The bathroom might be a monument to conspicuous consumption, but it was woman-friendly, for sure. If he swapped out the treacherous faucets for something more practical and had the marble floor covered with, say, stone tile, he could deal.

Trouble was, he never seemed to find the time for remodeling projects. Most days, he worked from sunrise to sunset, and beyond.

Today, with the scene at Sully’s and then Carly’s appearance, he hadn’t worked with any of the horses since early that afternoon. Thank God for Mitch Robbins! He’d make up for it tomorrow, especially since he’d have his new client to contend with. And thinking of Mitch made him wonder how the older man would react to the presence of a teenager in his home. It should be fine, he told himself. Mitch was a kind, generous and tolerant man, and as Tina had pointed out, they’d raised three children of their own.

He and Mitch spent a lot of time together, maintaining the property, caring for the horses, doing whatever needed to be done.

And whenever Cord had a few extra hours, he generally spent them with J.P. and Eli, playing poker, riding horseback for the pure fun of it, or just sitting around on one of their porches, drinking beer and shooting the shit.

Like him, his buddies were having a dry spell when it came to romance, and they’d probably have been better off searching for a good woman out there, one they could settle down with.

Instead, they were gun-shy, all three of them, for reasons of their own.

If they didn’t want to wind up as crusty old bachelors, still playing poker in Sully’s back room every other week, having breakfast at Bailey’s far too often and spending most of their free time with each other, something had to change.

J.P. and Eli knew that as well as Cord did; they weren’t stupid. They also weren’t eager to risk getting burned again.

That, Cord supposed, was a form of cowardice, but as much as he despised his own reluctance, he couldn’t seem to shake it.

For a while now, maybe since Jenna, Cord had sunk into a kind of inertia where dating was concerned. True, he’d never deeply loved his ex-wife—hindsight confirmed that he’d loved a version of her, one he’d outlined in his own head. Her behavior, her exploitation, had quickly confirmed the mistake he’d made. Yes, he’d initially been convinced he loved her, certainly been attracted to her. But more than ever, he realized that, for her, he’d been a means to an end.