A Cowboy in Manhattan(18)

“I’m not the least bit sorry.” Mandy tugged firmly on her sister’s hands. “I want to know you, Katrina. No matter what’s going on inside that crazy head of yours, we all do love you.”

“I’m not crazy.” Just because she didn’t like ranching, didn’t make her insane.

“Bad choice of words.”

Suddenly, Katrina felt dead-tired. She didn’t want to have this debate. It was bad enough that Quentin was out to get her and that her career might be hanging in the balance; she didn’t need to add her childhood baggage to the mix.

“Do you think someone could drive me back to our place?” She’d make an excuse to catch a flight in the morning.

Mandy gave her head a vigorous shake. “Not a chance. Now that we’ve broken the ice, we are going to talk, young lady.” She tucked Katrina’s hand into the crook of her arm and began walking again.

Katrina scoffed out an exclamation of disbelief. “I don’t think so.” It was a momentary lapse, not the breaking of an emotional dam ten years in the making.

“So, what happened with Reed?” Mandy repeated.

“Nothing.”

“I think he likes you.”

“I think he hates me.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re afraid of chickens, so I’m not much for trusting your judgment.”

“I really want to go home.” Katrina sighed.

“If by home, you mean Caleb and Reed’s house for margaritas, then that’s exactly where we’re going.”

“I can’t drink margaritas. I’ll get fat.”

“Oh, yes, you can. We’ll burn off the calories somehow. But you, my darling, are in serious need of a stiff drink and a big sister.”





“Your sister claims I’ve upset you.” Reed’s voice interrupted Katrina in what she guessed was her thirteenth mile on the makeshift stationary bike, burning off the four giant golden margaritas from this afternoon. She and Mandy hadn’t exactly had a full-on heart-to-heart, but they’d definitely broken the ice.

The sun was going down now, but Katrina was still feeling a little tipsy. The barn had grown quiet while she rode, with only the occasional whinny punctuating the steady whirr of her bike wheel.

“I’m not upset.” She reached for the plastic water bottle in the wire holder on the bike frame, popping the top and squirting some of the tepid liquid into her mouth.

“Good to know.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, leaning sideways against a rough wood post.

Katrina snapped the cap back into place and slid the bottle back into its holder. She braced her hands on the handlebars and upped her speed.

A few moments went by in silence. Lights flicked off in the far reaches of the barn, and doors banged shut behind ranch hands packing it in for the night.

“Gone far?” asked Reed.

“Fourteen miles or so, I think.” She swiped the back of her hand across her damp forehead. She was dressed in lightweight black tights and a baggy white tank top, but the air in the barn was still warm and close around her.

He went silent again, gazing dispassionately at her while she rode.

After about five minutes she cracked, straightening on the bike seat to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“Mandy says you’re worried about your ankle.”

“Mandy needs to stop discussing my private business with everybody in the valley.”

“I already knew about your ankle.”

“She didn’t know that.”

“She does now.”

Katrina stopped riding and huffed her frustration. “Are you going to get to your point?”

“I already did. Your ankle.”

“What about it?”

He shifted away from the post, moving closer to her. “Will you let me look at it?”

Though she’d stopped riding, she was still growing hotter. “Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

“A physiotherapist?”

“Nope.”

“Guy with an ankle fetish?”

Reed cracked a grin. “No. But I’ve worked on a lot of horses with strained tendons.”

She coughed out a laugh. “Good for you.”

He braced a hand between hers on the handlebars. “I know how to make a herbal wrap that will increase circulation.”