"Yes, maybe. But for now I am a slave to this project. It's paying the bills, as Americans are fond to say."
With mild dread, she knew he would be gone sooner than she wanted to admit. Of course it would be better if he were gone, she told herself. She was married to a very successful man, and that meant security and stability.
Yet as if to discourage her rational thinking, a burst of enthusiasm whipped through her. "Let's race," she shouted, then pressed her heels into Mighty Boy's sides. Before Jean-Pierre could answer, her horse bolted forward.
"Cheater!" he hollered, and gained on her quickly. They rounded a turn in the path and flew past wild calla lily flowers, the tall stems batting their horses' legs. She looked over her shoulder, excited, and pressed Might Boy harder. Jean-Pierre narrowed the distance between them and his horse fell into a synchronized gallop with Mighty Boy. She laughed at him and saw that he was hiding something behind his back. He saw that she saw.
"Not until you slow," he said, reining his horse to a trot.
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.