Devon’s curiosity was piqued. “So you examine his horses and make genetic assessments and recommendations?”
“Precisely.”
“That sounds fascinating. I’d love to hear more about it….” She frowned, as Chomper began squirming again. “But now’s clearly not the time. I’d better get this little guy inside.”
Dr. Vista nodded. “The wind is really picking up.”
“Another time, then.”
“Certainly.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
“No harm done. It was nice meeting you.”
Devon walked out of the barn. Dr. Vista was right. The wind really had picked up. It blasted her in the face like ice water.
Nestling Chomper close against her, Devon hunched her shoulders and prepared to brave the elements. Dr. Vista’s truck was parked directly in her path. She inched her way around it and struck off in the direction of the house.
She was halfway there when she spotted Blake emerging from a jumping arena. She called out his name, and when he turned, she aimed her flashlight beam at Chomper. Blake saw him, looked extraordinarily relieved, and walked over to meet them.
“Where was he?” he asked.
“In the barn. Feasting on crayons.” Devon pointed at Chomper’s purple snout, which was poking out of her coat.
Blake gave a snort of disgust, although his lips were twitching. At the same time, Chomper spotted his owner and gave a joyful yip, struggling to free himself and get to Blake.
Laughing, Devon handed him over. “He’s shivering. Tuck him inside your coat.”
“Yeah, that solution will work for another month or so,” Blake muttered, wrapping the warm folds of his coat around the pup. “But tell me, doctor, what do I do when he weighs ninety pounds and his feet are the size of my head?”
“Nothing. Because, if you’re smart, you’ll put him in obedience classes now, while he’s still a manageable size. Goldens are very intelligent. They’re also sweethearts who are eager to please their owners. But right now, Chomper thinks he’s the pack leader and you’re the pack. He’s confused. Train him right and you’ll both be happier.”
Blake tipped his head thoughtfully, examining her with those penetrating amber eyes. Only this time the examination was very thorough and very male. “Words of wisdom. Suppose I take your advice—do you make house calls?”
The remark was teasing. Maybe flirtatious. But certainly not offensive or harmful. Still, it threw Devon—a lot.
“No,” she heard herself reply.
“Pity.” The sleeve of Blake’s coat brushed hers. “How about apartment calls?”
Even through several layers of clothing, Devon felt a surge of warmth at the contact.
She stiffened. James might be the family charmer, but there was something incredibly sexy about Blake Pierson—something she was susceptible to. She’d have to watch herself around him.
“Nope. On-site only,” she quipped.
“No exceptions?”
“Not a one. But don’t worry. No house calls are needed. Chomper’s in perfect health.”
“Physically, yeah. But not psychologically. You just said so yourself. He’s confused and disobedient.”
“That’s easily fixed. By a trainer. Which I’m not. My clinic has a top-notch obedience and training staff. I’d recommend them, if the facilities weren’t so inconvenient for you. You’re in Manhattan. The clinic’s in White Plains.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“In White Plains.”