Barbara Dunlop: A Cowboy in Manhattan

“I’m not a particularly good catch.” What could Katrina bring to a relationship? An extensive designer wardrobe? An ability to make small talk at cocktail parties? A demanding and precarious career?

“I meant are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh.”

Mandy moved a tarp as she made her way farther into the shed. “But of course you’re a great catch. You’re like some kind of dream trophy wife.”

Katrina didn’t want to be a trophy wife. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Really? What about all those debonair rich guys who go to the same parties as you?”

“None of them have asked me out.”

“They have so,” Mandy contradicted.

“Okay, some of them have. But nobody lately.” Unless you counted Quentin Foster. Katrina shuddered at the mere thought of the offensive man. He hadn’t asked her for a date. His had been a bald proposition, followed by an unsettling threat.

“New York men don’t know a good woman when they see one,” Mandy put in staunchly. “Aha. Here we go.”

Katrina banished thoughts of Quentin, coming up on her toes to peer over a wooden crate. Sure enough, there was a sturdy-looking mountain bike propped up against a workbench. She normally rode a stationary one at the gym a few blocks from her apartment, but she was willing to adapt.

“Will we be able to get it out of there?” she asked Mandy.

“Easy.” Mandy hoisted it in the air, over the clutter and outside. There she pumped up the flat tires at the compressor.

Katrina was more than a bit in awe of her older sister. “I can’t believe you did all that.”

“All what?”

“Pumped up the tires. You actually know how to run a compressor.”

“You actually know how to stand up in toe shoes. So, what’s the plan? How far do you want to ride?”

Katrina shrugged. “Fifteen, twenty miles.” Then she’d limber up, work on her arms a bit, and see how her ankle was holding up.

“I’m going up to Caleb’s later,” said Mandy.

“That’s nice.”

Mandy glanced at her watch. “If you wait until afternoon to leave and take the river trail, I can meet you at the Terrells’ and drive you home after dinner.”

Katrina hesitated. She wasn’t wild about spending more time with Reed. The man made her jumpy and self-conscious. But Mandy was the closest thing she had to a buffer against her other siblings. If Mandy wasn’t around, she feared her brothers would try to railroad her into something uncomfortable, like riding a horse.

“Sure,” she found herself saying. “I’ll meet you up at Terrells’.”

Reed couldn’t seem to get his father’s voice out of his head. As he had when Wilton Terrell was alive, he got up every morning focused on an ambitious list of jobs around the ranch. Then he worked as hard as he could until the end of the day. And if something went wrong, if he made a mistake, did less than one hundred percent, he’d reflexively brace himself for Wilton’s anger.

Obviously he knew he’d never have to deal with his father’s anger again, but his emotions were taking a while to catch up. He couldn’t say he was sorry the obstinate old man had died, though he was beginning to recognize what a powerful impact Wilton had had on his life.

His brother Caleb told him it was crazy to keep up the breakneck pace. Caleb was searching for a full-time ranch manager to add to the foreman and ranch hands that helped with the day-to-day work. But Reed couldn’t switch gears that easily.

Now, he returned the cleaning supplies to the tack room, hung up his saddle and emptied the combs and brushes he’d used on his horse, replacing them in their respective drawers and closing the cabinet before shutting off the light and exiting the room.

The sun was hitting the horizon in an orange ball, decorated by pink clouds above the snowy peaks of the distant Rockies. He crossed the wide driveway turnaround, heading for the house. A truck pulled up, and he caught sight of the Jacobs’ ranch logo on the door. Before he could stop it, a hitch of excitement shot through him. But then he saw that only Mandy was inside the cab. No Katrina.

He lengthened his stride, coming up to the driver’s door and pulling it open for her. “Hey, Mandy.”

She smiled a greeting as she slid out of the cab, reaching back inside for a baking tin sitting in the center of the bench seat.

“Brownies,” she offered, waving it in front of his nose.

“Sounds great. Caleb’s probably inside.”

“With Katrina?”

Reed felt another small shot of adrenaline. “Katrina’s here?”

“I sure hope so. Mom left her a box of things to sort through in the attic, then she was coming up here.”

“I’ve been in the barn for a while.” He might have missed Katrina’s arrival. Then again, he didn’t see another Jacobs’ pickup anywhere, so perhaps Mandy was mistaken.

“Hmm.” Mandy’s gaze searched the yard.

“What?”

“She rode up here on a bike.”

“You mean a horse?”

Mandy gave an eye-roll as she started for the front door. “Yeah, because I usually mix those two things up.”

Reed automatically fell into step and lifted the tin from her hands. “Katrina rides a motorcycle?” He simply couldn’t picture it.

“A bicycle. She wanted to get some exercise.”

Okay. Weird, but okay. They mounted the stairs, and Reed pushed the door open, waiting for Mandy to go inside.

“I don’t see how they could possibly make it any more complicated,” Caleb was saying into the phone as he paced from the living room into the entry hall. He lifted his chin in a greeting to them both. “I don’t think Danielle wants to fly all the way down to Brazil.” He paused. “In person? Really?” He braced his hand against the end of the archway and gave a disgusted shake of his head.

Mandy moved down the hall to the kitchen, glanced inside, then came back.

“Katrina here?” she stage-whispered to Caleb.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Is Katrina here?” she repeated.

He gave her a shrug of incomprehension. “Tell her to take the jet,” he said into the phone. “We’re going to have to give that woman a huge bonus.”

Mandy turned to Reed, her forehead wrinkling in worry. “She was going to ride up the river trail. She should have been here by now.”

“On it,” said Reed, moving immediately back to the door and heading outside.

Katrina was probably stuck somewhere along the trail. Or maybe she’d grown tired and was resting. There was a slim chance she gotten herself into real trouble. But the river trail was well-marked and relatively smooth and safe. The odds were definitely on the side of a delay rather than a catastrophe.

He strode back across the driveway, hopping onto an ATV that was parked next to the barn. He turned the key and the machine roared to life beneath him. He glanced at the sky, judging he had at least an hour before dark. It should be plenty of time, but he wasn’t going to waste any of it.

He drove about four miles down the trail before he spotted her. The bike was tipped at the edge of the trail, and Katrina was crouched over it, looking small and forlorn in the midst of an aspen grove. She stood as he approached, and her shoulders relaxed as she obviously recognized that it was him. He saw the chain was off the bike, and her small hands were black with oil.

He’d give her an A for effort, but a failing grade for actual accomplishment. He knew six-year-olds who could reattach a bicycle chain. He brought the ATV to a stop and killed the engine as he dismounted.

“Looks like you’ve got a problem,” he opened, struggling not to smile at her rather adorable helplessness.

She gestured to the bike. “I came around the corner, hit a bump, and the chain fell off.”