It was unlike him not to thoroughly vet applicants for his program, since it was rigorous and as apt to break prospective horse whisperers as make them, but he’d been rushed at the time, dealing with another commitment, so he’d merely skimmed the details. Then he’d banked the hefty deposit, which included room and board in the guest suite, and emailed the woman a set of dates and a few release forms, which she’d promptly returned.

She was from Seattle, this Ms. Fletcher, and while he had nothing against the place, it was big, and these days that bothered him. He wasn’t interested in big-city life and hadn’t been for years. Besides, he was in no mood to teach some lame-ass city slicker the basics of salvaging a damaged horse, particularly the kind of equine misfits and delinquents and no-hopers he took on. Or to teach people to train and work with therapy horses, since there was more and more interest in that, and some of his horses—despite or more likely because of their abusive backgrounds—were good contenders for that kind of life.

Damned if his brain hadn’t gone off on another tangent, he thought, landing back in the here and now with a jolt. The mind trip must have taken no more than a second or two, though, because J.P. didn’t miss a beat.

“Work?” he challenged. “Really? Cord, this is important.”

“I know that, J.P., but so is my work.” Cord was proud of his restraint. If he’d been a lesser man, he might have pointed out that, unlike J.P., who had parlayed a government settlement into a fortune by trading stocks, he had to earn a living.

“See you tomorrow night?” J.P. asked. “You, me and Eli at your place for dinner.”

He couldn’t resist. “Assuming Eli can take the time off,” Cord pointed out. “Some of us have jobs, you know.”

“Eat your heart out,” J.P. shot back. “And besides, what you do isn’t a job. It’s a calling—and you’d do it even without the fat fees your clients pay you to work your magic.”

Cord didn’t take the bait—which sounded more like a compliment. He was too tired to wrangle with J.P., who’d been known to argue one side of a question, then turn right around and argue its opposite just as convincingly.

“Tomorrow night,” Cord capitulated. “Bring food.”

J.P. didn’t answer, didn’t bother with a goodbye. He just ended the call.

CHAPTER FOUR

CORD TOOK THE dogs outside to lift a hind leg one more time.