her composure.
He called after her, yet, when she turned once, she saw that he
was letting the stretch widen between them, as if he had seen her
flustered condition and had, once again, understood what she was
feeling.
The soft black path turned dusty as she neared the barn. Her car
was parked in the lot. Jennifer's truck, parked in front of her
house, was the only other vehicle there.
She brought Mighty Boy to a halt before the stable entrance and
wiped her brow with the sleeve of her chambray shirt. Carefully
holding the flower, she lowered herself from the horse.
Jean-Pierre had dismounted by the far ring and was walking toward
the barn. Normally, the horses would be hosed down, to both clean
and cool them, but the groom had not yet arrived, so they allowed
some time for the horses to cool down a little in the chilly
morning air.
"I'd better be going," Greta said after some time had passed,
taking Might Boy's bridle in her hand.
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