” He was a man of few words. The girl kept her gaze on the ocean view, mesmerized by the thunderous sound of the white water waves crashing against...the rocks, a blue heron resurfacing with her prize catch. He smelled of Moroccan Grapefruit and Crimean Coriander. Her hazel eyes valiantly shifting upward, tracing his blood red tie against the crisp white shirt unfurling with masculine sophistication. Her eyes draw the angles of his face, drinking from his lips so full and inviting until she. They had all arrived on horseback. There was a string of ponies hitched to what I had thought was a decorative hitching rail. I knew that many of them must have come a long way, and I wondered how they'd arranged that. After all, twenty miles was only half an hour in a car; but it was the better part of a day on a horse for a senior citizen ... even if he was an Indian.Anyway, BlueBird went over and started chanting near the H2. That started the cycle of chants over again. When that was. More

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