A Cowboy in Manhattan (10 page)

“You’re lying.”

“Okay,” he allowed. “It was a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

He quirked a half smile. “I thought it was.”

“You’re not a very nice man, Reed Terrell.”

He looked her way for a long moment.

She glanced to the rutted road, to Reed, and back again. There was a curve coming up. She waited for him to turn his attention to driving. “Uh, Reed.”

“I’m not a nice man,” he confirmed softly. “And you should remember that.” Then he glanced out the windshield and made an abrupt left turn.

Katrina was forced to hold on tight again. “I’m not afraid of you, Reed.”

“That’s okay. I’m scared enough for the both of us.”

Katrina didn’t know how to respond to that. The idea of Reed being afraid of anything was patently absurd.

A long time later, the truck rocked to a halt on the dirt road, an aspen grove fanning out on the downhill side, and a steeper hill running up the other.

Reed shut off the engine. “We’ll have to walk it from here.”

“Walk?”

He pushed the driver’s door open. “Unless you want to wait here. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

“No, no.” She reached for her own door handle. “Walking is fine.” Luckily, she’d worn comfortable runners. Her midcalf, low-rise tights weren’t perfect for bushwhacking, neither was her tank top, but she gamely hopped from the seat.

Reed retrieved a worn leather tool belt from the box of the truck, strapping it around his waist, stuffing a hammer, tape measure, screwdrivers, wrenches and pliers into the loops and pockets. Then he tucked some lengths of rod and pipe beneath his arm, hoisted out a battered red toolbox and turned for a trail that wound up the side of the hill.

Katrina quickly fell into step with him. “You want me to carry anything?”

He snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I was just trying to be helpful.”

His long strides were incredibly efficient, and she had to work to keep up.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s not pretend you’re going to be any use as a pack animal.”

“Let’s not pretend you’re going to give me a break.”

“You should have stayed back at the ranch house.”

The trail grew steeper, and, as they neared the crest, she was forced to grasp at the branches of trees to pull herself forward. “And miss all this?”

Reed stood tall on the top of the ridge, a sloping meadow splayed out before them, falling away to a deep valley before rising to the next hilltop.

Katrina sucked in a few breaths. “There’s a well up here?”

Reed pointed north along the ridgeline. “It pumps into a pond around the bend. The cattle like it up here in late summer. This meadow catches the prevailing wind and that keeps the bugs down. But if there’s no water source, they have to trek all the way back to the river.”

“See that, you are a nice guy.”

“I’m a practical guy.” His gazed scanned her. “You doing okay?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“Your ankle?”

“Almost better.”

“Okay.” He started along the uneven ridge, quickly outpacing her and drawing away.

If she’d hoped to engage him in a conversation, it wasn’t going to work out. Reed was obviously determined to keep her at a distance. Not that she knew what to say. Just getting him alone had proven so difficult she hadn’t formulated much of a plan beyond that.

After hiking for nearly an hour, they came to a muddy-bottomed pond beneath a twenty-foot windmill tower. The wind had picked up, and the whirring, clunking noise of the windmill made conversation difficult.

Reed set down the toolbox and began inspecting the arms that connected the pump to the windmill. A complex series of tubes and connections ran between the two. After a few moments, he selected a wrench and pulled hard on what seemed to be a stubborn bolt. It broke free, and he disconnected the mechanism.

Now that Katrina was standing still, she began to cool off. It didn’t help that the sun had disappeared behind a thick layer of cloud; they were completely exposed to the wind here on the ridge. She had to fight off the odd mosquito, but she didn’t dare complain. Instead, she gritted her teeth while Reed worked his way through whatever problem he’d discovered.

When the rain started, Reed swore.

He turned to look at Katrina, then he did a double take. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine,” she responded, but her teeth were chattering.

Reed dropped a big wrench, swore again, and stalked toward her. As he’d done when he found her on the trail with her broken bicycle, he stripped off his shirt.

“I don’t need—”

“Shut up.”

“I’m sorry,” she found herself saying, even as the warmth of his cotton shirt wrapped around her. She tugged the ends together and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Sit down,” he told her. “It’ll be less windy if you’re low to the ground.” Then he glanced up at the sky and heaved a frustrated sigh. “You shouldn’t have come up here.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, perching herself on a clump of meadow grass. He was right, sitting down did help to keep her out of the wind. Now, if only the rain would stop.

But the rain didn’t stop, and the more it rained, the more frustrated Reed became, and the more colorful the language coming out of his mouth. As the rain turned to a downpour, the wrenches kept slipping from his hands. He was obviously having trouble seeing clearly, and he dropped something. He peered into the mud, feeling his way around the tufts of grass.

After a long search, he tossed the wrench to the ground. “Damn it! Katrina, I can’t let go of this. You’re going to have to help.”

She came to her feet, his wet shirt hanging loosely to midthigh. “What should I do?”

He took what seemed to be a calming breath. “Look in the toolbox. Lift out the top tray and see if you can find a nut-and-bolt set. It’s better if it has some washers.”

“Washers?”

“Wide, round disks of metal.”

“Right.” Trying not to shiver from the wet and wind, she opened the lid to the toolbox. The stormy day was complicated by the fact that the sun was now sinking behind the hills.

“Can you see anything?” he asked.

“Not really.” She reached in to feel her way around instead.

“Don’t!” Reed shouted, and she immediately stilled.

His voice moderated. “Some of the things in there are sharp. You could cut yourself.”

“I can’t see,” she apologized.

“It’s okay. Close the lid.” He waited while she closed it and flipped the catches. “Now, can you pick up the box and move it over here?”

Katrina stood, bent down and gripped the handle of the metal toolbox with both hands. Then she pulled up with all her might. Nothing happened. She screwed up her determination and tried again.

It lifted a couple of inches off the ground, and she moved it forward before dropping it down.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Reed warned.

“I’m good,” she gasped. She lifted again, swinging it closer. Then again. And again.

“You’re doing fine,” he told her.

“This is pathetic.”

“For a cowboy, yeah,” he agreed. “For a ballerina, we make allowances.”

“Thank goodness I’m going back to New York City.”

There was a breath of silence before he spoke. “Thank goodness.”

“I’m almost—” Her feet slipped out from under her, and she landed in an undignified heap on the muddy ground, brown water spraying around her. “There,” she finished, seriously regretting her decision to come along on this trip. Exactly
why
did she think she needed to be alone with Reed?

“You okay?” he asked.

“Define
okay.
”

“Are you injured?”

“No. Bruised, yes.”

Reed stretched out his arm, his fingertips almost made it to the handle of the toolbox. Katrina gave it a hard shove, sliding the box, and he grasped the handle in his fist, lifting it and moving it to where he could search for a bolt.

“I can’t believe you carried that thing all the way up the hill,” she told him.

“I have size, muscle mass and testosterone on my side.”

“You’re incredibly useful.”

“And you’re incredibly pretty.” He glanced at her. “Well, not right now.”

She clenched her jaw. “I hate being pretty.”

“What’s to hate? You bat those beautiful blue eyes and the world falls at your feet.”

“Is that how you see it?”

“That’s not how I see it. That’s the way it is.”

“You think the world gives me a free ride.”

His opinion didn’t surprise her. She’d known all along that was how he felt, that she was some decorative plaything. He was as bad as Quentin. Though she supposed she should credit Reed with trying to keep his distance. At least he didn’t think it was his right to sleep with her.

“I think your world is a completely different place than mine,” he said.

“Do you think yours is better?” She honestly wanted to know.

“I think it’s harder,” he admitted, still searching through the toolbox. “I don’t think everyone can make it out here, and I think—”

“You think it’s
easy
becoming a professional dancer?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it.”

“I was about to say, I think people stay cleaner in your world.” He seemed to find what he was looking for, pulling an object out of the box and squinting at it in the dusk.

“I work hard,” she told him defensively.

“You should work at getting rid of that chip on your shoulder.” He returned to the repair.

“I do not have—”

“Admit it, Katrina. You think you’re better than the rest of us.”

“I—”

“You live in the bright lights of a big city. You dress in designer clothes. You hobnob with the rich and famous. You eat in the best restaurants. And every few years, you come back to Colorado to go slumming.” He reefed hard on the wrench.

“That’s not
fair.
”

“And for some reason, this time, you’ve decided I should be part of your down-home experience.”

Katrina’s jaw dropped open. Reed thought she was slumming it by kissing him? Was he crazy?

“Thanks, but no thanks, Katrina.” He rose, collecting some of the scattered tools. “I’ll keep my self-respect, and you can run back to those champagne-swilling dandies at your snooty cocktail parties.”

Katrina lurched to her feet. “Wow,” was all she managed. She stared at his slick, half-naked body, powerful and magnificent in the waning light. “Did you ever get that wrong.”

He bent to fiddle with something on the pump contraption, and the piston came to life with a rhythmic, sloshing sound.

Apparently satisfied, he closed a sheet-metal cover and fastened it. He gathered up the remaining tools, shoving some of them back into his tool belt, putting others in the box and securing the lid.

He stood and looked around at the dark surroundings. “We have to get back.”

He waited for her to stand and start moving, then he took the lead, making his way along the ridge, heading toward the steep trail that led to where they’d parked the truck. Thankfully, he took it slower this time, and Katrina didn’t have to struggle quite so hard to keep up.

But when they came to the top of the trail, Reed stopped abruptly. The top of the bank had sloughed away, and the trail had turned to a rivulet of mud and water, coursing down in the direction of the road.

“I don’t think so,” said Reed, holding out his arm as a block between her and the edge of the bluff.

“What do we do now?” she asked, peering into the gloom of the aspen grove, listening to the whoosh of the water below them.

He set the toolbox down, well back from the edge, and he stripped off the leather tool belt, plunking it on top. “I’m not dragging you through the bush in the dark, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, wondering if it was a lie. Just how difficult would it be to make their way back through the thick woods?

“There’s a line shack about a mile that way.” He gestured with his head in the opposite direction of the well. “We’ll wait it out there.”

That seemed like an only slightly more palatable option.

“It’ll be pitch-dark by the time we get there.” She was already having a hard time picking her way across the uneven meadow. And she was cold and wet and miserable.

“Yes, it will. So, up you go.” He scooped her into his arms.

“Hey!”

“You’d rather walk?”

“Yes!”

“No, you wouldn’t. I’ve got leather boots and long pants, and I’ve been hiking these hills my entire life.” He adjusted her in his arms.

“You can’t carry me a whole mile.”

“I could carry you twenty miles without breaking a sweat. And even if I couldn’t, I’m not letting you risk your ankle.”